There And Back Again

Some interesting roadtrip notes from a blogger who enjoys The Art of the Roadtrip and married someone equally as roadworthy:

We were an hour into the trip, going over the Collar City Bridge in Troy, NY, when something deep in the bowels of the Saab went pa-toink, and the idiot lights made the dash look like the USS Enterprise on red alert. We coasted down into Watervliet, NY, a town which can boast of a horde of auto service places right off the exit there in their little hamlet under the Thruway.

If the belt had lasted just a few more hours, we'd have crapped out in the middle of nowhere on I-71 in Ohio, miles from the nearest anything.

We were fortunate, though, and were able to drop it off with the good people at East Coast Tire and Auto, walk a few blocks to Bob's Diner, eat a surprisingly tasty club sandwich, drink a pretty decent cup of coffee, and come back an hour later to find it fixed. Two hours and $159 later (we replaced all four belts), we were back on The Way West. Elsewise, the Swedemobile did pretty well throughout 2,237 road miles.

This was our first multi-day roadtrip involving the passing of multiple Waffle Houses wherein the 24-hour scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, topped, and diced goodness of America's Favorite Hash Browns was not enjoyed. Instead, we ended up at the Steak & Shake, which also boasts of 24-hour goodness, more along the burger, fries, chili, and shake-type variety.

It's an interesting head-to-head road food comparison. The Waffle House is cheaper, but S&S's food is better. For the non-breakfast items, anyway. But we had a REALLY bad cup of WH coffee at a quick pit stop outside of Mansfield, Ohio, turning us off to the place for the rest of the trip. Punishment, if you will. We're vindictive when you screw with our coffee.

Besides, we ate in on Thursday and Friday. Whoo boy, did we eat. Our Thanksgiving had a soul food twist out there in the Midwest; Shark-Fu (to whom's blog I link over there on the right) whipped up the cornbread and collard greens to go with the fabulous bird and ham and fixin's. AND she made breakfast for everybody. Sister C-Money provided magical sweet potato pie and oatmeal cookies.

We ate nonstop for two days. Ah, Thanksgiving. Doing for gluttony what St. Patrick's Day has been doing for drinking, since 1863.

It was the first day of buck hunting season in Pennsylvania on Monday. We got the last room at the Best Western in Bedford (southwest PA, about an hour and change east of Wheeling, West Virginia) on Sunday night around 1:30am. The parking lot was crammed with pickup trucks, presumably owned by armed men with a serious grudge against the local male white-tailed deer population. Not a place where you'd want to start crap with random dudes hanging around the bar.

During the day Monday, the state was deserted. It seemed that most of the Solid Men of the Commonwealth of Pennyslvania were parking their trucks by the side of the road, wearing orange hats, and fixin' to kill vicious leaf-eating forest animals. Lord knows why they cut the things heads off and pay money to set up em to nail them onto walls. I'm not saying hunting deer is easy, and I'm foregoing ALL commentary on the "we have to thin the herd" concept, but really, is there that much pride to be taken in the act of finding a deer in the woods and then not missing it with a couple blasts from a 12-gauge shotgun or a laser-sighted .30-06?


Heading back to NYC tomorrow night for a day in the office on Friday. An evening around the old neighborhood, a day full of meetings, and back again for a weekend of house-related stuff. Maybe I can work off a few slices of sweet potato pie in the process. Or maybe I'll just buy pants in the next size up.

It's good to be back.