Montauk Monologue

July 10th, 2022: Could Montauk Point State Park be any prettier? The sun baked me and the ground beneath me as a summer sun should, and the flowers rejoiced and bloomed brighter.

I've lived in New York all my life—minus my college years—and for the first time ever last summer, I drove out to Montauk. I've never been to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, Coney Island, or Niagara Falls. I've never seen the Knicks play at Madison Square Garden. I've explored more of some Southwest states than I have my home state. But it might not be as strange as it sounds.

Sometimes, when I get to chatting with locals around the country, I tell them where I've been or where I'm heading in their home state, and they tell me they've never been to or heard of those places. When it happens, I scream on the inside and try to remain calm on the outside, so I don't make them feel bad about missing out on so much awesome so close by all those years. So instead, I politely mention that they should really check out Bisbee in southern Arizona, Providence Canyon in Lumpkin, Georgia, the Delta Diner in way northern Wisconsin, Serpent Mound in Peebles, Ohio, Paducah, Kentucky—I could go on and on.

I guess we branch out before taking full advantage of our own backyards because we're so eager to see what else is out there. We're hungry for new experiences, culture shock, the thrills of adventure. It's easy to forget that our home turf is alive with destinations worth discovering. That's part of what got me started on this eternal expedition, this quest to explore the lesser-known nooks of my magnificent backyard: America the Beautiful.

I wonder if part of why we leave home before we've thoroughly toured it is that we only feel like we've really gone somewhere if we've put considerable time and effort into getting there. If that's true, then maybe there's a road-tripper in all of us. I love going someplace just as much as I love getting someplace. Sometimes when I'm nearing my destination (usually towards the end of a two-week trek), I wish I had another few hundred miles to go.

Whenever I cross certain state lines—New Hampshire into Maine, Ohio into Michigan, California into Nevada, it's like a shot of adrenaline hits my system. Suddenly I could drive on for hours more, no matter how many miles trail behind me.

One of my least favorite places to visit is Long Island, New York. It's a shame because so many people I love live there. I visit them despite my knee-jerk dislike of their wretched island. But in an effort to open my mind a bit wider and see past the traffic and lack of loveliness, I decided to show myself sides of Long Island I had never seen before. And you know what? It was awesome.

The North Fork is the best fork—more rural, more small-town. Jamesport, Greenport, and the lavender fields of Calverton swept me away. Picture vineyards, heaps of farmlands, side-of-the-road country fruit stands, and quaint, quiet streets that transport you to a simpler time. It reminded me of cruising the Cape in the off-season. It was calming, but it energized me like I was crossing a really special state line. So much so that I decided to brave the South Fork—from the North Fork—heading in the polar.opposite.direction.of.home on a hot summer Sunday.

Driving home from Montauk to Manhattan just had such a nice ring. Even though I was actually starting in Yaphank. For anyone unfamiliar with the geography of southeastern New York, driving from Yaphank to Manhattan by way of Montauk would be like going from Colorado to Utah but swinging by Kansas first.

But really, I just had to make it another hour and a half (without traffic) through the Hamptons, and then I'd be Montauk bound for the first time. Sure, it would make my drive to Manhattan at least five hours—heavy on the traffic, light on the open roads—but that was later on's problem. Montauk was calling me, and I was going to answer it.

My sleek Subaru proudly rolled passed Hamptons avenues lined with Mercedes and mansions and came out the other side to be welcomed by tall grass, tie-dye towels, and creamy sand. Beaming with true island vibes, Montauk is a place to happily lose track of time. When you reach its lighthouse—the end of the island some call "end of the world," it really is like you've left the whole world behind you. And then there's this vast untouched ocean wilderness before you. 

Once you've reached the end, what can you do? You can linger like I did—bide your time, explore the edge, lounge in limbo, climb to the top of a claustrophobia-inducing tower, like I didn't. The end is peaceful, but after a while, you turn around to the world that waits to welcome you home.