From June 29 to July 13, 2002, Sharon, Travis, Eric, Becky, and I traveled through New England, New Brunswick, and New York in our Voyager minivan. For the first week of our journey, we caravanned with my brother Curt and his family. The second week we were on our own. Our travels took us through 8 states and New Brunswick,Canada, and covered 2,750 miles. The country was beautiful, the people gracious, and the kids real troopers. We had a great time. Here is the log of that journey, presented in the present tense.
The day before the vacation is Sharon’ last at Cambridge (before starting her new job at Lincoln General). I take the day off to prepare for trip; consequently, I was up late the night before.
In the evening, it takes us forever and ever to get things together. After hours of making arrangements, cleaning, and packing, we toss the last few things in the car at about 2:30 a.m. and then drive to Curt’s house in Allentown.
Despite Curt’s assurance that he would leave the house unlocked, it’s locked. So we sleep in the minivan.
We wake up in the Voyager repeatedly through the night and for good about 7:30. I take a nap on the bed in Curt’s basement for about an hour more. Sharon, meanwhile, stays up with the kids.
Sharon and Curt get the roof rack storage bag loaded and positioned. All systems go, we head out on the road at about 11:00.
The drive starts off well, but we encounter very heavy traffic as we approach the George Washington Bridge. The Cross-Bronx Expressway isn’t much better. I follow close on Curt’s heels so that we don’t get separated. We keep in touch by walkie-talkie. Gradually, we get pretty good at this.
We stop at a fancy diner-type place in Port Chester for lunch. I get a gyro, which came with more tsatziki sauce than I would have needed for ten gyros.
Traffic conditions in Connecticut are a little better, but there are still some very slow spots.
We stop at a rest stop shortly after we enter Rhode Island to stretch, use the facilities, look at tourist literature, and get a bearing on our situation. We find out that it is too late to tour any of the Newport mansions, but decide to take the cliff walk that runs along the ocean and by some of the mansions.
We exit I-95 and head to Newport. The view from the two large bridges heading into town are spectacular. Downtown Newport looks delightful enough but is thoroughly congested. We wend our way through and find the cliff walk along the ocean. That area, surprisingly, isn’t crowded at all, with available parking nearby.
The cliff walk begins about 6:30 p.m. at approximately the 0.5 mile point. We start by going down a stairwell to a lookout point. Then we walk about a mile down the trail, viewing splendid scenery, a wedding party, and several mansions, including the scaffold-encircled Breakers. The kids have a blast playing, racing, hiding in the bushes, and nearly falling off the cliffs into the crashing surf 70 feet below. Then we turn around and hike back over the same course to our minivans.
We head back through town in search of a place to have dinner, while at the same time trying to aim toward the interstate. We settle on dining at Ruby Tuesday’s, which is a little ways out of town. I get a very tasty tilapia fish sandwich and a delightful draft. Sharon has some delicious ribs.
Back on the road, we head toward Boston. We drive straight through downtown at about 11:00 p.m.; traffic in the opposite direction is horrendous but not too bad in ours. Following the mapblast.com directions I brought along, we locate the Crown Plaza Hotel in Woburn and check in. We’re told that the $89/night fee only applies to the first night, after which the rate will jump to $143. What can we do?
We check into our rooms and watch some television before going to sleep.
Highlight: The cliff walk, although coming over the bridge in Newport quite a high.
Lowlight: The horrendous New York City traffic.
The ten of us take off early in the morning in search of breakfast. We find a nearby Friendly’s restaurant, stop there, and enjoy the usual breakfast fare. Afterwards, to our surprise we can’t get our minivan to start. Seems like it might be a problem with the starter. After having all but given up on it, I give the key one last turn, and it starts right up. (We would continue to have problems getting the minivan started for the rest of the trip.)
We all take the Crown Plaza shuttle bus to the train station, where catch the train into Boston. The train drops us off at the FleetCenter. From there we take the subway into downtown Boston.
We tour downtown Boston aboard the Oldtown Trolley, which takes us past most of Boston’s most famous sites, including the Kennedy Center, Boston Commons, Trinity Church, the Cheers bar, etc. Somehow we miss out on seeing Paul Revere’s house.
We hop off the trolley near the Children’s Museum at about 4:00 p.m. We pass by the supposed site of the Boston Tea Party, which is closed for unspecified reasons, and then enjoy a snack, consisting mostly of ice cream, before visiting the museum. Entrance to the museum is free because it closes at 5:00 p.m. Not only is the price right, but so are the exhibits themselves. The kids have lots of fun playing with the hands-on stuff in the place, which we had read was ranked the third best children’s museum in the country.
From the museum we set off in search of the No Name Restaurant, which was recommended by Ray at work. Instead we decide to dine at the Barking Crab, which is a festive open-aired fish & crabs joint on the inland waterway. I get a fish sandwich and beer. Both excellent.
Refreshed, we walk into town on our way back to the subway station. Although we have a bit of time before we need to board the subway, we don’t stop anywhere. There are, however, several interesting markets and spots along the way. We catch the subway almost the second we get to the station and get into the Fleet Center with almost an hour to kill until the next train. Curt and I decide to check out the as yet uncompleted bridge structure near the Fleet Center, while the wives and kids rest and play in a courtyard. I pass through an unlocked gate and Curt follows. Then Curt slips through a hole in the chain-link fence, climbs over various piles of construction debris, and shinnies on top of the bridge. I snap a few photos. Then as I make my way over to join him, security guards show up and shoe us away.
We catch our train to the station in Woburn, where we catch a shuttle back to the hotel. Back at the hotel, the kids & women go for a swim while Curt and I get in a brief workout. Then we join the others at the pool/hot tub.
Up in our room, we order some hot wings and a half dozen beers. Curt & Cyndi do the same. We eat and drink out on the balcony. Later, Curt and I go for a walk on the hotel grounds and party some more. Sharon is asleep when we get back.
Highlight: The Children’s Museum & the Barking Crab restaurant.
Lowlight: Getting run off the construction site by security personnel.
After showering and packing, we go to check out. The charge for the previous night is given as $169. I let the check out clerk know that this is preposterous. I explain that Sharon was told the charge would be $89 a night, then when we check in we’re told it would be $143 for the second night, now it’s gone up to $169. She reduces the fee to $143.
The minivan starts right up, and we get on the road. Our first stop is at a nearby Einstein’s Bagels, where we get some bagels to go. We hop on I-93 north and head for Newfound Lake, NH. Following mapblast.com directions we have little trouble locating Cliff Lodge and check in. As advertised, the cabins are small, quaint & rustic, although Curt & Cyndi’s is appreciably larger (it is also $20 a night more, which was their pick). We unload and then head out to pick up a few things and tour the area.
Our first stop is at the liquor store, where I grab up a bottle of Alize and Curt stocks up on 5 or 6 little bottles of mixed drinks, like Pina Colada and “Censored on the Beach.” Then we look for the Radio Shack Curt that saw earlier on the way into town. I see it just after I passed the entrance, so I cut into the exit. A cop is on me quicker than that. I try the “I’m from out-of-state” angle, but he points out that illegal turns are also against the law in Pennsylvania. Even so, he lets me off without a ticket. It turns out that the Radio Shack is closed, so Curt will have to do without a new battery for his cell phone.
We stop at a nearby Riteway and load up on beer and things. While in the store, either Becky or Jessie or the tag team knock over a 12-pack of Molson bottles. They break all over the place. Becky is quite upset by the accident; fortunately, the store personnel are not. Among our many purchases is a $30 fishing pole.
We head back to town. Curt & Cyndi decide they want to stop for a bite to eat at a pizza place. While everyone else gets seated, I drive to a couple service stations to see if they can look at our car tomorrow. They can’t. Back at the pizza place, I grab a burger and witness what is perhaps the alltime display of knocked over and spilled drinks. Travis is the last to get in on the act, and I take him outside to let him know that I wasn’t happy about it.
Back on the road, we start driving around Newfound Lake, despite Curt questioning the purpose of doing so. We stumble upon Wellington State Park on the lake. The park is about to close, and as a result there is no charge to enter. The place has excellent facilities and a nice beach. Everybody but me takes dip. I read. [Unfortunately, during our stay at the lake, the skies were hazy, so we didn’t get to enjoy the lovely blue skies seen in the picture at right. On the plus side, we had the beach to ourselves.]
We drive back toward the cabins, stopping for a delicious ice cream cone along the way. (Within a mile or two of our cabins, there are at least three ice cream joints. The frozen stuff is, apparently, quite popular in these parts.)
Back at the cabins, the kids play in the woods. An assertive little girl in the cabin next to ours cavorts with them. While chatting with her myself, she tells me among other things that her 30-something year old male friend says that underneath his clothes, he’s naked. Rather bizarre stuff, but he’s got a point.
About 8:30 p.m., Sharon, the kids, and I go out for a second dinner, this one at the Cliff Lodge restaurant, where it is hoped we’ll be able to view the sun set on the lake. (The restaurant at the Cliff Lodge, and in particular, the lake view from its open-aired dining area, was the principal reason I chose the place.) It’s a bit too hazy to see the sunset, but the surrounding are beautiful all the same. The food and beer are a delight as well. Travis takes a liking to clam chowder.
Later in the evening, we hang out on Curt & Cyndi’s balcony for a couple of hours, drinking beers & other assorted drinks. The women take off for bed, soon so too do Curt & I. Sharon is waiting up. (It would be that time of month starting the next morning.)
Highlight: Hanging out in the evening on Curt & Cyndi’s porch at Cliff Lodge.
Lowlight: The kids spilling drink after drink in the pizza joint.
Curt and I visit a nearby grocery store in the morning to pick up eggs, bacon, etc. for breakfast. Afterward, I fix breakfast in the cabin for Sharon and the kids. The cooking supplies and equipment make doing so a challenge, but the bacon, eggs, toast & juice turn out pretty good if I say so myself.
Cleaning is a chore because there’s no kitchen sink. And the water that comes out of the little sink in middle of the cabin contains an awful lot of rust. I try to take a shower, but the amount of water that tricked out of the showerhead was hardly enough to water a dandelion. The temperature was also either way too hot or way too cold.
We round up the two gangs and head out to Ruggles Mine near the town of Grafton. I heard about this place from the RoadsideAmerica.com Internet site. The place is way out in the hills, and the road surface progressively deteriorates the closer we get. But we arrive all right, and the elevated view from the parking lot is very impressive.
Admission to the deserted mine is on the steep side at $48 per family, but we came all this way, so we decide to check it out. We rent a few hammers and head on down. It’s a pretty neat place, the kids seem to have a good time, and I came away with some interesting rocks (mostly mica) and a pretty good scrape on the top of my head where I banged in on the roof of a tunnel. The intense heat of the day and the injury to my head leave me a little woozy, so Sharon drives back to the cabins.
We get a bit off track on the way, but soon get our bearings straight. Back in Bristol, we stop at the Big Catch Restaurant, which is across the street from the Cliff Lodge, and dine on their outdoor patio overlooking the beach and lake. While we eat, Curt conducts business nearby on his cell phone.
The gang heads out to the Wellington State Park again for a more extended swim. I hang out in the pavilion going over paperwork and reading. As I said, it was awfully hot and humid and hazy. I should have gone in the water.
After our swim, we return to the cabins. Then the wives and little ones go off in one minivan to do laundry, while Curt and I with the four older ones head off in our minivan to look for a place to fish. We drive all over the place looking for somewhere along the lake to fish, but just can’t find such a place, largely because the lakefront is almost exclusively taken up by private residences. We end up out by a stream on the way to the state park. We break out the poles and throw in the lines, but there are no nibbles. Thus ends Travis & Eric’s first fishing expedition.
Near sunset, we all go over to the Cliff Lodge Restaurant to dine out on their balcony. I get the beef stroganoff, which is very tasty and quite popular with Becky and the boys. Sharon orders the steak with peppercorns, which is incredibly peppery. We also get a bowl of onion soup, which is excellent. Travis gets more clam chowder.
The kids and wives retire rather early, but Curt & I party late, first on his balcony and then ours. About 2:00 a.m. or so, some guy shows up in his underwear telling us that he’s sorry but the party is over. Apparently, we were making too much noise for his or his wife’s liking. We conclude things shortly thereafter and head to bed.
Highlight: Has to be that Ruggles Mine.
Lowlight: The heat, humidity and haze. It’s getting to be a drag.
I fix the rest of our eggs, bacon, etc. for breakfast. Then we pack up our stuff, clear out of the cabins, and start the long drive to East Sullivan, Maine. Our course takes us by Weir’s Beach on Lake Winnipesaukee and then down the western shore of the lake. It’s very pretty country and apparently a very popular tourist spot judging by all the cabins in the area.
We cut over to I-95 via back roads and then follow the Interstate around Portland, ME. We exit the interstate in the town of Topsham to have lunch at the Old Munich Beer Garden, which I had discovered earlier while surfing the Internet. We locate the restaurant and head in to dine. A fellow lounging outside in the shade drinking a beer greets us. He’s the only one around—no patrons, no cook, nobody. He says that he was about to close up but will fix us something to eat. We order a bunch of German sausages and beers. The food isn’t spectacular, but all in all it was a fun spot to hang out. And the beer was splendid.
Back outside it feels like 100-plus degrees. We hop back on I-95 north to Bangor. In Bangor we exit the Interstate and take the highway to the town of Ellsworth and then take US Route 1 to East Sullivan, arriving in the early evening. We find the Mountainview Campground with no problem and check in. The proprietor is a very nice lady. We drive to our 2 campsites, which are in a flat, open, grassy area with some trees and brush to the rear and a fantastic view of the bay and Cadillac Mountain to the fore. Our site is about 200 yards from the water. Those right on the water look to be wonderful spots, but camping at one would very likely have caused us to worry about the little ones falling in the water.
We get out our camping gear; I pitch our tent, while Curt starts erecting his mammoth thing. Then I help Cyndi put up their screen house. It takes some doing, but finally we get everything put up. Afterward, Curt and I buy some firewood at the campground and then for some groceries at a antiquated & congested store called Dunbars about 3 or 4 miles up US Route 1. We load up on food and beverage and return to camp. Upon examining our provisions, Cyndi is rather dismayed by Curt’s selection of a whole chicken, wondering how she is supposed to cook it.
For dinner we fix some burgers and beans and eat inside the screen house. Outside the mosquitoes, which are famous in these parts, begin to amass in abundance. The screened enclosure and insect repellant help but don’t entirely keep them all at bay.
We kick back for a bit, while the kids play card games. But before we can get too relaxed, the winds kick up and the skies open up and it starts raining. Then it starts raining harder and harder. The screen house no longer keeps us dry so we head for our tents. Then the winds kick up even more, scaring Becky to no end, so Sharon takes her and Eric in the minivan. Travis and I figure we’ll sleep in the tent, which seems in imminent danger of being blown away. Sharon comes and tells us that Becky wants us to join them in the minivan, so we do for a while.
The winds and rain subside somewhat, so we return to the tent. It’s pretty crowded with the five of us, and a little bit wet inside, but that’s where we sleep. It’s quite apparent that we need to load up on camping equipment—most notably a stove and a larger tent.
Highlight: This was a day of driving without many great attractions, but dining was memorable.
Lowlight: The rain beats out the mosquitoes by a thin margin.
Day 6: Thursday, July 4, 2002
My bones are feeling a little creaky after a night in the tent but not too much so. The kids have cereal for breakfast, the others have eggs, and I have a cup of instant coffee from water boiled on Curt’s propane stove. Afterward, I head for the showers. It’s better than the one at the Cliff Lodge cabin, but it still leaves a great deal to be desired in terms of water pressure.
We gather the troops and get on the road for the 45-minute drive to Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park. Near the park, we overhear a guy, no doubt a Bostonian, on our walkie-talkie. He tells whoever it is he’s talking to that he’s already in “Ba HaBa.”
Surprisingly there is no traffic tie-up going into Mount Desert Island. We find the Park information center with no problem and check it out. We get a nice little map and buy our passes.
Then we start on the loop road that takes you around Acadia National Park, which is one of the smallest yet most visited national parks. Our first stop on the loop road is Sandy Beach. Parking presents a problem, but we manage. For whatever reason, the Sandy Beach is very foggy. And although this beach like most others is indeed sandy, the water unlike most others I’ve been to is much, much, much colder. I wade in up to my knees (with Becky by the hand) anyway. Curt, of course, dives into the water. The older kids spend a fair amount of time in the frigid waters as well until I boot them out fearing that they’ll get frostbite.
The next stop along the loop is Otter Cliffs. We park and hike to the cliff walk, spending quite a bit of time at the first place we hit. Scaling the rocks is a lot fun for me and Travis and Tyler, and the scenery is out of this world.
We call it a wrap because others are getting hungry and walk a bit further down the Otter Cliff trail and then head back to our cars. Cyndi and her family are more intent on eating, and we are more intent on seeing more of Otter Cliffs, so we split up with the intention of meeting at the picnic area up the road a piece.
We walk the short distance down to Otter Point, and walk all over the rocks to check out this fantastic place. The boys in particular seem to fall in love with this spot. And Becky gets to hold a starfish.
The picnic area is nearby and Curt and family are very easy to find because they are set up near the entrance. We join them for lunch, which consists for the most part of sandwiches from the makings Curt and I had picked up the night before at Dunbars. Curt enjoys a beer, and the kids look for twigs on which to roast marshmallows tonight.
We continue on the loop toward Cadillac Mountain. Along the way, we spot a beer-bellied fellow off to the side of the road in front of 35 mph speed limit sign taking a swig from a beer bottle. What was so odd about it was that a women, presumably his wife or girlfriend, was taking his picture at the time. It looked staged. I can only imagine that this guy has a vast collection of photos taken in noted locales the world over in which he is depicted in mundane settings swilling a bottle of brew.
We read that Cadillac Mountain is the highest point on the Atlantic Coast between Maine and Argentina. It’s not all that high, under 2000 feet, but it does provide a splendid view of the island, the sea, and the city of Bar Harbor. We traipse all over the mountaintop with the kids while Curt stays behind with Jessie, who is asleep. He checks it out for himself when we return.
From Cadillac Mountain we venture into Bar Harbor. The place is jam-packed, we can’t find one parking spot, let alone two, and before we know it, we’re out of town. We confer on what to do. We decide that we should take on Bar Harbor the following night and head back to camp, stopping along the way for dinner.
That dinner stop is about 5 mile up the road in Trenton at a place called the Lobster Luau, which is a very informal, screened in joint. Sharon & Curt order whole lobsters. Sharon learns that eating a whole lobster is entirely a different experience that eating a big old lobster tale. I have the shredded-pork sandwich, which is delicious.
A couple of miles farther down the road, we stop at an incredibly idyllic ice cream parlor. I get an old-fashioned ice cream soda, and we all enjoy our desserts in the gazebo. Where are treated to one of the most spectacular lightning displays I have ever witnessed, and we get to hear the inside scoop on the lightning from two locals (presumably a father and his albino son), who we can only gather are lightning experts from the lightning capital of the world. The place has all kinds of other attractions as well, including the longest swing I’ve ever seen. [See video.] The only bummer about the experience, and it is a significant one, are the mosquitoes. As we finish our ice cream, the amazingly colorful yet threatening skies begin to open up. As the rain moves in, we head for the minivans and move out.
Cyndi learned either at the restaurant or the ice cream parlor that July 4th fireworks were going to be set off in Bar Harbor and could be seen from a near by state park. So we drive to the state park as dusk begins to and the rain continues to fall. We reach the park and sit in our minivans in the parking lot looking across the bay toward Bar Harbor, waiting for the fireworks. We have to wonder, however, if they’ll ever be set off given continuous downfall. The others doubt the fireworks will be set off and want to head back to camp, and Becky has to pee. So we drive back to East Sullivan. The rain subsides soon, only to pick up as we reach out campground. We get the impression that it always rains in East Sullivan.
On the way back to camp, we wondered if the rain might short out the electric cord we had hooked up. Upon arrival at camp, it seems our fears are answered in the affirmative. Our electric cooler looks to have been fried. I open the door and am greeted by a blast of steam. Upon closer inspection I find out that the cooler wasn’t short-circuited but rather had been converted to a broiler when Sharon unknowingly put the plug in backwards that morning. And broil it did, we had broiled chocolate, broiled beer (and exploded beer), broiled Alize. And we have it everywhere. I clean up the mess.
The kids and wives go to bed. In the case of my family, they all retire to the minivan. Curt and I build a fire from the wood we bought the day before. Surprisingly, it burns great. We party, downing some beers, etc., listening to music, and enjoying the fire.
I don’t know what time it is when I crash, but it is probably about 2:00 a.m. I too retire to the minivan.
Highlight: Acadia National Park in general, Otter Point in particular.
Lowlight: For the second day, the rain beats out the mosquitoes.
Day 7: Friday, July 5, 2002
A little after daybreak I move over to sleep in the tent. It’s pretty comfy in there, but gets kind of hot as the morning wears on.
We begin the substantial task of breaking camp. This is a whole lot more substantial for Curt & Cyndi because they have so much more to break down. All the same, we finish about the same time, which is nearly 11:00, which is checkout time.
While we’re putting our stuff away, this rather odd fellow who was camping alone beside us came over to me and said that some guy in a nearby cabin kept his radio on all night until he asked him to turn it off about 2:00 a.m. Curt and I thought this was rather peculiar for two reasons: One, this fellow had told us he didn’t hear well and that seemed to be the case, yet we didn’t hear any radio at 2:00 a.m. And secondly, we had to be making a whole lot more noise at that hour than the guy with the radio, and we were only 30 to 40 feet away.
One more time, we cross our fingers and hope the Voyager starts. Again it does, and off we go toward Bar Harbor. I stop at a gas station on the way and get about the worst fish sandwich you could imagine. Near or in Trenton, we stop at a Wal-Mart, where Sharon and Cyndi pick up some stuff while Curt and I hang with the older kids in the back of the parking lot.
The road into Mount Desert Island, unlike yesterday, is jam-packed today. This impedes our adventures by about 45 minutes. We head toward the town of Somesville to check out this delightful little bridge there but drive right past it looking for a place to eat. We don’t find anything, so we return to the bridge to check it out. There’s not much to do there but look at the very pretty bridge and take photos.
From the bridge in Somesville we drive to the Kimball Terrance Inn, where we have rooms reserved for the night. Some cop follows behind Curt almost the entire way. Presumably it’s just a coincidence, but even so driving is more complicated when a cop car is in the rearview.
The Kimball Terrace Inn is in the town of Northeast Harbor. We locate the place in a rather roundabout way and check in. It’s now high past time to eat. We check out the Inn’s restaurant. Curt likes it, but I want to explore what’s in the town, which consists of about 3 city blocks. We hike up to and through town. There are a few restaurants with possibilities, but none seem preferable to the inn, so we go back there to eat. I have a tasty burger and a delicious beer of course. The view from the inn of the harbor is unimpeded, scenic, and soothing.
After lunch we check into our rooms, then Curt and I take the kids out to the pool. The four older ones do fine on their own, but I have to watch Becky like a hawk. For the most part I hold her in the cold water.
It had been planned beforehand to have dinner in Bar Harbor. Curt suggests making reservations and inquires ant the front desk. Instead he gets the name and location of Miguel’s Mexican Restaurant, which comes highly recommended by the desk clerk.
To our surprise, we find parking near the center of town in Bar Harbor. With little ado, we locate the restaurant and put our names on the waiting list, which we’re told is 45 minutes long. So we hike down to the water and check out the town a bit. It’s all about tourism, but a very attractive place all the same.
By luck of having his name ahead of mine on the waiting list at Miguel’s, Curt and family get to dine in relative splendor compared to the seating arrangements we get. His is in the fresh air, spacious, cool, and nice. Ours was cramped, hot, noisy, and not nice. That has, I’m sure, quite a bit to do with our relative assessment of the dining experience at Miguel’s. It almost puts me to sleep, and Eric and then Travis do actually nod off at dinner. Sharon gets the tastiest meal, a burrito dish. Travis orders some big ass steak dish that he swears he’ll eat all of. He doesn’t come close.
We check out the town some more, primarily from a shopping standpoint. Curt buys some maple syrup, Tyler gets a telescope, Eric gets a little watch that works for one day, I get a bottle of ale and a map that Eric unsuspectingly steals, Sharon looks at clothes for Becky, and Travis holds on to his money.
We walk back to our cars and head to the inn. For some reason I am incredibly tired, and the drive becomes a real chore. The chore being to keep from falling asleep at the wheel. I manage this, barely, but crash within 15 minutes of walking into our room. I wish I hadn’t been so beat because Curt and his family would be going home in the morning and I’m sure is would have been awfully scenic and relaxing sitting on the balcony taking in the splendid view and sipping a few cold ones. Alas it is not to be.
I awake at about 3:00 a.m. and consider getting up to trek to the top of Cadillac Mountain and be the first person in the United States to see the sun come up that day. This is something I really wanted to do and still do, but I don’t do it on this date. Perhaps another time. (As hazy and rainy as it has been the past couple of days, it is very likely that sunrise wasn’t visible.)
Highlight: Walking around Bar Harbor.
Lowlight: Our seating at Miguel’s Restaurant—it really sucked and it sucked the life out of us, although the food was a whole lot better than the fish sandwich I had earlier in the day.
Day 8: Saturday, July 6, 2002
Having gotten to sleep so early the night before, I’m up early and ready to go. So I head down to the minivan to perform my daily cleaning rituals. Curt and Cyndi show up very shortly thereafter to pack their minivan for the ride home. After they get it everything together, we all say out good-byes on the third floor landing of the Kimball Terrace Inn.
We check out shortly thereafter and make the very short drive into town for breakfast. We settle on the Colonel’s Restaurant in Northeast Harbor. They seat us on the balcony—the view is no great shakes, and it’s pretty windy, but the food was quite good.
We also check out a few of the trendy shops in town, picking up a skirt for Sharon at a place called Animal Crackers. Unfortunately, the dress on the mannequin next door is not for sale.
Then it’s on the road to trek north on US 1. But en route to US 1, we get caught in a god-awful traffic jam that takes us over an hour to negotiate. Finally we hit the open highway and head north, which takes us past the Mountainview Campground one more time. Weather conditions: light rain.
In my pre-trip Internet exploration, I saw a picture of the Schoodic Byway just north of East Sullivan. The stretch of road was picture-perfect, so now that we are in the neighborhood, I look for it but can’t seem to find it. We pass by Route 186 leading to the northern section of the Acadia National Park on the Schoodic Peninsula and then by Route 195, which also leads to the park. And we momentarily pass by the other end of Route 186 before I decide to cut back and check out this part of the park.
I’m not sure at the time if the stretch of byway we travel is the Schoodic Byway, but it looks like it, and it is stunningly beautiful. (I determine later that it was in fact the Schoodic Byway). I pull over so the kids can play on the boulders down by the water and to take some pictures and video and to just take in the scene. But I don’t dare turn the engine off since this would not be a good place to have the car crap out (high crime area, you know).
We venture further along the winding roads of this section of the park, eventually arriving at a point where there’s a parking lot and a fantastic lookout. We pull in, and this time I do cut the engine. Until this point, I had seen almost no one on the roads, so it is a little surprising that the parking lot is nearly full with about 100 vehicles. We walk toward the coastline, which has a most unusual geologic covering of what are called rock shelves. While the boys and I make our way down to the water, it starts raining again, so we return to the car. It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon, so we get on the road.
US 1 runs along the coast from here to Canada, but for almost the entire way it’s inland, so you don’t see the ocean. In fact, there isn’t much of anything to see, but a house here and there, more likely abandoned than not, and the unspoiled green countryside. It’s like everybody got as far as Bar Harbor and stopped, which is fine. But the land coupled with the gray day and light rain and the fact that we were no longer traveling with Curt and his family made is seem very isolated and lonely.
We stop at a few stores along the road and perhaps we stopped for lunch, although I don’t recall doing so. One interesting stop is at the 45th Parallel, which is a good-sized souvenir/home furnishings store with an eclectic mix of neat stuff. We don’t buy anything but get a lot of ideas. And they have an Internet site. Another interesting stop in the middle-of-nowhere is beside an old tugboat alongside the highway. I let the boys explore it, and they have a blast doing so.
We pass by an absolutely gorgeous bed & breakfast inn. Very Victorian and right on the sea. I wanted to stop and stay but felt we had to press on to keep with our plans. Maybe next time. At the least we should have checked out the place and taken a picture or two. Live and learn.
Shortly thereafter we come to the Canadian border. It’s not like it used to be—when they just waved you on in. We had to show the border guards our kids and convince them that they were really ours. They were all very nice, and it didn’t take up much time.
We drive through St. Stephen. A nice enough town, and take the highway to St. George, where we follow the signs for Lake Utopia. We drive around the lake a bit, but I don’t see any sign of the cabins where my family and I stayed in 1967. I presume that they’re long gone, but plan to make a more thorough search of the area tomorrow. The hour dictates that we move and find lodging and dining. It takes some doing, but we find both at the Grove Motel and the restaurant next door called the Birch Grove. We check into the motel, then go next door for dinner at the simple yet comfortable restaurant. The food is unremarkable but the folksiness was memorable.
We finish dinner with some ice cream and then settle into our motel room. The room is equipped with three beds, one being quite a bit smaller than the two doubles. Becky spotted it the moment we walked in an and claimed it as her own. For quite a few days afterward, she wanted to come back to this motel for the night. I called my dad on the cell phone to see if he could shed any light on how I might locate where we stayed on Lake Utopia, but as was expected, he could not. He said he just stumbled upon the place himself—35 years ago.
It seems that there is always one night on our vacations going back to the 1980’s where there’s a great movie on the telly. Tonight was that night. The Canadian station we tune in is showing Alfred Hitchcock flicks starring Grace Kelly. The one we see in its entirety is “Dial ‘M’ for Murder.” Travis watches it with us, and he’s engrossed.
Highlight: The kids climbing on things, be it the rocks along the Schoodic Byway or the tugboat on the side of the highway.
Lowlight: Worrying about the minivan not starting, which is more of a worry not that we’re on our own and in the middle of nowhere.
Day 9: Sunday, July 7, 2002
Rise and shine at the usual hour despite keeping later hours than usual the night before. Travis in particular was up way past his usual bedtime, although he didn’t watch all of “Rear Window.”
We shower, and as usual I do my daily absolutions to the car and load it up, fantasizing that today is the day the boys won’t make a complete wreck of it. Then we enjoy a nice, hearty breakfast next door at the Birch Grove Restaurant.
Then we go to start the minivan. It gives us a little problem. No make that a big problem. I fully believe that it is here in the middle of East Jibbip (or is it Gybip) on a Sunday that our fricking starter decides it’s had enough. The owner-lady and some guy, who may be her friend or whatever, I don’t know, provide lots of moral support, but neither look like they got a starter for a 1997 Plymouth Voyager on them and the wherewithal to install it. But wouldn’t you just know it, on about the 35 try, the engine kicks over and off we go. (I did do a couple of things that maybe did the trick: I banged an engine part with a screwdriver, maybe it was the starter, and I put the car in neutral, maybe that’s what did it.)
We drive back to Lake Utopia, where long ago and far away . . . We drive around that lake as best we can, but there is no finding long ago and far away. From what I can see and based on what locals tell us, the cabin where my dad backed bread in a wood-burning stove is long gone. At one point on a back road overlooking the lake, I feel it all come back. I can almost see it. But of course, I can’t because on this gray morning I learn that Lake Utopia as much as any place I’ve ever been verifies Tom Wolfe’s immortal words, “You can’t go home, again.”
Next stop is St. Andrews. And that’s fortunate because New Brunswick has been a letdown to this point. But not so St. Andrews. We stop at the visitor’s center, and a very nice one it is indeed. Then we spot a Swiss Alps-like resort and drive up to take a closer look. It’s a nice looking place. Then we drive into the middle of town, which is along the coast. The main street is lined with shops, and we venture into a great number of them and make purchases at several. Travis buys a T-shirt with a wizard printed on it and a brass whale, and I got a psychedelic bandanna and little blue bottle. I also get some salmon jerky, which proves to be awful.
It starts raining, surprise, surprise, lightly at first and then harder. Well, it’s time for lunch anyway, so I stick my head into a few restaurants to see what’s appealing and select the Market Street Grill. The place has a good view of the water, a cozy atmosphere, and trivia cards at every table. And the food is great too. Of course, I clean house at trivia.
So concludes our visit to St. Andrews. We get back on the highway with Sharon at the wheel and drive to St. Stephen, intending to scoot right on back into the good ol’ USA. But there is just one problem—traffic is backed up in St. Stephen for miles and it’s nearly at a dead stop. We wait for an hour or so, during which time I walk up ahead to see how much farther we have to go (a lady tells me 2 to 3 miles, which at 0 mph takes quite a long time). Another lady walking by tells us to take the truck route. So we give up and take an alternate route in hopes of getting out of Canada before Christmas. The alternate route, which enters the US from the Canadian town of Milltown, is a little faster, about 0.5 mph. We see a lot of Milltown, about 2 hours worth covering about 1 mile. Finally we reach the customs checkpoint, and of course, we breeze right through.
Back in the USA, we stop for some snacks at a service station, where we see as good a rainbow as you’ll ever see—spanning from one end of the sky to the other and with all the colors vibrantly displayed.
With Sharon still at the wheel, we cruise across Maine via Route 9, which is an even more desolate stretch that the stretch of US 1 north of Bar Harbor. There is just about nothing along this highway between the Canadian border and Bangor except what looked like the unfinished erection of a super highway (which given the traffic conditions in these parts would be about as useless at it gets). At one point near Bangor the roadway vanishes altogether for a short stretch. In Bangor we pick up I-95 and retrace a portion of it that we had traveled a few days earlier. We exit I-95 at the town of Newport and pick up US 2 and continue west. We drive through a succession of towns, including the interesting looking Skowhegan, in search of suitable lodging. But it isn’t happening. Well there’s always one of these nights on every trip, too. We find three hotels in Farmington, Maine. Our third choice, the shabby looking Twin Pond Hotel, is the only one open with vacancies.
We watch most of the movie “The Spy Who Shagged Me” and drink a few beers and other assorted malt beverages before calling it a night.
Highlight: St. Andrews was charming and the rainbow was splendid.
Lowlight: Both the backup at customs and motel search were a drag.
Day 10: Monday, July 8, 2002
In the morning, the boys take a look at the motel pool, while I clean and load the car as usual. Given the troubles with starting the car the day before, I am more apprehensive than usual about it starting this morning. But it does.
We stop at the Wal-Mart across the street, where I pick up some socks, and at the nearby Burger King, where we pick up breakfast to go.
Our next stop is in the nearby town of Rumford at Rumford Falls, which boasts that it is the highest falls east of Niagara Falls. Niagara, however, has nothing to fear from this falls. The boys and I get out and walk down to the water and then over to a waterwheel. All the while we leave the car running for fear that it won’t start if we turn it off.
With the exception of the falls in Rumford, this stretch of US Route 2 through Maine is no great shakes in the scenery department. For the most part it is series of drab, industrial towns. This changes in New Hampshire, where the towns are fewer and more picturesque as the road skirts the White Mountain National Forest. And then in Vermont, the hills rise up and the greenest greens fill the countryside and beauty surrounds.
We stop for lunch in the quaint New Hampshire town of Lancaster. Although there is an attractive restaurant in town, I get one Italian and one turkey hoagie to go from a pizza-joint. We then get back on the road in search of a suitable location to picnic. I tell the boys that they can earn a point (equals one dollar) if they spot a picnic table or more if they can find something better. We soon stumble across a gazebo in a little well-kept park in the little town of Lunenburg, Vermont. The park is dedicated to those of Lunenburg who served their country in times of war. Reading the names on the memorial, I trace family lines from one war to another. Three white New England churches, an elementary school and play area, and an old-time cemetery surround the park. The gazebo has picnic tables, so we are set. Sharon picks up some sodas at a store across the road.
After eating our hoagies, which would have been much better had the rolls been better, I take the boys on a tour of the cemetery. I use the birth and death dates on the tombstones as a chronology lesson: If Isaac Mutton was born in 1845 and died in 1857, how old was he? And as a history lesson: Why did he die so young? And as lesson in verbal reasoning: If Henry Mutton was born in 1808 and died in 1875, how old was he when he was born? They get that one. The deaths of those interred go back as far as at least the 1840’s, and some of folks buried lived as far back as the 1700’s. After the cemetery walk, the boys and Becky play on the school playground equipment, which is situated right behind the shady cemetery in an odd juxtaposition of death and life. Overall, this locale strikes me as New England surreal, with all the hallmarks of old-time New England situated all together. And for most of our visit, we are the only folks in sight. Except for the sweltering heat and humidity, it is a perfect place to have a picnic.
We continue across Vermont en route to Stowe. As we near the town, we depart US Route 2 and take the back roads through this sparsely populated, beautiful countryside. We stop briefly at a covered railroad bridge with open slats and according to the sign posted there, an active train route. The boys want to walk through the bridge. I say no, but recall a time in my youth when I was 9 (like Travis) and was confronted with hiking across an old rail trestle with not only open slats but missing ones as well.
Route 100 is the road into Stowe, and until we learn better, we believe Stowe is a one-road town. My initial impression is that there isn’t very much to it, but the more we look around, the more we see and the more we like. We drive through town once, then drive back. We park the car to walk a bit; consider dining at a Swiss fondue restaurant; but hop back in the car and pick up something to hold Eric over for the time-being. Sharon checks out availability and rates at a couple of motels and restaurants. Eventually, we decide to dine at the elegant Ye Olde England Inne off of Route 108. At $92.57 this is the most expensive meal of the trip; fortunately, I think it is also the best, in particular my steak kidney pie is delicious. And Sharon seems to enjoy her beef Wellington. Add to this an excellent John Courage Lager on tap and spacious comfort and a splendid view from our table on the outdoor deck and it amounts to a most memorable and delightful dining experience.
We consider staying at the Ye Olde England Inne, but decide the rooms are too small. So instead we take a room at the Commodore Inn on Route 100. It starts raining about the time we check in, which at first causes no problem because we are under the carport while unloading the minivan. I do get drenched, however, when I return to the minivan to pick up a few stray items and for hard-to-explain reasons I decide to vacuum the inside of the minivan at a nearby facility.
Back in the dry hotel room, we decide to check out the indoor pool. The water is very cold; even more unfortunately, so too was the indoor hot tub. So we pay a visit to the hot tubs and saunas in the same wing as our room. The hot tubs take a while to warm up, but the sauna heats up fast. Travis turns out to be a big fan of saunas. Sharon and Becky return to the room, while the boys and I play in the game room. We learn that Travis and Eric are not the world’s best ping-pong players.
Back in the hotel room, Travis and I start getting into the Molly Ringwold movie “Sweet Sixteen,” but we fall asleep before long.
Highlight: Dinner was superb, but the picnic lunch in Lunenburg takes the honor.
Lowlight: There really were no downers on this day, other than falling asleep earlier than I wanted to.
Day 11: Tuesday, July 9, 2002
After loading the car, I find out how much breakfast costs at the inn. The prices are reasonable, and the dining room is attractive, so after some wrestling with where to eat, we decide on the inn. It proves to be a wise choice because breakfast is free for guests, and what a spread it was—eggs, meat, pancakes to order, and a breakfast bar loaded with fruit, juices, cereal, pastries, etc. This was without a doubt the finest breakfast we had the entire trip.
After stopping at a couple stores in town—I pick up a bottle stopper and Sharon gets a couple of Christmas ornaments—we take Route 108 north up into the mountains. The winding road goes through some of the most scenic countryside of the trip. Shortly past the top of our assent, we stop at a roadside pull off, where the kids use the facilities and play under the rocky ledges. Meanwhile, I traipse back up the road a ways to get some photos.
We stop in Smuggler’s Notch a few miles down the road. This is a large resort with self-contained water park, golf, etc. We check out the water park, but the prices are awfully high, and adults have to accompany children, so I take the boys to drive some golf balls, which was less than ideal because it was awfully hot and the driving range is up hill with a steep grade. Afterwards, the boys still want to go swimming. But I wasn’t all that into Smuggler’s Notch.
A ways down the road, I tell the boys we can go back to a swimming spot that we passed about 25 miles ago or we can move on and find a place to fish. We don’t have time, however, to do both. They decide that they would rather fish. (Although we’ll never know, the swimming spot I had in mind may have been unsuitable for the boys given the very heavy rains the night before.
While cruising in the northernmost reaches of Vermont on State Route 78, the road runs along the Missisquoi River. I pull into a little park alongside the river, get the fishing gear out, and set the boys up to do some fishing. They don’t get so much as a nibble, but it’s fun trying. The black fellow who showed up after us, has a little better luck and whole lot more know-how. He catches a couple of young perch. He lets the boys touch the first one before I throw it back it. And he lets Eric throw the second one back in after he (Eric) first drops in on the ground. We eat some of our leftover sweets, get the fishing line hopelessly snarled, and move on.
The drive over the northern part of Lake Champlain from Vermont into New York near the Canadian border provides a view of a medieval-looking stone fortress across the water. We can’t tell what it is; although it looks like a prison, we surmise that it’s probably a military fort. If we had more time, I probably would have gotten a closer look at the place. (Subsequent research on the Internet revealed that the structure was Ft. Montgomery, which was built from 1844 to 1870 and never occupied.)
Our next destination is Lake Placid, NY, holder of the 1980 (and as we learn) the 1932 Winter Olympic games. We head south on Interstate 87 and then cut over on NY Route 9N, which runs along the east branch of the Ausable River. I mention this because the word “ausable” sounds funny to me. I guess it’s an Indian word. We stop along our lovely drive to Lake Placid at the North Pole, which is a year-round outlet for all things Christmassy. The place even has its own zip code. And it is closed, so we move on. The next stop is at a very nice looking souvenir shop beside a cascading falls with a span going across. Wow, this looks neat! But the store is closing and the span is closed. We are informed of the later in no uncertain terms by some jackass woman in her SUV. Presumably she works at or owns the store. I barge off wondering how it is possible for a span over a public river to be privately owned. Fortunately, the minivan starts right up.
I turns out the Ausable River is a great place to go fly-fishing, or at least that’s the impression we get seeing all the fly-fisherman in the river. I explain the difference between fly-fishing and regular fishing to the boys. Based on my thoroughly novice account, Travis decides he likes fly-fishing better.
The town of Lake Placid is more crowded than I would have expected. We find a place to park along the main street and hike up and down browsing in one souvenir shop after another. The town has the best souvenir shopping of any town we’ve visited on the trip. As a consequence I buy several items, including a little disco ball Christmas ornament and a wooden boat. Sharon gets a real neat looking blouse. We walk down to the lake, not Lake Placid, but rather Mirror Lake. What with the chalets on the shores of the lake and the ducks about, the place reminds me of Hallstatt, Austria. It’s not quite that Idyllic, but it comes pretty close.
We decide on Goldberries Restaurant on Mirror Lake for dinner in large part because of the expected lake view. Unfortunately, they don’t allow those with young children to dine in that part of the restaurant, so we eat out on the balcony with a clear view of the Golden Arrow Hotel parking lot. I have a cheeseburger; Sharon had something more exotic than that. I’m sure if we’d had more time, we could have found a much more interesting restaurant is this very touristy yet very charming town.
We look into staying at the Golden Arrow Hotel, but they are all booked up. It turns out that there is some event going on in town in the following day or two, and that explains the crowds. So we hop back in the minivan and head out of town along State Route 73 as dusk begins to fall, and our trip begins to feel as though it is coming to an end. Route 73 in the twilight is a wondrous stretch of road. And the color of the river that runs along it is almost a Day-Glo green. We will have to return someday.
As nightfall arrives, we hit Interstate 87 and make tracks. We exit the interstate at Saratoga Springs and take Route 29 over to the New York Throughway, which is Interstate 90. We exit soon thereafter at the town of Fultonville in search of accommodations. We look for the Holiday Inn but can’t find it. So we go back to the Travelodge, which is very easy to find, and get a room. Our room is very nice except for the fish-like stench that pervades it. I ask the man on duty about this, and he believes it may have gotten wet and offers us a room on the second floor. I decide to stick with the smelly one we have and learn to adapt.
Back in the room, it occurs to me that the Baseball All-Star game was held tonight. Given the time—about 11:30 p.m.—I figure it’s over by now. But it’s not—the score is tied in the bottom of the ninth. The NL fails to score, which brings Phillies pitcher Vicente Padilla into the game. Well, the score stays tied for two more innings, and then it’s called a tie game after 11 innings by Commissioner Bud Selig.
Sharon and I stay up and chat until it is rather late.
Highlight: Attempting to fish in the Missisquoi River. Lake Placid was neat too.
Lowlight: Tough call between the fish-like stench in the motel room and the jackass lady in her SUV.
Day 12: Wednesday, July 10, 2002
The smell doesn’t seem so bad in the morning. I take the boys down to the Mohawk River, which is no more that 50 feet from the back door of our motel room (the room has a front and back door). The river is wide, gently flowing, and very pretty. We skip rocks for the better part of a half-hour. And the rocks are as good as any skimmers I’ve ever found—flat, smooth, oval, silver-dollar-sized.
Upon returning to the room, I notice the stench again. I guess it didn’t go away, but rather we got acclimated to it. Sharon finds the same to be true.
We do the usual morning routine, which includes the apprehension over whether the car will start and the repeated turns of the ignition key until it finally does. On this morning there is greater apprehension than any other time except St. George because it’s the last day we’ll be on our own. And because it takes the Voyager forever to start. But it does and off we go.
We take Interstate 90 for a short stretch and then head down State Route 80 to Cooperstown. Once more the scenery is beautiful and becomes all the more so along the 10-mile or so stretch of highway that runs along the fetching Glimmerglass Lake. Cooperstown is on the southern end of the lake. We drive into town and stop at a tourist center, mostly so the kids can use the facilities but also to pick up some tourist literature. Surprisingly, it takes us a second pass through town to locate Main Street and the Baseball Hall of Fame Museum. Then we drive around looking for a place to park in this very busy little town. We find a spot down near the lake and a little park beside it.
The only other time I was in Cooperstown was in 1984. I arrived very early in the morning then and entered the museum as soon as it opened. At the time, I was struck by how empty the town was and how it had an eerie Victorian skeletons-in-the-closet feel about it. It is still very Victorian and kempt, but with all the festivity and crowds, it doesn’t seem eerie. We hike down Main Street and browse in a few gift shops, which excepting baseball bats, the stuff for sale doesn’t have the appeal that the stuff in St. Stephen and Stowe and Lake Placid did. We pass by the Baseball Hall of Fame and then cut back down a side street to an ice cream parlor, where we order some cones for Sharon and the kids and an old-fashioned ice cream soda for me. We take our goodies down to the park by Glimmerglass Lake to enjoy, which we do except for the parts that spill on the grass. The boys have a grand old time running through the lawn sprinkler in the park. Oh well, it’s another scorcher, why not?
On the road again, we cut back up to Interstate 90, and with Sharon at the wheel we make tracks to the town of Albion, which is about 30 miles west of Rochester. It’s a good distance away and takes three hours or more to get there. And interstate driving is interstate driving—there’s rarely much to see. I don’t know how they managed to run these things through such boring stretches. But Sharon points out that you would want them in the pretty places.
Once in town, we pass by Chalyce’s house and head to a fast food joint, where I get the kids some refreshments and Sharon calls her childhood friend, which is the reason we are here. Sharon gets directions from Chalyce to Club 469, the bar where she works as the day manager, and we drive over.
We last saw Chalyce five years ago at the outset of our Midwest 1997 road trip. She strikes me that she’s weathered quite a bit since then. But in her near empty bar, she’s as hospitable to us as one can be. She serves a round of drafts on the house and lets the boys play darts. They’re not very good at it, at first hitting most everything but the dartboard. They are, however, very noisy at it. Sharon and Chalyce make small talk and pick up where they last left off. Their friendship is both a good one, for it has lasted when most others cast in the same mold would have long since dissolved, and an improbable one, for they have taken very different paths. We would soon learn just how different Chalyce’s path has been.
The evening manager arrives, and soon thereafter we follow Chalyce to the Fair Haven Inn where she has reserved us a room for the night. The Inn is actually a house converted into several apartment-style rooms. Our room is delightfully decorated, spacious, and immaculately clean—all in all probably the nicest place we stay the entire trip. And get this, the place usually goes for $38 a night, but we get it for free. Great deal. Shortly after unpacking our bags, we walk next door to the bar in Tillman’s Village Inn, which is owned by the same people that own the Fair Haven Inn. Chalyce used to work as a waitress at the Village Inn and is obviously still on good terms with the people there. At the bar, we meet up with Tom and drink a couple of beers before dinner.
For several years, Chalyce has been living with a couple, whom we met briefly during our 1997 Midwest trip. The wife is Jeannine, and Chalyce had been doing catering work with her for sometime. The husband is Tom. He and Chalyce seem to be exceptionally friendly. We can’t help but wonder about this ménage à trios. But you can’t just come out and ask, “Are you sleeping with the husband of the woman with whom you live and work and with whom you also live and maybe work and isn’t that a bit awkward?”
We dine with Chalyce and Tom at the Village Inn. Sharon gets the hickory smoked baby back ribs, and I choose the prime rib. We share our enormous portions of each and get very stuffed on the tasty meat, delicious bread, huge salads, and veggies. Chaylce also got the baby back ribs but never touches them. I pick up the tab in gratitude for the all that Chaylce has done for us.
After dinner, we all go back to our room and sit around for the next several hours drinking and talking. We have a very good time filled with laughs and remembrances. Becky takes to Chalyce in a big way and provides many of the laughs cavorting around the room. Chalyce and Tom leave about 1:00 a.m.
Highlight: Skipping rocks on the Mohawk River, eating ice cream in Cooperstown, and hanging with Chalyce in Albion, pick any one.
Lowlight: The bore-ass stretch of interstate between Cooperstown and Albion.
Day 13: Thursday, July 11, 2002
In the morning we pack up and leave our lovely little room. The minivan starts and we head over to Chalyce’s house to see if she’s still there, but she isn’t. So we stop at McDonalds for some coffee and breakfast sandwiches and then drive over to Club 469. Chalyce is there—she’s the only one there. We settle into the back table just as we did yesterday afternoon, and the boys throw the darts just as they did then. While I’m off doing other things, Chalyce tells Sharon about her relationship with Tom. She relates that it started off as just a sexual thing, which was fine with wife Jeannine, who according to Chalyce has a big libido. Since Chalyce reports that there has never been any lesbian activity, I don’t understand how Chalyce having sex with Tom fulfills Jeannine’s libido, but then there’s a lot here that is not fully understood. Chalyce goes on to say that now she and Tom are in love, and yes, that does make things a little strained around the house. You betcha it does. It will be interesting to see how this world turns out.
We say our goodbyes and get on the road about noontime. Chalyce is again the only one in the bar. The drive to State College takes about 4 hours and for the most part is uneventful and unmemorable. We exit Interstate 86 near the town of Corning, New York, and pick up US Route 15 and take that to Johnston, Pennsylvania. I don’t believe I’ve ever been in the central-northernmost part of the state before. The stretch near the New York border is mountainous and dramatic. From Johnston we take lesser roads the rest of the way to State College, passing through the oddly named town of Jersey Shore along the way. The road into State College is packed with out-of-towners in town for the Arts Festival. We reach Orlando Avenue about 5:00 p.m. and are greeted by Pat & Wally and Brian’s family sans Brian, who is out golfing. Our New England 2002 adventure has essentially ended.
Shortly, Brian and Paul and his family and the Hillers and the Babcocks show up for dinner. We have burgers and hotdogs on the grill. Afterwards, most of the crew goes over to the school grounds to watch Wally shoot off rockets. And some good shots there are after a few initial duds. Also, I throw the football and Frisbee around with the boys and Brain & Paul. Afterward, folks party at the Lloyd’s.
We visit the People’s Festival in Boalsburg with Sharon’s parents and Brian and his family. I don’t do any shopping or browsing at the stalls but rather spend my time having a Frisbee catch on this very hot day with the boys and for part of the time with Brian, Savannah, & Delaney. The boys are improving at catching and throwing the disk. Sharon buys two hand-blown glass candleholders, one for Cam and one for Cyndi.
Dinner is held in the Lloyd’s dining room and is attended only by Pat & Wally and Brian and family, and us of course. We have steak for the course. After dinner we all go over to Nancy Babcock’s house for an ice cream social. The boys engage in spirited play with the rest of the kids there. I talk at length with Bill Babcock, learning about his life-story, which is quite a successful one and interesting to hear.
In the evening we gather in the Lloyd’s family room with Pat & Wally & Cam and watch the film “Speed.”
Wally, Brian, his girls, Travis, Eric, and I visit the Penn States Sports Museum. I never knew that Penn State dominated so at fencing, having won about 10 of the last 11 NCAA championships. We had intended to go to the outdoor track across the way so that Travis could be timed running around it, but there is a track meet in progress at the time.
Afterwards, Sharon, the kids, and I head up to the State College Arts Festival and tour the entire, very crowded event. The most notable aspect of the Festival is the ridiculous prices being charged for the merchandise. In some instances, the very same item was going for about 25% less the year before. Although we look in every stall, our buying is limited to food until the very end, when we pick up a pair of earrings for Sharon. We do, however, munch on a wide variety of very tasty finger foods.
Back at the Lloyd’s, folks start arriving for dinner, including Mike Scheffey and his family. For dinner everyone dines on chicken shish-ka-bobs and KFC chicken; everyone that is but me. I’m treated by Pat to my own little rack of lamb. I am not sure why I get my own dish, but I like the idea and love the dish.
Later folks begin leaving until we are the last to do so. We get on the road about 10:45 p.m. and drive home. We get in about 2:00 a.m. and unpack. It was a great trip.
Day 13: Thursday, July 11, 2002
In the morning we pack things up and leave our lovely little room. The minivan starts and we head over to Chalyce’s house to see if she’s still there, but she isn’t. So we stop at McDonalds for some coffee and breakfast sandwiches and then drive over to Club 469. Chalyce is there—she’s the only one there. We settle into the back table just as we did yesterday afternoon, and the boys throw the darts just as they did then. While I’m off doing other things, Chalyce tells Sharon about her relationship with Tom. She relates that it started off as just a sexual thing, which was fine with wife Jeannine, who according to Chalyce has a big libido. Since Chalyce reports that there has never been any lesbian activity, I don’t understand how Chalyce having sex with Tom fulfills Jeannine’s libido, but then there’s a lot here that is not fully understood. Chalyce goes on to say that now she and Tom are in love, and yes, that does make things a little strained around the house. You betcha it does. It will be interesting to see how this world turns.
We say our goodbyes and get on the road about noontime. Chalyce is again the only one in the bar. The drive to State College takes about 4 hours and for the most part is uneventful and unmemorable. We exit Interstate 86 near the town of Corning, New York, and pick up US Route 15 and take that to Johnston, Pennsylvania. I don’t believe central northernmost part of the state before. The stretch near the NY border is mountainous and dramatic. From Johnston we take lesser roads the rest of the way to State College, passing through the oddly named town of Jersey Shore along the way. The road into State College is packed with out-of-towners in town for the Arts Festival. We reach Orlando Avenue about 5:00 p.m. and are greeted by Pat & Wally and Brian’s family sans Brian, who is out golfing. Our New England 2002 adventure has essentially ended.
Shortly, Brian and Paul and his family and the Hillers and the Babcocks show up for dinner. We have burgers and hotdogs on the grill. Afterwards, most of the crew goes over to the school grounds to watch Wally shoot off rockets. And some good shots there are after a few initial duds. Also I throw the football and Frisbee around with the boys and Brain & Paul. Afterward, folks party at the Lloyd’s.
We visit the People’s Festival in Boalsburg with Sharon’s parents and Brian and his family. I don’t do any shopping or browsing at the stalls but rather spend my time having a Frisbee catch on this very hot day with the boys and for part of the time with Brian, Savannah, & Delaney. The boys are improving at catching and throwing the disk. Sharon buys two hand-blown glass candleholders, one for Cam and one for Cyndi.
Dinner is held in the Lloyd’s dining room and is attended only by Pat & Wally and Brian and family, and us of course. We have steak for the course. After dinner we all go over to Nancy Babcock’s house for an ice cream social. The boys engage in spirited play with the rest of the kids there. I talk at length with Bill Babcock, learning about his life-story which is quite a success story and interesting to hear.
In the evening we gather in the Lloyd’s family room with Pat & Wally & Cam and watch the film “Speed.”
Go out with Wally, Brian, his girls, and Travis and Eric to the Penn States Sports Museum. I never knew that Penn State dominated at fencing, having won about 10 of the last 11 NCAA championships. We had intended to go over to the outdoor track across the way so that Travis could be timed running around, but there is a track meet going on at the time.
Afterwards, Sharon, the kids, and I head up to the State College Arts Festival and tour the entire, very crowded event. The most notable aspect of the Festival is the ridiculous prices being charged for the merchandise. In some instances, the very same item was going for about 25% less the year before. Although we look in every stall, our buying is limited to food until the very end, when we pick up a pair of earrings for Sharon. We do, however, munch on a wide variety of very tasty finger foods.
Back at the Lloyd’s, folks start arriving for dinner, including Mike Scheffey and his family. For dinner everyone dines on chicken shish-ka-bobs and KFC chicken; everyone that is but me, who Pat prepares a little rack of lamb. I am not sure why I get my own dish, but I like the idea and love the dish.
Later folks begin leaving until we are the last to do so. We get on the road about 10:45 p.m. and drive home. We get in about 2:00 and unpack. It was a great trip.
In Closing
This vacation was a hybrid of the classic road trips the family took in 1997 and 1998, which were patterned after our European adventures from 1989 to 1992. The main difference was that we traveled with my brother and his family for the first week, which introduced a different dimension. Also, duringfor that first week, we had reserved lodging beforehand instead of our usual practice of finding a place to stayaccommodations each night. And we spent 2 days at each stop instead of our typical continual movement. (The second week was in the traditional fashion.) Despite the variations, this vacation was very much a road trip, and it was another great one.
Another thing different about this vacation was the pre-departure use of the Internet. The Internet was tapped to a minor extent for the 1997 & 1998 road trips, but nowhere to the extent it was this time. The Internet has for all practical purposes supplanted the use of travel books, and the only trend I see is greater and greater use of it..
One thing we did on this trip that we hadn’t done on the others was camp. We were not at all well prepared for it either, which was all the more evident by how well compared prepared Curt and his crew were. I guess this shouldn’t be all that surprising given how little I’ve camped of late and the fact that as a the whole family, we had has never camped before. The question is will we camp enough in the future to justify getting all the equipment. I’d say that at a minimum we should get a much bigger tent and a two-burner propane stove. Also, the large ice chest and the larger Igloo would have probably served us better than the small Igloo and the cooler that runs off the car battery, which only cools stuff 40 degrees below the outside temperature.
The reason that didn’t car battery cooler wasn’t much goodcut it was, is because we encountered very hot weather for most of the trip. The first week was a scorcher—hot, humid, and hazy all the way. It reached close to ahit 100 degrees in Sullivan, Maine. 100 degrees minus 40, degrees comes to 60 degrees. I like my beer a little colder than that.
Although the weather was hot, the people of New England for the most part were cool. Meaning they tended to keep to themselves, which is fine with me. They were invariably friendly if approached. Chalyce was very friendly and hospitable, and it was good to see her. She , but she seemed, however, to be holding back, and unfortunately she looked like she had aged more than the five years that had elapsed since we last saw her. Her situation with Tom and his wife, while no doubt a titillating menage, also must certainly cause quite a bit of strain.Perhaps because of the strain caused by her situation with Tom.
The boys fought with one-another as they are wont to do, but all in all the kids once again proved to be excellent travelers. They would get a little agitated at the prospect of spending another day driving, but they would have a blast at even the most mundane of stops. The minivan was not on its best behavior. From the outset we had difficulty starting it and were sure on more than one occasion that it was kaput. Yet somehow it made it to State College, where we had a rebuilt starter installed.
I have long believed that what is best about the USA is best seen and appreciated from the roads, not the Interstates of course, but the real roads. Roads like Beacon Street in Boston and Maine State Route 186, Acadia National Park Loop Road and US routes 1 & 2, Vermont State Route 108 and New York State Route 9A. The road takes you from town to town, in and around those towns, and across the countryside between them. And in New England the countryside is beautiful.
I hope that someday in the not too distant future the family can return to the region and once again bask in its beauty. Not that it would be the same. Just as I couldn’t go back to the cabin on the shores of Lake Utopia—not because we couldn’t find it, but because it isn’t 1967 anymore—our summertime 2002 New England adventure can never be relived. But it will long be remembered. And hopefully for a long, long time to come you’ll be able to find serenity in shimmering Mirror Lake and lushness in Vermont’s Green Mountains; raw splendor along Maine’s rugged, rocky coastline and relief in the cool clear water of Newfound Lake on a hot, hazy afternoon; and vibrancy in bustling tourist-towns like Stowe, Bar Harbor, and Newport and the perfect picnic spot in the sleepy village of Lunenburg with its old graveyard beside its white steepled churches.
The End
Notes:
· Create a list of the appendixes.
· Still need to get Sharon’s charge card statement
· The construction of the last sentence. The locations go back in time from when we visited them. The pattern is from soft to loud, loud to soft, loud to soft. I’m not sure this is the pattern I wanted, but the last clause stands apart from the rest in its construction and thus I thought it should conclude the piece.