But it seems that Baleful the intern had never been east of Illinois and was even thrilled with places like Ohio and was photographing every sign of a significant passage that she saw, stateline, county lines, rivers, oasis. At first found it strange but then I thought that it probably reflected contemporary travel.
Feeling sorry for her I diverted from the trip to my mum’s house and headed through downtown Baltimore – Camden Yards, the Horror, the Block, a real art school where that isn’t run by mcnutso scots and woeful welsh, the new buildings – she being a student of the wgas thought that the old prison in Baltimore with its turrets and security cameras was MICA.
Felt bad that all the good stuff wouldn’t come until late in the evening when we would finally be on the back roads heading toward St Stephen New Brunswick. She would have to content herself with the technological triumphs of modern man.
Until I missed the turnoff for the Delaware Memorial Bridge and headed up I-95 through Philadelphia.
Mustn’t worry about making time… mustn’t worry about making time was the mantra as we passes points of interest only important to me – the new Eagles and Phillies stadium. It was too smoggy to really see William Penn pissing on the city.
Wasn’t worried for I knew sooner or later I-95 would meet up with the Turnpike. The panic began when it Philadelphia was a memory and the bridges that led to New Jersey stopped appearing and trees were the dominant feature in the landscape.
Needing coffee turned off in Yardley and a quaint Starbucks downtown on the Main Street – ten minute parking on the river to pick up your vinte misto, deck overlooking the park.
The problem with long distance travel reared its head, the intern never being in the area wanting to stop and wander this magical place called the east, me finding things idiosyncratic worthy of a real camera and having to push on. I needed to get to Canada.
It did add some perspective.
NYC was all smogged out. I had to stop at the Vince Lombardi Oasis on the NJTP named – I reckon - after the famous coach of the Bayonne Packers. She didn’t marvel at the third world length queues for gasoline at the same oasis.
Manhattan was a blink at the height of the George Washington Bridge but she wasn’t fazed, Bronx was a wonder until the tailback.
Another one around entering, Connecticut and another in New Haven – home of another real art school.
The day was beginning to be a trial. I needed something to prove that we were progressing however slowly. It doesn’t have to be much. I expected that the East Coast would be easier as it takes relatively little time to cross a state. This was no longer sufficing as we were now in states that I found trying the last time I drove to the rock. One would think that endless urban area would be more interesting for sightseeing than endless trees but the urban areas brought a necessity to attend to the road more.
Then there it was my first T-Ho’s of the trip. Both mom and the intern were frightened by the squeal I let out seeing the logo amongst the squares for other places to eat in Meridan Connecticut. Visions of Timbits dancing in my head, I opted for an egg salad sandwich intead.
It was a quaint old one. Two people out front smoking leaning on their “PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN” bumper stickered car. Am sure they didn’t catch the double irony there.
It was enough to rise the spirits and get me through the state of Connecticut and almost Massachusetts.
Things were sailing along one more tailback but mostly I could see the miles diminishing. States were being left in the dust until, the torrential rains outside Lowell Massachusetts when once again blinkers came on and speeds slowed – not as bad as during the hail storm but slow enough to feel like we weren’t moving. Matters were made worse by not being able to discern anything out the window. It looked like we weren’t passing anything.
The skies clear and we see the New Hampshire border, it seems that up and down the East Coast borders are determined by different toll booths.
We now have the New Hampshire portion of the deluge. Which ends at the Maine border where my spirits are lifted by the giant Irving Oil sign – it doesn’t take much.
Remembering the last time in Maine when everything sort of ran out past Bangor – it still seems the case as there was a sign reading last 24 hour gasbar on the turnpike – made a pit stop at the Kennebunk Oasis – wanted to pee on a Bush hangout.
Delayed a bit looking at a map and the rains came. There was no question of making a dash for the machine – we watched one person come a mere ten feet and their clothed clung to them as if they had just swam the ocean.
Kept looking at the sky hoping for a break. There was none to be seen. Was hoping that it would let up a little as I had left the lights on in the machine. Kept fretting about the battery going until I noticed the parking lot filling with water. Some tyres were a good six inches down in the newly forming lake.
Made our way to the machine the way we would if we were in a sniper infested land, turned on the heat and drove off.
I think that could live in Bangor, it seems far enough away from things that I hate that it would ok. But this could also be that we had finally left the interstate and would now be snaking our way on back roads to Calais and the border.
Remembering the last time, it was best to eat here for who knows what would be open.
The county fair was on, places to eat didn’t seem promising – a generic “Chinese” restaurant, chain subway shops. While we were deciding – as no one could make a decision – we kept driving into town. A bar. No. backroads, moose country. Then Thai Siam right there in downtown Bangor, the bad taste look on the outside but since we thought that at least it isn’t Chinese so in we went.
They were closing in 15 minutes but no problem. I had the best Thai meal I can remember – no pad thai on this menu slews of curries, a page of vegetarian dishes that were steamed vegetables. Was quite please and again recharged for the final push – well almost – to Saint John.
After filling up at the Irving Oil and a couple of bad turns out of town we were on our way though twisting back unlit roads that truckers seemed to like to use. Most were in the opposite direction momentarily blinding me on curves. Baleful the intern, kept an eye out for moose I tried to stay on the highway. The trip was made easier dogging a speeding trucker – I reckoned he would get the moose instead of us. We watched the odometer count down to the border.
We slinked our way through Calais and after a delay at the border – a passport couldn’t be found nor any other picture I.D. we were through a pit stop a the Tim Hortons in St. Stephens where the RCMP were hanging out with the youth in town it being the only place open.
3AM we pull into Saint John I see a Comfort Inn from the highway negotiate the new city back to the Motel only to find out it only has smoking rooms.
- we don’t smoke does it really matter.
- I smoke and I can smell the smoke in those rooms.
The receptionists ring the Econolodge down the road. They have rooms. We take them and by 3:30 we are all tucked away safe and sound in the Maritimes.
I get up to at 7:30 to make sure that I get the free breakfast – only to find that my mother had been up for an hour.
No comments:
Post a Comment