I may be in danger of overloading on nostalgia. Anything that has a picture or reference to Brooklyn on it is now like heroin to me--I must have it. I bought two really overpriced pillows, one with a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge on it and another with a map of Brooklyn, a tray with the skyline of Brooklyn (compliments of Fishs Eddy), Brooklyn coasters, the list goes on and on. Can you tell I'm nesting? I'm nesting in a big way.
But maybe this is a good sign. The last time I left New York, I just packed up my things and left. There was no effort to collect things that would remind me of home. On Wednesday I went to the Brooklyn Bridge Park and took about 9,000 pictures of the bridge and Manhattan skyline, with the intent to frame the best ones. Hell, I even got a new subway map so I could have that in the new place, too. Maybe this is a sign that I really am saying goodbye for good. I've also been saying goodbye to all my friends here, and I've decided that although saying goodbye sucks, I also haven't had to buy my own drinks in two weeks. Every cloud has a silver lining.
Tomorrow I really say goodbye, at my going-away party, and then Sunday I once again hit the open road--this time with everything I own and two miserable cats in tow. I'll try to update from my sister's place in Gulfport, which I'm officially designating as the halfway point. I arrive in San Diego (God willing and the creeks don't rise) next Saturday morning. Everyone pray for me in the next week. Pray that my knee holds through multiple days of 16-hour driving, pray that the cats don't howl the whole way, pray that the truck doesn't break down somewhere in the middle of the night in West Texas, pray that none of my dishware or glassware breaks en route, pray that this really is a Cinderella story and I don't get suckerpunched like I did last time. Pray also that I can find a way to hook up my iPod to the moving truck, because I don't relish the thought of having to depend on the radio all the way there.
Which reminds me--I should go trim the cats' claws so I don't end up in San Diego in small pieces...
Friday, August 28, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Ohio; and moving update
I just spent six days in Ohio with John's family, and I have to say, they are without a doubt the most entertaining and laidback family I've ever experienced. Now, when my extended family gets together, we can all get rowdy. Even my dad loosens up a little then. But I can't relax completely around them, perhaps because it's my own family. I always feel like I'm being judged, like I have to watch my language, and not talk about sex or politics or religion. Perhaps that's the downside of hanging out with your parents as an adult--they never really see you as an adult, and you never really feel like one.
But in Ohio, I was welcomed completely. They made me feel like I was already part of the family, and no one judged me for telling dirty jokes or swearing. In fact, I spent the better part of the six days sitting around the pool drinking beer, listening to other people tell dirty jokes and swear, so of course I fit right in. No one gave me disapproving glares when John and I disappeared for long stretches of time or when I was drawn into a discussion of the finer points of wheat whiskey. There's something to be said for being able to relax completely with a group of likeminded people.
Moving preparations continue apace. I'm still nervous about the long drive out with the cats, but what the hell. I just drove 19,000 miles, I can do this, too. I've officially found a replacement roommate, finished off the last of the liquor cabinet, and am in the process of saying goodbye to all my friends.
It's funny--almost as soon as I started the road trip, I could turn around and watch my old life cracking off in big pieces. It's a scary process to molt like that, but it's also transformational. It's very rare that I feel like I'm doing the right thing, as I'm doing it. My inner monologue of doubt and fear usually drowns that out. Which is funny, because when I was at home last time, my dad told me he felt like he had to worry extra about me because I was so fearless. I almost laughed out loud--I've never thought of myself as fearless. Rash maybe, occasionally impetuous, but not fearless. So this is my opportunity to live fearlessly, to enjoy my decisions and not constantly overanalyze them. It almost makes me want to unpack all my kitchen gear and whip up something big and complicated to celebrate.
But in Ohio, I was welcomed completely. They made me feel like I was already part of the family, and no one judged me for telling dirty jokes or swearing. In fact, I spent the better part of the six days sitting around the pool drinking beer, listening to other people tell dirty jokes and swear, so of course I fit right in. No one gave me disapproving glares when John and I disappeared for long stretches of time or when I was drawn into a discussion of the finer points of wheat whiskey. There's something to be said for being able to relax completely with a group of likeminded people.
Moving preparations continue apace. I'm still nervous about the long drive out with the cats, but what the hell. I just drove 19,000 miles, I can do this, too. I've officially found a replacement roommate, finished off the last of the liquor cabinet, and am in the process of saying goodbye to all my friends.
It's funny--almost as soon as I started the road trip, I could turn around and watch my old life cracking off in big pieces. It's a scary process to molt like that, but it's also transformational. It's very rare that I feel like I'm doing the right thing, as I'm doing it. My inner monologue of doubt and fear usually drowns that out. Which is funny, because when I was at home last time, my dad told me he felt like he had to worry extra about me because I was so fearless. I almost laughed out loud--I've never thought of myself as fearless. Rash maybe, occasionally impetuous, but not fearless. So this is my opportunity to live fearlessly, to enjoy my decisions and not constantly overanalyze them. It almost makes me want to unpack all my kitchen gear and whip up something big and complicated to celebrate.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
The adventure continues
I still feel like I'm on the road trip, in a way. Home no longer feels like home, it just feels like the place where all my stuff is. And now all my stuff is packed up, so I might as well still be living out of my car--the vast majority of everything I own is now inaccessible. It took about four days to do a thorough purge and then pack everything, which really is a very short amount of time. When I first started, I thought it would take forever, but I guess I don't have as much stuff as I thought. It helped that most of my wardrobe and book collection went the way of the dinosaurs.
So now I'm concentrating on the intangibles of the moving process--hiring a truck, changing my address, sending out resumes. I mapped out my moving process, which involves a night in Virginia, a night or two with my sister in Mississippi, and then barreling across West Texas on I-10. I'm terrified of leaving the moving van overnight at a cheap motel while I sleep (that just screams "steal me, everything I own is in the back") so I think I will drive at night and sleep at a cheap motel during the day. I'm hoping that will eliminate most of the temptation for thieves. My plan is to make it to El Paso from Gulfport (16 hours), sleep for 8 hours, then make it the rest of the way to San Diego (11 hours) in time for move-in day on September 5. I will be a cranky mess on September 5, but I also want to cut down as much as possible on travel time for the cats. They'll be a cranky mess too.
So now I'm concentrating on the intangibles of the moving process--hiring a truck, changing my address, sending out resumes. I mapped out my moving process, which involves a night in Virginia, a night or two with my sister in Mississippi, and then barreling across West Texas on I-10. I'm terrified of leaving the moving van overnight at a cheap motel while I sleep (that just screams "steal me, everything I own is in the back") so I think I will drive at night and sleep at a cheap motel during the day. I'm hoping that will eliminate most of the temptation for thieves. My plan is to make it to El Paso from Gulfport (16 hours), sleep for 8 hours, then make it the rest of the way to San Diego (11 hours) in time for move-in day on September 5. I will be a cranky mess on September 5, but I also want to cut down as much as possible on travel time for the cats. They'll be a cranky mess too.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Home isn't
Home doesn't feel like home anymore. It just feels like the place where all my stuff is. That's to be expected, I guess, since I haven't lived here for nine weeks. But I didn't expect to feel quite so unmoored.
I've been purging, and what a purge it's been. At least 65% of my book collection and roughly 80% of my wardrobe is now gone, donated to the Salvation Army or sold off on various online outlets. (Those of you who knew my former book collection, I'm down to about 10% of the all-time high.) If I had any residual doubts about moving to California, they disappeared the instant I jettisoned all the wool kneesocks. Goodbye forever, 14 pairs of wool kneesocks! See ya, 19 pairs of flannel-lined dress pants! Sayonara, 27 pairs of black tights! Not to mention the silk long johns, the boots, the gloves, the sweaters...I didn't realize how extensive my winter wardrobe had gotten until I got rid of most of it. There's not much wardrobe left now, but that's okay. Even though I'll be driving a moving van cross-country, I still want there to be as little as possible inside the moving van. I'm stripping it all down to the bare essentials.
I can't bring myself to get rid of my cashmere sweaters, though. If anyone is willing to give them a good home and love them them the way I loved them, let me know. And the herbs I planted in the backyard grew like wildfire while I was gone. It pains me to leave them behind, too, but I'm trying to console myself with visions of basil growing year-round in Cali.
All this purging, though, and I haven't started packing yet. Maybe that's why I still don't feel productive.
I've been purging, and what a purge it's been. At least 65% of my book collection and roughly 80% of my wardrobe is now gone, donated to the Salvation Army or sold off on various online outlets. (Those of you who knew my former book collection, I'm down to about 10% of the all-time high.) If I had any residual doubts about moving to California, they disappeared the instant I jettisoned all the wool kneesocks. Goodbye forever, 14 pairs of wool kneesocks! See ya, 19 pairs of flannel-lined dress pants! Sayonara, 27 pairs of black tights! Not to mention the silk long johns, the boots, the gloves, the sweaters...I didn't realize how extensive my winter wardrobe had gotten until I got rid of most of it. There's not much wardrobe left now, but that's okay. Even though I'll be driving a moving van cross-country, I still want there to be as little as possible inside the moving van. I'm stripping it all down to the bare essentials.
I can't bring myself to get rid of my cashmere sweaters, though. If anyone is willing to give them a good home and love them them the way I loved them, let me know. And the herbs I planted in the backyard grew like wildfire while I was gone. It pains me to leave them behind, too, but I'm trying to console myself with visions of basil growing year-round in Cali.
All this purging, though, and I haven't started packing yet. Maybe that's why I still don't feel productive.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
"Tramps like us, baby, we were born to run."
It’s been an amazing journey. I burned through every last red cent I owned in the world, and I am now officially flat broke, but it was worth every penny. This trip was, without a doubt, the best thing I’ve ever done (and that includes not getting married when I was 21). Before I left, I was miserable. Unemployed, single, worried about money, going through some sort of midlife crisis, dealing with unexpected emotional fallout from my last relationship, and stuck in a variety of ruts. I found myself thinking things like, “I just have to wait until 4:00, that’s when the bar opens, then I’ll have something to do.” Never a good sign.
Now? I’m happier than I can ever remember being. And I finally feel like myself. I feel present in my own life, doing exactly what it is I’m meant to be doing. I’m completely head over heels in love with a man who reciprocates that feeling totally, who is already more open and honest with me than—-well, anyone I’ve ever dated. I’ve made some amazing friends on the road, reconnected with many old friends, and learned that I’m not the socially maladjusted awkward lump I so often felt like in New York. And I finally scratched that deep, burning wanderlust itch that one-week vacations just weren’t scratching. Granted, I didn’t get to explore anything really in depth, I just didn’t have the time. But that was never the point. The whole point of this trip was always the Greatest Hits of America. And even the worst days, when I was logging 600 or 700 miles and not seeing anything worthwhile, were infinitely better than being stuck in an office.
So...things I’ve learned:
1. Pee when you can. This is absolutely Rule #1 of Successful Road-Tripping. If there is a flush toilet within 500 feet of you, use it—even if you don’t think you need to. Because you do.
2. Do not attempt to eat lunch out of your lap unless you are wearing black pants.
3. Baked-on windshield bug goo is permanent and cannot be removed even with a sledgehammer. Why can’t they build planes out of this?
4. You have more friends than you think.
5. This is a big damn country.
6. If you are cranky and tense, stop. Get out of the car. Eat something. Reassess.
7. It is advisable to bring a fleece—-and not wear flip-flops—-to any national park which features the word “Glacier.”
8. RV owners are actually evil alien warlords in disguise, intent on disrupting normal traffic patterns so that they can take over the world. Avoid all RVs at all costs. I’ve started flipping them off just on general principle.
9. A sign saying, “Caution: Rough Road Ahead” is probably accurate.
10. Cheap hotels offer far more for your dollar than expensive hotels. A $40 room at the Motel 6 will get me a refrigerator, microwave, coffeepot, wi-fi, free breakfast, and a bunch of cable channels. Plus laundry facilities. A $600 room in Vegas—-or even a $200 room at the W in Chicago—-gets me a bathrobe. That’s it. An internet connection is $15 a day, I get three cable channels, and just try getting a coffeepot. Why, God? Why?
I’ve become an expert at doing things other than driving, while driving. Which is very, very bad. Kids, do not try this at home. But I can now drive and eat, drink, program the GPS, switch the GPS charger with the phone charger, fiddle with the iPod/radio, make phone calls, text (VERY bad, I know, but I never did it when there was another car within half a mile of me), put things in the backseat, get things out of the backseat, read a map, get stains out of my shirt and/or pants, read guidebooks, put on makeup, tweeze my eyebrows, file my nails, put a jacket on, take a jacket off, floss...well, you get the idea.
I’ve also perfected my karaoke skills (one of the many benefits of road-tripping alone) and can now rock the house to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’,” The Eagles’ “Already Gone,” Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run,” Cowboy Junkies’ “Miles From Our Home,” and Van Halen’s “Why Can’t This Be Love.” Lest you think my musical tastes completely antiquated, I’ve also been working on Jay-Z’s “Dirt Off Your Shoulder,” Eminem’s “Lose Yourself,” Gorillaz’ “Dare,” and The Killers’ “Mr. Brightside.” I can do a pretty decent air-guitar (while driving) version of AC/DC’s “For Those About to Rock (We Salute You),” and I discovered that Smashing Pumpkins makes for surprisingly good road trip music.
Other songs included on my iPod “Road Trip” playlist:
“Running on Empty,” Jackson Browne
“Against the Wind,” Bob Seger
“Here I Go Again,” Whitesnake
“Go Your Own Way,” Fleetwood Mac
“America,” Simon and Garfunkel
“Dirt Road Blues,” Bob Dylan
“On the Road Again,” Canned Heat
“Sweet Virginia,” Rolling Stones
“Where the Streets Have No Name,” U2
“Into the Great Wide Open,” Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
“Hit the Road, Jack,” Ray Charles
“Don’t Look Back,” Boston
“Ramblin’ Man,” Allman Brothers
“Free,” Concrete Blonde
“Freedom,” George Michael
“Freedom,” Jimi Hendrix
“In A Big Country,” Big Country
And a little summation:
Most Beautiful Sights:
1. Grand Tetons, Wyoming
2. Big Sur, California
3. Sunset over Badlands, South Dakota
4. Sunrise over Malibu, California
5. Sunrise over Monument Valley, Utah. Actually, Utah in general.
6. Atlantic Ocean at night, Massachusetts
7. Early morning fog in Glacier National Park, Montana
8. Green Mountains of Vermont/White Mountains of New Hampshire
9. Fourth of July fireworks over La Jolla Beach/Pacific Ocean, California
10. The NYC skyline. Home.
Favorite places:
1. Southern California
2. Chicago
3. Montana/Wyoming
4. Seattle/Vancouver
5. Utah
Worst Roads:
1. California
2. Maine
3. Texas
4. Any state which touches a Great Lake.
Most Worthless States:
1. Maine
2. Yellowstone (not a state, I know, but you can definitely skip it)
3. Wisconsin
4. Iowa
5. North Carolina
6. Michigan
7. Alabama
Favorite Stretch of Driving:
Interstate 15 south, from Montana into Idaho and then from Salt Lake City south
And should you be tempted to do this yourself:
Good Things to Have in Your Car:
1. Road food. Beef jerky, granola bars, dried fruit, trail mix, etc. Also bottled water, tea, and powdered Gatorade for hangovers. A travel mug and a cooler.
2. GPS, iPod and iPhone. Chargers for all the above.
3. Road atlas and maps.
4. Camera.
5. Sunscreen.
6. Flashlight and umbrella.
7. Tissues and paper towels.
8. One of those windshield visor things that keeps your car from overheating.
9. Advil, chewable Pepto, chewable fiber, and those sticky heating pad things you wear all day. Great for tense shoulders and hips.
10. Zagats’ “Best Restaurants in America” 2009.
11. Cash for tolls and emergency cash, plus quarters for laundry.
Things to Pack
All of the above, plus:
1. Two weeks’ worth of clothes. Shorts, tank tops, t-shirts. A pair of jeans for when it gets chilly at night. Flip-flops, tennis shoes, one nice pair of shoes. Bathing suit and towel. Fleece. Laundry detergent. A hat.
2. Laptop.
3. Passport.
4. American Express card.
5. Books, DVDs (to watch on your laptop), a deck of cards.
6. Sleeping bag, pillow, beach chair, air mattress, camping supplies.
7. Assorted toiletries—shampoo, conditioner, lotion, deodorant, etc.—plus backups of each thing. Also basic medical supplies—Band-Aids, Ace bandage, Neosporin, etc. And extra sunscreen.
8. Something to distribute to your hosts. I couldn’t sleep on someone’s sofa empty-handed; I usually brought a nice bottle of wine, and kept a case or two of assorted wine for such purposes. (Also for my own drinking pleasure, of course.) Don't forget corkscrew and bottle opener.
The things I absolutely, positively could not have lived without: GPS, iPhone, camera and my American Express card. And sunscreen. Lots and lots of sunscreen.
Final mileage logged: a shade over 19,000.
Now? I’m happier than I can ever remember being. And I finally feel like myself. I feel present in my own life, doing exactly what it is I’m meant to be doing. I’m completely head over heels in love with a man who reciprocates that feeling totally, who is already more open and honest with me than—-well, anyone I’ve ever dated. I’ve made some amazing friends on the road, reconnected with many old friends, and learned that I’m not the socially maladjusted awkward lump I so often felt like in New York. And I finally scratched that deep, burning wanderlust itch that one-week vacations just weren’t scratching. Granted, I didn’t get to explore anything really in depth, I just didn’t have the time. But that was never the point. The whole point of this trip was always the Greatest Hits of America. And even the worst days, when I was logging 600 or 700 miles and not seeing anything worthwhile, were infinitely better than being stuck in an office.
So...things I’ve learned:
1. Pee when you can. This is absolutely Rule #1 of Successful Road-Tripping. If there is a flush toilet within 500 feet of you, use it—even if you don’t think you need to. Because you do.
2. Do not attempt to eat lunch out of your lap unless you are wearing black pants.
3. Baked-on windshield bug goo is permanent and cannot be removed even with a sledgehammer. Why can’t they build planes out of this?
4. You have more friends than you think.
5. This is a big damn country.
6. If you are cranky and tense, stop. Get out of the car. Eat something. Reassess.
7. It is advisable to bring a fleece—-and not wear flip-flops—-to any national park which features the word “Glacier.”
8. RV owners are actually evil alien warlords in disguise, intent on disrupting normal traffic patterns so that they can take over the world. Avoid all RVs at all costs. I’ve started flipping them off just on general principle.
9. A sign saying, “Caution: Rough Road Ahead” is probably accurate.
10. Cheap hotels offer far more for your dollar than expensive hotels. A $40 room at the Motel 6 will get me a refrigerator, microwave, coffeepot, wi-fi, free breakfast, and a bunch of cable channels. Plus laundry facilities. A $600 room in Vegas—-or even a $200 room at the W in Chicago—-gets me a bathrobe. That’s it. An internet connection is $15 a day, I get three cable channels, and just try getting a coffeepot. Why, God? Why?
I’ve become an expert at doing things other than driving, while driving. Which is very, very bad. Kids, do not try this at home. But I can now drive and eat, drink, program the GPS, switch the GPS charger with the phone charger, fiddle with the iPod/radio, make phone calls, text (VERY bad, I know, but I never did it when there was another car within half a mile of me), put things in the backseat, get things out of the backseat, read a map, get stains out of my shirt and/or pants, read guidebooks, put on makeup, tweeze my eyebrows, file my nails, put a jacket on, take a jacket off, floss...well, you get the idea.
I’ve also perfected my karaoke skills (one of the many benefits of road-tripping alone) and can now rock the house to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’,” The Eagles’ “Already Gone,” Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run,” Cowboy Junkies’ “Miles From Our Home,” and Van Halen’s “Why Can’t This Be Love.” Lest you think my musical tastes completely antiquated, I’ve also been working on Jay-Z’s “Dirt Off Your Shoulder,” Eminem’s “Lose Yourself,” Gorillaz’ “Dare,” and The Killers’ “Mr. Brightside.” I can do a pretty decent air-guitar (while driving) version of AC/DC’s “For Those About to Rock (We Salute You),” and I discovered that Smashing Pumpkins makes for surprisingly good road trip music.
Other songs included on my iPod “Road Trip” playlist:
“Running on Empty,” Jackson Browne
“Against the Wind,” Bob Seger
“Here I Go Again,” Whitesnake
“Go Your Own Way,” Fleetwood Mac
“America,” Simon and Garfunkel
“Dirt Road Blues,” Bob Dylan
“On the Road Again,” Canned Heat
“Sweet Virginia,” Rolling Stones
“Where the Streets Have No Name,” U2
“Into the Great Wide Open,” Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
“Hit the Road, Jack,” Ray Charles
“Don’t Look Back,” Boston
“Ramblin’ Man,” Allman Brothers
“Free,” Concrete Blonde
“Freedom,” George Michael
“Freedom,” Jimi Hendrix
“In A Big Country,” Big Country
And a little summation:
Most Beautiful Sights:
1. Grand Tetons, Wyoming
2. Big Sur, California
3. Sunset over Badlands, South Dakota
4. Sunrise over Malibu, California
5. Sunrise over Monument Valley, Utah. Actually, Utah in general.
6. Atlantic Ocean at night, Massachusetts
7. Early morning fog in Glacier National Park, Montana
8. Green Mountains of Vermont/White Mountains of New Hampshire
9. Fourth of July fireworks over La Jolla Beach/Pacific Ocean, California
10. The NYC skyline. Home.
Favorite places:
1. Southern California
2. Chicago
3. Montana/Wyoming
4. Seattle/Vancouver
5. Utah
Worst Roads:
1. California
2. Maine
3. Texas
4. Any state which touches a Great Lake.
Most Worthless States:
1. Maine
2. Yellowstone (not a state, I know, but you can definitely skip it)
3. Wisconsin
4. Iowa
5. North Carolina
6. Michigan
7. Alabama
Favorite Stretch of Driving:
Interstate 15 south, from Montana into Idaho and then from Salt Lake City south
And should you be tempted to do this yourself:
Good Things to Have in Your Car:
1. Road food. Beef jerky, granola bars, dried fruit, trail mix, etc. Also bottled water, tea, and powdered Gatorade for hangovers. A travel mug and a cooler.
2. GPS, iPod and iPhone. Chargers for all the above.
3. Road atlas and maps.
4. Camera.
5. Sunscreen.
6. Flashlight and umbrella.
7. Tissues and paper towels.
8. One of those windshield visor things that keeps your car from overheating.
9. Advil, chewable Pepto, chewable fiber, and those sticky heating pad things you wear all day. Great for tense shoulders and hips.
10. Zagats’ “Best Restaurants in America” 2009.
11. Cash for tolls and emergency cash, plus quarters for laundry.
Things to Pack
All of the above, plus:
1. Two weeks’ worth of clothes. Shorts, tank tops, t-shirts. A pair of jeans for when it gets chilly at night. Flip-flops, tennis shoes, one nice pair of shoes. Bathing suit and towel. Fleece. Laundry detergent. A hat.
2. Laptop.
3. Passport.
4. American Express card.
5. Books, DVDs (to watch on your laptop), a deck of cards.
6. Sleeping bag, pillow, beach chair, air mattress, camping supplies.
7. Assorted toiletries—shampoo, conditioner, lotion, deodorant, etc.—plus backups of each thing. Also basic medical supplies—Band-Aids, Ace bandage, Neosporin, etc. And extra sunscreen.
8. Something to distribute to your hosts. I couldn’t sleep on someone’s sofa empty-handed; I usually brought a nice bottle of wine, and kept a case or two of assorted wine for such purposes. (Also for my own drinking pleasure, of course.) Don't forget corkscrew and bottle opener.
The things I absolutely, positively could not have lived without: GPS, iPhone, camera and my American Express card. And sunscreen. Lots and lots of sunscreen.
Final mileage logged: a shade over 19,000.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
New England
Vermont and New Hampshire definintely have character, even while it's pouring. Maine--not so much. It poured all the way from Burlington to the Maine-New Hampshire border, and then from the New Hampshire-Massachusetts border into Boston. Once I left New York to go on this road trip, it rained exactly four times. Savannah, Santa Fe, Seattle, and Denver. That's it, until I hit Missouri. Then it started raining, torrentially, every other day. I'm tired of rain. The good news is that all the rain has washed some the bug collection off the front of my car.
Driving through the Green Mountains in Vermont and then the White Mountains in New Hampshire was pretty neat, even in the rain. I'm sure it would have been spectacular on a nice day. I had high hopes for Maine, but...ew. Small-town Vermont and New Hampshire was quaint; small-town Maine was just small. The roads were dreadful, I saw no particularly interesting scenery, and once I got to Portland, I discovered that Maine does not cherish its waterfront. I had visions of finding a beach shack, eating a lobster roll, and taking pictures of lighthouses. Now, such a thing may exist somewhere in Maine. But from Portland south, the waterfront is all industrial. A city that lets its waterfront go industrial is not an interesting city, and certainly not a cultural city. The whole part of the state I saw was backwoods and boring. As far as I can tell, the only good things Maine ever produced were lobster and Stephen King.
So I headed south, to Boston, to see an old friend. We spent the night in Gloucester in a beach house, where I got delightfully relaxed. We walked along the beach at night and listened to the waves in the moonlight. It was the perfect end to the road trip.
Well, not exactly the end--the next morning I got up and drove 11 hours to Roanoke, VA. The last long-haul stretch of driving. I drove right past New York. Hello, New York! My only lasting love affair. And God bless the drivers on I-95. From mid-Connecticut south, people actually knew how to drive. Everyone, and I mean everyone, drove 85, used turn signals correctly, and stayed out of the left lane except while passing. It was glorious. At one point the entire road zoomed by a cop (me included), going 85 in a 55. He never even blinked. No one bothered to brake. Like I said, God bless people who can actually drive. I could go fast and not have to worry about some yahoo in an RV pulling onto the Cross-Bronx Expressway. Well, I shaved at least 45 minutes off my arrival time in that stretch, then I hit Jersey, and it was all downhill from there. And 81 is officially one of the worst interstates I've driven on. Too much truck traffic and too many yahoos driving slowly in the left lane.
I was hoping to get some good relaxing in, on this, my final night before I head to my parents' house to pick up my cats. I did, somewhat, but I'm also trying to puzzle out a particular dilemma that's reared its head in the last couple of days. I thought I'd made a decision and put the dilemma to bed, but the decision continues to bother me, which is probably a sign it's the wrong one. Well, I suppose I should get used to that. Now that the road trip is over, I have to start thinking and living in the real world again. Sigh.
Yes, folks. It's OVER. And I'll be spending the next couple of days in the technological dead zone that is my parents' house, so don't expect any blog posts for a bit. But I'll be working on the "What I've Learned," etc., while I bond with my cats.
Driving through the Green Mountains in Vermont and then the White Mountains in New Hampshire was pretty neat, even in the rain. I'm sure it would have been spectacular on a nice day. I had high hopes for Maine, but...ew. Small-town Vermont and New Hampshire was quaint; small-town Maine was just small. The roads were dreadful, I saw no particularly interesting scenery, and once I got to Portland, I discovered that Maine does not cherish its waterfront. I had visions of finding a beach shack, eating a lobster roll, and taking pictures of lighthouses. Now, such a thing may exist somewhere in Maine. But from Portland south, the waterfront is all industrial. A city that lets its waterfront go industrial is not an interesting city, and certainly not a cultural city. The whole part of the state I saw was backwoods and boring. As far as I can tell, the only good things Maine ever produced were lobster and Stephen King.
So I headed south, to Boston, to see an old friend. We spent the night in Gloucester in a beach house, where I got delightfully relaxed. We walked along the beach at night and listened to the waves in the moonlight. It was the perfect end to the road trip.
Well, not exactly the end--the next morning I got up and drove 11 hours to Roanoke, VA. The last long-haul stretch of driving. I drove right past New York. Hello, New York! My only lasting love affair. And God bless the drivers on I-95. From mid-Connecticut south, people actually knew how to drive. Everyone, and I mean everyone, drove 85, used turn signals correctly, and stayed out of the left lane except while passing. It was glorious. At one point the entire road zoomed by a cop (me included), going 85 in a 55. He never even blinked. No one bothered to brake. Like I said, God bless people who can actually drive. I could go fast and not have to worry about some yahoo in an RV pulling onto the Cross-Bronx Expressway. Well, I shaved at least 45 minutes off my arrival time in that stretch, then I hit Jersey, and it was all downhill from there. And 81 is officially one of the worst interstates I've driven on. Too much truck traffic and too many yahoos driving slowly in the left lane.
I was hoping to get some good relaxing in, on this, my final night before I head to my parents' house to pick up my cats. I did, somewhat, but I'm also trying to puzzle out a particular dilemma that's reared its head in the last couple of days. I thought I'd made a decision and put the dilemma to bed, but the decision continues to bother me, which is probably a sign it's the wrong one. Well, I suppose I should get used to that. Now that the road trip is over, I have to start thinking and living in the real world again. Sigh.
Yes, folks. It's OVER. And I'll be spending the next couple of days in the technological dead zone that is my parents' house, so don't expect any blog posts for a bit. But I'll be working on the "What I've Learned," etc., while I bond with my cats.
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