Trip 46 — Long Island Walk
Day 2: Great Neck to Locust Valley
Wednesday, 5 November 2025
Today: 51740 steps/40.01 km/24.86 mi/7h 17m
Total: 89166 steps/71.40 km/44.37 mi/12h 30m
"Please let me know if I can meet you for lunch while on your Long Island walk," Neville wrote yesterday evening. "Preferably on the North Shore — I live in Great Neck."
"I'll be in Great Neck in a half-hour!" I wrote back, as I came up through Little Bay Park.
I've been the musical director of Neville Grusd's show "My Father's Play" for most of a decade. It's about a man who finds his dad's script in the attic and revives the play that had received bad reviews so long ago...but the son decides to make it a musical, and the ghost of his dad isn't on board with the revision. It's a heartwarming and funny show.
We meet for breakfast at the Great Neck Diner. Most of the menu leans heavily toward eggs or bread, but I find one of those bizarre diner options that I can't turn down: a Monte Cristo on challah French toast. They've added turkey (a little too much, proportionally) to the usual ham and cheese, but it's a good balance of sweet and savory. Do I add syrup or Tabasco sauce? Well, maybe both.
Neville's heading to the city to see "Maybe Happy Ending," and I head east, across a sliver of Manhasset Bay and to the next northern bulge of land (and eventually to the following one). If I hadn't already eaten, I might have stopped for lunch at Louie's, a bayside restaurant in Port Washington where I've enjoyed a couple of meals over the years. Instead I proceed through Sunset Park and along the coast, where ducks are arranged in perfect choreography, facing the same way, against Manhasset Bay and the Toms Point Marina beyond.
There's a suburban shopping center, and then the road climbs up to Sands Point, an exclusive neighborhood above Port Washington. Some of the houses are enormous, set way back from the road at the ends of long driveways approached through imposing stone gates. The lawns have that freshly mown, striped pattern, and some of the leaves are the reddest I've seen. The lack of a sidewalk confirms my role as an intruder.
The composer John Philip Sousa lived in the area for the last 20 years of his life, and his estate sold for $6.5 million in 2023. It's sort of open to the public — if you show up and ask nicely, they may let you in. There are also golf courses, horse farms, and a center for the blind and deaf. When I exit the village back into Port Washington proper, the sidewalk appears on the right immediately.
It soon ends, however, and I cross over to the left to be safer walking against traffic. When the sidewalk reappears on the right, I stay left, refusing to chase it. The traffic is moderate until I turn left onto Longview Road, a gently winding, steeply climbing residential street. I'm panting when I get to the top, and then it descends just as steeply, bending to the right and delivering me to Hempstead Harbor.
I'm now on the promisingly named Shore Road, but it's boring, with the harbor invisible behind a fence. Eventually a sign points left toward a nature trail, and I check the map to make sure it's not a dead end. With that confirmation, I follow the secluded dirt trail.
It's been a couple of hours since I last sat down, and I rest at a picnic bench by the harbor. An osprey in a leafless tree regards me for a moment but considers me a safe visitor, and when it eventually leaves its perch it's only to find a nearby tree. My other companion is a ladybug, who seems to have an affinity for Clothing Arts Pick-Pocket-Proof Convertible Travel Pants. On the nearside of the harbor, a cluster of wooden posts juts out from the water, perhaps the remains of a pier. Across the harbor are the giant structures of a utility station.
The trail undulates for about 20 minutes, offering occasional views across the harbor. Far in the distance to the right, I can make out the Northern Boulevard viaduct. I have to go under it and around the harbor in order to get to the next bulge of land to the east.
This is the village of Roslyn, with a couple of hotels, many eateries, a tall clock tower, the remains of a grist mill, and an old, brick cinema under renovation with "Coming soon for rent" on the marquee. I'm still not ready for a meal, so I go back under the viaduct and all the way along the shore on the other side of Hempstead Harbor, facing the Port Washington side. Another hour later, I turn inland and follow the road sharply downhill to the Cove, for an early dinner.
It's been a hilly and exhausting day. When I set out, I couldn't believe I would go 40 kilometers. It simply didn't look that way on the map. But now I've gone 31, and I need a long rest.
The Cove is opposite a marina to the west, and the sky is a most spectacular orange color, a fiery sheet punctuated by small, white clouds behind the tall masts. It's all I can do not to burst out singing, "Flash, bam, alakazam."
Before settling in, I call the Tides Motor Inn at Stehli Beach to ensure that arriving after 8:30 is acceptable. When I'd booked, the confirmation had helpfully informed me that the pool would be open until Labor Day 2020. So I'm relieved to confirm that the place exists at all.
I linger at the bar for two hours. The happy-hour specials include margaritas and Thai-spiced calamari. I also have some Long Island Pointé Gorm oysters, French onion soup, and honey-glazed Brussels sprouts. The oysters are small, but I like their briny flavor.
I still have nine kilometers to go, and now it's dark. I head through Glen Cove, past the usual suspects of shopping: auto parts, 7-Eleven, urgent care, insurance, Lutheran and gospel churches, Taco Bell, pizzerias, Walgreens, one large supermarket. I hear a train in the distance: This is near the end of the Oyster Bay line.
I bear left for the oddly named Skunks Misery Road. There are few streetlights here, and sometimes they disappear completely, leaving only the supermoon and passing cars to guide me. I can't see many of the houses, but I know they're set well back from the street, behind gates that say "Private road." This area is just as upscale as Sands Point.
I keep an eye on MapMyWalk as I make the final approach to the motel. It's going to be right around 40 kilometers, and I've earned that number today. I check in and am given the key to room 9, most of the way down the long building block. If I'd been in room 5, I wouldn't have reached that milestone.
It seems to be a noisy night. The man in the next room is yelling, and the wind is howling. But eventually both simmer down, and it's time to sleep.
Go on to day 3
