Trip 46 — Long Island Walk
Day 11: Around Montauk Point
Sunday, 16 November 2025
Today: 24048 steps/18.84 km/11.71 mi/3h 23m
Total: 489962 steps/381.04 km/225.06 mi/66h 23m
Neither Liz nor I sleep well at the Royal Atlantic Beach Resort. Our high, angled ceiling slopes down to the heater, which springs intermittently to a cacophonous life that brings to mind the belt pulleys in the carriage factory displayed at the museum in Stony Brook. As suddenly as the heater awakens, it mysteriously powers down moments later, only to revive itself after few seconds and rattle for a few minutes before taking another nap.
It repeats this quasi–Morse code pattern through the night, whirring for alternating short and long periods, equally deafening in its work and in its silence. It's set for 76 degrees, but the room is warmest when the machine is off and coldest when it spins.
It's another laundry day, and Montauk has public machines tended to by friendly staff and costing a fortune. The smallest washer gives 27 minutes for $7.99, but it's impossible to pay that price. I have to buy a reloadable card — the machine tells me I can use their app instead, but after going through the registration process (including randomly selecting the Gambia as my country of residence, because why should they care?) I learn that this location isn't set up for it.
The card costs $1.50, the machine accepts only whole-dollar amounts, and there's a 4-percent credit-card surcharge. I'm out $10.40 to wash eight socks, four T-shirts, four pairs of underwear, and a pair of jeans. At least hanging everything up to dry in the hotel room is free.
Liz and I head out to Montauk Point after our respective flagel and bagel sandwiches at the venerable Goldberg's. (As I write this, I've just learned that BagelFest gave this year's best-bagel award to a place in Dallas.) It's partly sunny, and consequently also partly cloudy, and we spend a good bit of time unzipping and zipping our jackets.
Route 27 continues for about five miles from Montauk to the lighthouse at Montauk Point. There's a broad shoulder for walking, and the melancholy monotony of almost-bare, stark trees is punctuated by the occasional deer and two hills midway through. A mini-rally whizzes by: about 20 two-seaters with their headlights popping out. Quieter transportation is available at the Deep Hollow Ranch, the country's oldest, dating from 1658.
There's some unexpected light rain as we come around the final bend and reach George's Lighthouse Bar & Grill. Our timing is impeccable, as we're rewarded with a brilliant double rainbow upon reaching the restaurant's terrace. There's just enough time for a photo before the rainbows fade, the rain gets heavy, and the wind picks up. By that time, we're safely inside, the only customers, at high-top chairs by the fire.
Considering how expensive eating is in Montauk, I'm astonished by how cheap the food is here. A burger is $8. A grilled-cod sandwich is $11. Liz and I each have the latter, and we share clam chowder and a Greek salad. By the time we finish, the rain has stopped. A look at the lighthouse and a brief descent to the rocks at Long Island's easternmost point — westernmost Rhode Island is due north — and then we're going through Camp Hero State Park.
Vestiges of World War II loom up here, incongruous with the picnic tables and people walking their dogs. A few concrete bunkers are scattered around the park, the guns having long been removed from the batteries. The tangled wires of a Cold War–era radar station rise up from a giant concrete box; it operated from 1960 to 1980.
We find a trail and wind our way back to Route 27. To the north is Montauk's little airport, built in 1957 to help rich people avoid getting stuck in traffic on the way out here. There are no commercial services, but it hangs on for private use.
We're back in town, and Liz heads back to New York City. It's a longer-than-usual trip this weekend, four hours instead of three, as track work means a bus as far as Speonk. It's dark and windy as we walk up to the station. The bus looks cozy and inviting; I would fall asleep instantly if I were to board.
Instead, I head back to the hotel. I linger until after eight, taking a chance trying to find dinner that late on a Sunday in the off-season. I nervously open the door to Alimentari Beach.
"Is it too late for a meal?" I ask the bartender.
"Not too late," he says. "It is here, but if you go up the street....Just kidding. My colleague will seat you."
"Ah, I see what I'm getting into." I would sit at the bar, but there are only two seats, taken by the bartender's friends.
The flavors here are fantastic and inventive. My beet salad has grapes, whipped cheese, granola, and slices of speck. The spicy crab comes with spaccatelli and a light saffron-chili sauce with black pepper. The room is cold when I get back, and I can't wait for the heater to stop so it'll warm up again.
Tomorrow starts the last stretch of the Abecedarian Walks: west along the South Fork until Brooklyn and then north to the Queensboro Bridge. The final seven days. I'm ready to start, and readier to finish.
Go on to day 12
