I drove to Assateague Island to view the Leonid meteor storm, the only kind of storm I can think of offhand that doesn't require clouds. This phenomenon is not expected to repeat with such intensity again until the year 2099. I figured that might be a little after I'm gone from the planet, so I didn't want to miss the chance to see it.

I know now why my trip is to be basically unplanned, unscheduled and without a particular itinerary--I don't follow plans or schedules well, and I don't want to be locked in to an itinerary. I want to take things as they come, without high expectations, to avoid stress.

I had planned on going to Assateague Island Saturday afternoon. I wanted to hike to a campsite a few miles down the shore where I would have been farther away from the ambient lights of Ocean City and other people. As it was, I never left until 1:30 Sunday morning after a mad scramble of getting photo gear together and cursing myself for falling asleep for a few hours. I drove a bit too fast getting there and was frequently looking over my shoulder for flashing blue lights.

Yes, these are things I am trying to avoid on this trip--mad dashes, deadlines and the need to be anywhere at any specific time for any reason. The Leonids, however, were not something that would wait for me to assemble myself. They permeate our atmosphere at a time of their own choosing.

Since I hadn't gotten my gear together much before setting out, and I ended up doing much fumbling in the dark and adjusting camera settings and such by feel and memory--while holding a flashlight in my teeth. I forgot my reading glasses, so even the flashlight wasn't much help in trying to see details.

The reason for my going to Assateague was to get away from the city lights of D.C. and environs in order to have a clearer view of the meteors. I started to get worried on the drive as I kept passing through areas of dense, patchy fog on the Eastern Shore which I hoped would dissipate by the time I came nearer to the ocean. I was treated to a view of the occasional meteor through the windshield as I drove. My hopes were realized--a light onshore breeze blew away any chance of fog as I approached the shore. Clear skies prevailed, but so did people at my chosen viewing site.

I had expected a few people would have chosen the same destination as I had, but was surprised to see how many were actually there. As I drove onto the island I passed cars parked on the side of the only road on the island, an act that is usually frowned upon, with people stretched out on hoods and some in lawn chairs beside their metal chariots staring at the unfolding celestial event. One couple was seated in the bed of a pick-up truck watching nature's show. The parking lot, usually deserted overnight even in summertime, was full of cars and people.

As I got out of the car I heard the exclamations of people watching the spectacle. It sounded like the commentary one hears at a fireworks display. This display, however, wasn't set to music, wasn't choreographed and wasn't in any way controlled by humans. I like that--Nature's own fireworks. Predictable, maybe, but uncontrollable.

I asked the people nearest me where in the sky they had seen the most meteors, and they said "everywhere." They were right. I didn't have to worry about which direction to aim my lenses, anywhere was just fine. Meteors came singly and in bursts in every part of the sky. It was absolutely awesome!

After first light I talked with a guy named David (see below) who spent a good deal of time trying to relay some sort of spiritual message to me. I must say that while I understood and agreed with some of the points he made, I have no idea what overall message he was trying to convey. Of course, after watching the Leonid meteor storm, I may have already had my fill of spiritual experience for the day. David did mention a place I hadn't heard of before--the Serpent Mound in Southern Ohio. I plan to check it out on my way west.