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.