Wait! One more thing: lessons learned

I knew I'd forget something. Happens all the time.

Especially for my child-free friends, DO NOT travel when school is out. This trip was so easy compared to driving out West to Mount Rushmore in the late spring. Even though I was sick and tired, it was easier than constantly dueling with entitled parents and their brats. I think we saw, like, four kids, and interacted with none of them, and therefore, not with their breeders either. Fall is great and probably early spring. We will not travel to child-centric destinations any more in general, but certainly not in summer. Other good alternatives are cruises for adults only, such as, but not limited to, Olivia Vacations, which are for women over 18 only. Check out Olivia.com

We liked the convenience of Red Roof Inns, for the most part, but the diceiness (Is that a word?) of their clientele and run-down condition of many of their properties makes us shy from using them again. What we figured out to do, however, is call any hotel we're interested in, in advance, to make sure pet families are housed on the first floor reasonably close to the back door. We can easily manage one cartload of crap now that we've greatly cut down on all the stuff we drag with us. Another option is to go to an area and look at some hotels before checking in, to see if they accept pets, have a drive-up arrangement, and have vacancies. But we really don't like to be quite that spontaneous. especially Joyce! So we will be taking the middle path unless we already know about a good Red Roof Inn, like Brunswick or Troutville. We seriously wish MOTELS would start a loose association and web-site of their own so we can find those drive-ups in advance. I once suggested to Hotels.com that they show entry arrangements for all hotels, but they blew me off. We don't reserve through them anymore, anyway. We have been quite disappointed with their responses to our concerns in the past, and they want all the money up front. Use them to locate hotels; we still do, but then go to the site for that hotel, or its chain.

As for private rentals, if you've read this blog at all (previous trips included), you know they run the gamut, and seem to have few, if any regulations. So if you spot a place you like, and can't get all the info you need from the site, call them, armed with a list of questions about things they don't come right out and show you, like how narrow a bathroom is, or what the entry to the building is like (stairs, railings, loose stones, etc.) Ask about specific things that are important to YOU, like if the ice-maker works, or if they provide dishwasher detergent. It may be they can fix a lot of stuff before you arrive, that they just didn't think of before.

Finally, if you're not used to having someone up in your face all day, or you're a loner, private person, bad sleeper, whatever, consider going the one adult per room route. You can hang out together as much or as little as you want, and your routines and personal stuff don't crowd either of you. I'm just saying, I think it had more to do with the success of the trip than just saving me from her snoring, and her from my bitching. We each got all the sleep we neeeded, that's for sure.

So as I said in my previous entry, this blog will return in the spring when I get back from the Philippines. We are going on a battlefield tour of the Bataan Peninsula to see where my Uncle Karl fought, was captured, and died, and to visit his grave, which the Army has just now identified for the first time in 70-plus years! And yes, they did know all along, but somehow "forgot" to tell anyone. Joyce will stay home with the dogs, but I will go with my aunt and cousins. Should be quite the adventure!

Road Rash

We booked in advance for two nights in Troutville because we knew the previous day would be exhausting, and it was, and Sunday, we didn’t go anywhere but the pool. We watched football all day except for walks with the dogs (enough leaves were now gone that we could see the elusive waterfall, but not photograph it) and we ordered pizza in so as not to miss any games. The next day, Monday, we drove to Columbia, South Carolina, for one night. That darned rash was bothering me something fierce. The Red Roof Inn was on a par with the other bad ones: no ice buckets, malfunctioning machines, dicey-looking clientele. But as always, the staff was very nice.

The morning we were to leave Columbia I showed Joyce my rash. Lucky for you, no pictures! She went ballistic. I told her I could stand it if I could stay on Benadryl all day, but she would have to drive. She agreed, and we drove to the Red Roof in Brunswick, Georgia, which turned out to be such a short trip that we were able to get directions and go immediately to a walk-in clinic nearby only to discover I had a bad staph infection, possibly even MRSA, but the doctor didn't want to fool with a culture because, as he said, he'd treat it the same either way. Off to a local pharmacy for heavy antibiotics, back to the hotel and collapse. Joyce took care of EVERY damned thing except Nick's meds. This Red Roof was among the best, very pretty grounds, excellent location, huge comfy rooms. Obviously it had belonged to another chain before. And best of all, the previous guest left behind four ice-cold Yuenglings in my fridge. They went well with the antibiotics and a pizza.

Next day Joyce drove us all the way home. After another round of antibiotics two weeks later, I was finally rid of the damned thing, and this was good because just a few days ago, we had a real bad scare thinking Joyce had broken her hip. Just a real bad back sprain, though, and she will recover in time. For now, I am doing EVERY damned thing to pay her back for a month spent in bed (yup, all of November).

I'm going to the Philippines in April, so when I get back from that, I'll be back here with new blogs.

Merry Christmas! Happy Holy-Days! Happy Kwanzaa! Happy New Year!

South for Troutville

Joyce insisted we get up early and get on the road because we would be going such a long way, for us: 300 miles. And we had to pack Van O’White first, which meant the night before, we put everything in the living room, just inside the front door. I would then go get the van and drive it down, park illegally right in front, and we would load. And the night before, Joyce had emptied and dried the large cooler, then filled it up with all our fragile prizes. The little cooler would suffice for those few days on the road.

Here’s the last picture from our “neighborhood.” Someone has done a hell of a job on this Victorian restoration, which we callled the Queen Bee. It would be great if the rest of the neighborhood would catch up, but we’ll never know. We had to be out no later than ten, leaving a load of laundry going in the washer, and having swept the floor, or they would charge us a fee. On TOP of their outrageous prices. So the chances we would return there are slim to none, especially since we discovered a Red Roof Inn right down the road. Just kidding, but there are plenty of other places to stay.

Fortunately every inch of the way was interstate, including a stretch of Pennsylvania Turnpike, which apparently hasn't been re-surfaced since my mother first drove on it in the 60s. Luckily that was the short part. And there were lots of great leaves but also lots of traffic and no easy or safe way to pull over for pictures. Being as tired as we were, we wanted to keep stops to a minimum so we could rest up as much as possible in our hotel every night. We got in well before dark and went to the same Cracker Barrel we ate in two weeks earlier. Guess what. On Saturday night, they're not nearly as efficient as midweek or lunch hours. I like Cracker Barrel but now I know better about weekends.

And so to bed.

Get your milk glass hens on nest while supplies last!

This was our last “real” day in the area, because we would need Friday to prepare to leave. This of course was made more difficult by the fact that we couldn’t pack any of Van O’White in advance because of the bad neighborhood. We could only put in a few things we could stand to lose, like the nylon cage and the bag of shit bags. But never mind that, Thursday was reserved entirely for antiquing. We drove to the far end this time and worked our way back. We probably went in and out of half a dozen places. I found some old Hardy Boys books (happy memories from childhood) but nothing different in vintage glass until this:

http://www.ebay.com/itm/Mosser-Hen-on-a-Nest-HON-Black-Amethyst-Glass-White-Head-/190993051809

I had never seen or even heard of, black milk glass at all, let alone in one of my favorite themes. Joyce found it incredibly ugly, and wanted me to get anything but that. I had to have it! It was so shiny! And not at all as expensive as in the link. I just reminded her we have a whole year of gift-giving occasions ahead of us, never mind Christmas, and these things won't depreciate waiting in the closet. I mean, think about this: every item you buy in an antique store has lived somewhere else, possibly many other places. People sell their stuff, or die and their kids get rid of it. On and on it goes, from one home to another. If you watch American Pickers (which I can only stand for about ten minutes at a time) or any of the hoarding shows (which is why I wash everything in antibacterial soap) you know it's true. It's not like a head of lettuce; it won't go bad. Who knows where that chicken started out, or where it will end up? So for now she will live with us.

We found some other pieces for Joyce's desk and a couple of things for me and then we went back to that Park City diner for lunch again. They have the best cornbread. And everything else. Our final stop was an antique mall right across from our turn off the highway near the Horsefly. It was only open Thusday through Sunday anyway, so we couldn't have gone earlier. It was massive. I was overwhelmed. I went through maybe a dozen booths before I turned to Joyce and said, "I think I've had enough." She went back for a Carnival folded basket dish, and that was it. I felt woozy and light-headed and asked her to drive us "home."

Of course we were both very, very tired after a month on the road, and I had a peculiar rash on my arm that just wouldn't quit no matter what I put on it, and we travel with a pretty good-sized pharmacy bag for us and the kids. I was wearing long-sleeved shirts to hide it and Joyce didn't think to ask. She hadn't seen it in maybe a week. It would start to get better, then break out again. Since I have very sensitive skin, I am used to these things, and I really found it more annoying than anything else.

So we had dinner and watched some TV and went to bed. In fact, Nick and I went to bed several times! And was it ever getting cold! We had frost the last three days there, although it quickly burned off. I wanted to get out of there before mosture started freezing on the roads. Anyway, we were all ready to go home.

More wandering around the countryside.

Because that's what we came for, after all. Before I get into our activities, I want to make note of something I could have put under "Bitching," but forgot. Due to the dicey neighborhood we were in, we thought it best to carry with us anything valuable or dangerous. All this schlepping added two trips back and forth, up and down the hill out back, through the gardens, every time we went in or out. Oh, and there was a cipher lock on the back (kitchen) door of the place. "Tarzan" showed us how to work it, and when we tried, we couldn't press the buttons! We both have arthritis, and it was too much. "Tarzan" is huge and strong and didn't get it, but Joyce told him he'd better have an alternative means for us to get into, and lock out of, the house. Fortunately the stupid thing can be overridden, but that was another reason not to consider this property a primo vacation destination.

There was other stupid stuff, too, like loose throw rugs all over and bedding that didn't fit. They are so concerned making it cutesy-kitschy that they weren't very practical. The ice-machine in the fridge didn't work, and there were no ice cube trays anywhere on all their properties that they could get to! Thay had to bring bags of ice from the Hive. Next day we bought cube trays, and took them with. Normally when we rent, if we buy some little thing or other, we leave it for the next guest. But this place was high-priced and low-satisfaction. It was okay, but a rip-off all the same. Never again, of course.

So we spent that day driving around in ever-deteriorating weather conditions, only too delighted to scamper back to our warm, if inconvenient, cottage, and nap (because we were so tired all the time!) and watch TV and surf the internet. I am not doing without TV and wifi again. Learned the hard way. Oh, well. I wish I could blow it all off like we used to, but I need updates a couple times a day. Joyce can make do with once. I think I could make do with a newspaper and a decent radio station, but even those things aren’t always available. It was also at this point we ceased taking pictures, because it was so cold and gray. We decided the next day, Thursday, we would antique again, for the last time, and spend Friday doing the usual routine of laundry, packing and prepositioning. But anyway, here are the last couple of shots we took. We got to see more color on the drive south, but for reasons that will become apparent, we were no longer stopping for pictures.

Alternate day wandering

Joyce had enough of being inside so we went exploring the next day. The dogs were glad, too, because while we are prowling stores, they’re waiting in the car. It was cool enough not to have to worry about them, although we always parked in the shade just in case. So we shut off Sam and just started driving, figuring she could lead us home when we’d had enough, and that’s how we got to Blue Ball. They have “Amish” sightseeing places set up, but we wanted to see the real thing so we just went off into the countryside, which isn’t so easy around Lancaster, which is actually a small city. Nothing to see, folks, keep moving. Really, it was in one side and out the other.

What we did enjoy seeing was the big Amish working farms. They keep these places so beautifully, and their animals are so healthy and happy. If I were a farm animal, I would want to live on an Amish farm. We came around a curve and saw this one guy leading a brace of four mules backwards. They were gigantic, and just stepping along backwards all perfectly synchronized. Like they do it every day, which they undoubtedly do. And in the grocery store lot in Blue Ball, another Amish market, there was a special buggy parking area. And here’s how you can tell Mennonites from Amish: the Mennonites drive cars. Anyway these horses are amazing, just trotting along surrounded by motorized traffic.

Because we were mostly driving, and scenes changed too fast to get pictures, I have found a couple of pics of what we saw out there:

http://abcnews.go.com/images/Health/gty_amish_children_dm_120507_wblog.jpg&imgrefurl=http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/health/2012/05/07/amish-have-fewer-allergies-due-to-farm-effect/&h=269&w=478&sz=42&tbnid=eP-knlXvJRitlM:&tbnh=117&tbnw=208&zoom=1&usg=__QlSdCEZSO4U5eFdXntQWBH_Z2jU=&docid=1gXI_3kRt37RlM&sa=X&ei=MISfUtP_JYbMsQS50YLoBQ&ved=0CC4Q9QEwAQ

AND

http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://davidmixner.typepad.com/.a/6a00d8341c90b153ef017ee4f2e38b970d-pi&imgrefurl=http://www.davidmixner.com/davidmixnercom/&h=305&w=450&sz=173&tbnid=9Ul3wnAueSeKgM:&tbnh=129&tbnw=191&zoom=1&usg=__qR4WiX7ZUjObDvDAKeMm8gGZwT8=&docid=wWISZJU-HkdZfM&sa=X&ei=-IOfUqGuIpPLsATjmICABQ&ved=0CDUQ9QEwBA

One of the weirdest things is the little children all solemn-faced in miniature grown-up clothing. Now, I don’t even like kids, but I felt sorry for these. I have watched enough Amish TV to know that not getting enough education ruins their lives, and a lot of beatings go on, and these are reasons why they go out on Rumspringe and never come back. Sometimes it's just best not to think too hard about these things, like when you travel to a third-world country and see dogs roaming the streets. But I can make donations to animal rescue organizations. There's not a lot I can do about saving the Amish children. However, from the number of Mennonites living in the same place, it looks as if they will soon save themselves. They can have religion, education, and convenience all at the same time. Otherwise, there will be no religion at all. It's pretty much up to them.

Antiquing we have gone

I’m not a big fan of verbing, but I’ll do it here for the sake of simplicity. As I said in a previous entry, until maybe a year and a half ago, I had no interest in antiques at all. Until then, I might have gone into half a dozen antique stores in my entire life. If any of you are interested in antiques, get ready to laugh at my ignorance. I don’t mind. I laugh at it myself!

So Adamstown basically consists of a highway with antique shops on it. Sometimes a restaurant or a drug store, but not much else. Many are Pennsylvania Dutch-themed, by which I mean, their names, not their contents. One was called German, and there was nothing especially Deutsch about it. Maybe they ran out of clever local-themed monikers. Or maybe they are sick of the phrase “Pennsylvania Dutch,” because these people are not Dutch at all; they are ethnically German. And they don’t sell antiques, they use them every day.

To backtrack a tiny bit, when I first ventured out in search of vintage glass, I was puzzled by the set-up of most antique stores. They are a series, sometimes a seemingly endless one, of little tiny-three sided booths. Each booth, I discovered, is owned and operated by a vendor, who pays rent and administrative costs for it. Vendors often take turns guarding the merchandise for one another. They wear big bunches of keys to open the locked glass cases and you can always locate them easily. In these stores, someone is always watching you, and I think this must have been learned over the years by trial and error, due to breakage and pilferage. A lot of old things are small and fragile. Go figure!

So when you enter you see all these rows and rows of booths all looking totally random, because they are. The closest thing to organization I saw was toys, books, and Christmas ornaments. All other booths are a hodge-podge, and except for those few specialties, what you are looking for can easily be spread from one end of the place to the other. If the venue is a single shop in Plant City, for example, you can tour around and maybe finish a twenty-vendor store in an hour. In Adamstown, they are called antique barns, malls and warehouses for a reason. You stay there all day.

Then there’s glut. So many things all jammed into one place. You don’t know where to start. We tend to go counter-clockwise, like in a supermarket. And there are rooms on rooms and plenty of two-story-buildings, and unless you want someone on your heels to show you, say, every WW II German pistol in the store, you have to look for your stuff yourself. And Joyce likes to carry stuff around and compare things, so we always have to keep track of where we got stuff, or where we left it, because if you pick something up and walk two feet, there is a vendor ready to take it up front for you. So I would check an entire store without picking anything up, until I was certain, and then I would back-track. Totally different method from Joyce. One other caveat: I stink at taking pictures of things. So if I want to show you something, I’ll find a link to one like it on line. It will save tons of bother.

We drove out and turned right, and went until we found the first open antique place. I can’t remember all the names but this wasn’t as large as some. Even so, after wandering around and around, we were ready to buy something. Here’s another funny practice: Everything is automatically ten percent off. You can try bargaining if you wish, but I am not at all good at that, so I leave it to Joyce. She always gets more off; I never do. It was in the first place that I found my slag. Slag is one of those odd things that is rare, in fact, unique, and worthless at the same time. It’s a mix of types of glass from cleaning out the molds at the end of the day, and every piece is different. By rare I mean, you will see 500 pieces of “normal” milk or Carnival glass before you see one piece of slag. Until this trip, I had never seen one. Here’s close to what I got:

http://www.ebay.com/itm/like/271179419862?lpid=82

Once again, I tried to make a link, and in fact the URL just disappeared, so I have to put it in as plain text.

Later in the trip I saw a few, a very few, other pieces of slag. I was glad I grabbed this when I saw it. And it has subsequently disappeared into a hidden gift cache (each of us keeps one of these for the other) to reappear on a special occasion. We shop for gifts year round. Reduces stress.

So after one store, we were both exhausted! Again! Yes, even though we were no longer staying at the Tsetse Fly, some of the effects lingered. We were both running out of energy quickly, which Joyce blamed on the stairs and I blamed on my weight. So we went to a diner we had spotted while grocery shopping. Joyce is a big fan of family-owned businesses. Did you know you can get chicken livers Italian style? Me, neither. And baklava as well.

After lunch we went to one more place, and it was so big we didn’t finish it, but decided to return later in the week. It was here Joyce started hunting for gigantic glass vases to house her kitchen tools so they are easy to reach on the counter. And interesting containers for the top of her new desk, to keep crap in. This is good! It gives me plenty of time and leeway to get what I want if she can get whatever she wants. I found this and convinced her it would make a great Valentine’s Day gift.

http://www.ebay.com/itm/FENTON-ART-GLASS-HEART-SHAPED-HUMMINGBIRD-BLUE-CARNIVAL-GLASS-TRINKET-BOX-/281207294945

Joyce thought it was beautiful amd wanted me to get it then, but I wanted to see more, and these places weren't crowded. No worries, I did go back and get it, but not at this price. Holy moly, I can't justify that much for one piece. Later on, though, I got a piece she finds incredibly ugly. And I bought it anyhow, damn it! I have no intention of returning to this area in my life, let alone any time soon.

And here's a picture of foliage we took while wandering around the countryside. As usual, overcast, if not raining.

A day off for bitching

So on Monday, after our mad dash across the state Saturday, complete with whirlwind moving in and getting ready for the get-together on Sunday, Monday seemed like a good day to take off. It was raining anyhow, and according to a brochure we picked up, many antique dealers are closed Monday on that stretch of road. You should check it out. Here’s a link. Except you have to cut and paste it. Blogger is being an ass again.

http://www.antiquescapital.com

Up until a few years ago, I had no interest whatsoever in antiques. Then my former spouse mentioned going through her parents’ crystal collection, and I was reminded that I had inherited some Carnival glass from my Aunt Lucy. I discovered it had little marks on the bottom. I discovered you could look up these marks and patterns on line. I started matching my stuff with these marks. I started realizing it was pretty! I decided I had to have more. But I am not a great shopper, not even for things I like, so this sort of thing happens no more than twice a year, max. We live near Plant City, another antique Mecca, and we vacation near Apalachicola, likewise. So occasionally we go looking for glass. It reminds me of my grandparents’ house, which is a very pleasant memory for me. And Joyce thinks some of it looks nice. Not all of it, though, as you will see, because I have also re-discovered milk glass, homely relative of Carnival glass. And we have limited space so I have to be pretty judicious about it, and have limited myself mostly to animal-themed items. And then we use it for holiday decorating at Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving and so on.

So we did laundry and laid around napping and watching TV, and making sure we never climbed up the stairs to use the bathroom without taking something up or down at the same time. Now, our dogs knew nothing about stairs. They almost never see anything higher than a curb. And for their first stairs, of course, they encounter a steep, slippery flight with no means of gripping the floor whatsoever. There were marks where treads had been, I have no idea why they weren’t replaced. I can do stairs all right, but among us, I was only one at first. The little dogs learned it pretty well, trial and error. Joyce used the banister to haul herself up.

Then there was Nick. He’s 18 and while sturdy and muscular, he’s ancient. He has old bones, though no real sign of arthritis (because he's been on preventive meds for years). For his size and breeds, that works out to about 90 years old. So we blocked the stairs at the bottom and made up his bed in the kitchen. That lasted about five minutes, the length of time it took him to remove the obstacles and slowly but surely, haul his ass up there. So I went out and got his bed stairs* and we spent the next day working out how the hell to get him down. We weren’t about to let him try that on his own, and when he went up, one of us was always right behind him, although in a day or two he could just fly up them as well as the others. And he has to go out several times a night, so when I get up, I just take him out. The best way to maneuver him down the stairs was to get ahead of him, put a hand on his chest, and let gravity do the rest. Got a lot of exercise at the Horsefly. At least I could let him into the garden instead of walking him. It was so cold at night he did his business and was back upstairs in bed before I could even lock the door!

That Monday was also the day the five Great Danes arrived at the Dung Beetle for a dog show. Although the entire area was supposed to be dog-friendly, Stella isn’t, so we had to make sure none of the big dogs were out when we took ours anywhere, leashed, of course. And now, here are some of the surrounding buildings. They are not part of the cottage complex, but have their own characteristics and deserve special names, too, I think.

First, the Blow-Fly, a hideous warehouse of abandoned donations, apparently. This was right across from our back garden, and a fence had been erected on "our" property to block the view. It didn't work very well.

Next, the Millipede, directly across from our front door. A horrible, deteriorating residential row. A man who enjoyed flaunting his underwear lived over there, coming out all but naked at random times. So I did not wish to go over there to take a picture of the front of the Horsefly.

Finally, the Silverfish, kitty-corner to us at the four-way stop. This housing and a crumbling apartment house not pictured (the Ant Hill) were why we had to park in back and off the street. It was too dangerous to park down front. Another thing you can't tell from the website.

I want to emphasize the houses and grounds were beautiful, and situated away from urban blight, they would have been more than adequate. But they weren't. In fact, every diesel-operated vehicle in the town, as well as every motorcycle, would roar in and out of that four-way intersection day and night. You didn't get 15 minutes of quiet all at once, ever. The nasty buildings across the way would have rendered the fire-pit and gardens unusable if the weather had permitted, but it was cold and rainy most of the time so that was never a real issue. And this is why they say, in real estate, "Location, location, location."

* Bed stairs: a small, covered plastic staircase we schlep around so Nick can climb into all the beds he visits.

Welcome to the Horsefly

We stayed at a place in Adamstown that rented a string of cottages with cute bug-like names, like Ladybug, but to protect myself from libel, I’ll just rename them to demonstrate how we felt about our stay there. The Horsefly and Stink Bug are side by side. Here they are from the back. Why from the back? You can’t easily take a shot from the front. You’ll see why soon.

The Horsefly is on top, in gold, and the green Stink Bug is on the bottom. Notice how crowded this neighborhood is. Once again, right in the middle of town, specifically at a four-way stop. Why this matters will also become apparent later. Behind me, not pictured, is the Dung Beetle, which holds huge groups of people come for antiquing. It's beyond popular here and we really had fun, but more on that later. Back to the Horsefly.

No, wait, back further, to the Hive, which is the main building where the office is. We had to find that in order to check in. Sam got us there, all right, but the driveway was straight up into a blind lot. I got out and Joyce did it. She's very good at driving straight up. Just leans on the horn and guns it. Okay, glad I don't have to. So she gets out and heads for the office and I stay with the dogs. A minute later, she's back. "Gimme my cane. There are a lot of steps and no railings."

Since it was cool enough to leave the dogs, I went along to make sure she didn't kill herself. The place is on multiple levels with flagstones and concrete stairs and wooden stairs and the odd ramp. Okay, it's really beautifully kept, all of the properties in this little complex are gorgeous and dripping with antiques, which is very appealing, but no way of knowing you would have to be a rock climber to get in.

So we got in, and the woman, "Jane," immediately disappeared to send out the man, "Tarzan," who is very, outgoing, shall we say, loves to talk. Talk talk talk. Ramble on, expostulate, and he's nearly seven feet tall and has to duck under trees. Nice guy except he can be a little much. I started challenging him because he got on my nerves so much with his endless pushy restoration expertise, and Joyce said he didn't like it, wasn't used to that. Tough turtles. Don't try to intimidate me. I mean, maybe he wasn't even trying, he's probably just proud of all he's done with the place and wanted to make sure we were appropriately impressed , but I'm just like him; I push back.

After check-in, which was endless with paperwork, he directed us to the Horsefly and said he would meet us. I drove this time, and he came right after. That was how we learned we had to park in back and carry all our gear downhill through three levels of gardens on a rough path and steps with only one short railing. As soon as we got in the house we discovered both bedrooms and baths are on the second floor up a very steep, narrow and slippery flight of stairs. Well, we had already paid, so that was that. He helped us carry in all our stuff, all the way upstairs. Joyce, with the bad back and cane, could just about manage herself, so "Tarzan" and I schlepped back and forth for about half an hour. Once that was done, he left and we took the dogs for a long walk in the gardens.

However, we couldn't stay put because we were expecting my relatives from south Jersey the next day, and Joyce wanted to lay in some snacks and other supplies. We found a Mennonite market (has electicity) and stocked up on all kinds of local goodies, including a fresh-killed chicken which Joyce roasted that very night. If you give Joyce a kitchen, she will cook something in it. She makes complete meals of all kinds on trips, from the simplest to the most complex. We don't eat in restaurants much once she has herself a kitchen.

Next morning we got up early to make sure the place was all neat again after having moved in, which made it real handy that I was awake when my relatives started cancelling left and right. So many of them suddenly had to work at the last minute! Out of ten invited, three showed in the middle of the afternoon up by which time we had taken off our bras and left them on a chair in the living room, when they burst in the front door loaded down with goodies. Joyce grabbed her bra and took off for the kitchen to put it on while I'm standing there with mine in my hand, hugging and kissing everyone. We all pretended not to see it.

Because this house had comfortable seating and a great big TV, we could all easily chat in the living room and watch football at the same time. Each dog claimed a cousin and sat with them. It was funny. I can't show you the cousins, but here are the dogs and the nice gas fireplace which, unlike the Tsetse Fly, didn't try to kill us.

More on the amenities and surroundings in the next entry.

Transition Days

Friday was our last day, and as always it was reserved for laundry and packing. And it rained, too, which made me glad we were leaving. We had both forgotten how much it rains in the Fall in the Northeast. And we finally felt some cold and saw some frost. Our next stop was about 200 miles south and east so we hoped to see still more foliage. Following our tradition, we got on each other’s nerves and alternated between napping and dragging stuff hither and yon to pack or pre-position. Joyce was in logistics, so she knows a lot about pre-positioning. She decides everything about how to pack the van, just as I decide everything about the routes we take. And I do most of the heavy lifting and more than half the driving, but she does all the cooking.

So we got everything we could out of the Tse-Tse Fly and into Van O’White so we’d have less to do in the morning. Knowing how hard it was to get going in that place, we even bought me a six-pack of Diet Mountain Dew earlier in the week and that seemed to help. I don’t drink coffee.

Here are a couple more interior shots of the Tse-Tse Fly. You can see what I mean about lack of comfortable seating. Love our 50’s dinette set! And see Joyce's cane? Well, that's gone back into her closet. She doesn't need it in warm, flat Florida. I must say it was odd to see her using it at all. She got it once for a sprained ankle and just kept it. Good thing, too.

I forgot to mention about the previous day that we ate in a Greek restaurant in Wellsboro. Actually it was more like a diner with a page full of Greek dishes, because the people across from us were eating fried chicken. I'm sure if we had asked them, they would have said, "Greek food? Us? We don't eat Greek food!" And in that case it was their loss, because we had the gyro platter and it was excellent, as was the baklava, of course. So here's a shout out to George's, and if yoou're ever up that way, try it.

We were up and on the road at practically the crack of dawn for us: 8 AM. We had breakfast and finished packing before we left. There's no point getting up to travel in the dark; neither of us can drive at night. Even though we knew the approximate distance, thanks to Samantha, she can't figure in all our stops, so we allowed sunup to sidown, almost, to get ourselves to Adamstown, antique capital of Lancaster County. Except that we had to make so many changes, it wasn't all that tedious and we saw some great colors, but couldn't stop to take pictures lest we lose the light. So here's a shot from the parking lot of the Adamstown supermarket where we went for supplies after checking in to the Horse Fly cottage. Ignore the car. That's where I had to stand to get all the trees.

Wynken, Blynken and Nod

The rain let up again (this was Thursday) and we struggled mightily to get out of the house as usual, and felt fine after. Joyce found an ad for a rock shop 17 miles on the other side of Wellsboro, so we drove out there, and saw some of the best color of the whole trip.

And as long as it wasn't raining, we were able to go on and see the rest of the town. We started in the small park we had seen on our first visit, which made the dogs very happy.

In the parks is this really adorable fountain of Wynken, Blynken and Nod, the old nursery rhyme. And below that is the link that explains how the statue came to be in Denver and Wellsboro at the same time.

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http://denverhistorytours.blogspot.com/2009/12/wynken-blynken-and-nod.html

Oh, sure. NOW it lets me make a link. We also went through the kitschy old shopping district, which is that same street with the lamps down the middle, but we aren't such great shoppers, and we liked the park better, so we returned there until it was time to go home. Of all the places we saw on this trip, Wellsboro had the most charm, and the most to do no matter your interests. The people there take a lot of pride in maintaining their old buildings and repurposing them for things like the new performing arts center. It's prettty remote, but worth a visit if you're in the neighborhood..

Rain and more rain

Well, we thought we were going to take pictures and so on in Wellsboro, but by the time we got there the clouds had moved in, so Joyce went to the supermarket while I sat in the parking lot with the dogs. Then we went back to the Tse-Tse Fly, and it rained all night. The next day was also raining, so we hung around napping, doing laundry and getting on each other’s nerves. With the dog run out back, it wasn’t so bad.

One problem we had this time, we never had before. We have very much enjoyed being disconnected from the phone, internet and TV in the past. But this time, Joyce was being driven mad by the government shutdown, not certain she was going to get her military retirement check or her social security. We tried so hard to find some news. The local paper didn’t cover national topics at all, and the radio news only covered things like feed prices and church socials. We even asked people we encountered, anywhere, and they never knew anything about anything, exactly as “I Just Work Here” demonstrates. I was doing some editing on this trip, so when we went to Wellsboro, I would upload and download and look at the headlines, but we’re talking every other day and not a lot of time to sit there reading, because when I was in McDonald’s using their wifi, Joyce was in the van minding the dogs.

By sheer coincidence, Johnny showed up unannounced on our rainy day (which means we had no bras on. This is why you should call and give folks a heads-up. If we have no plans to go out, and don't expect anyone, we don’t dress for company.) But he did know what was going on in the world and was able to update us somewhat. Anyway, later Joyce said she didn’t want to be in that situation again, isolated from current events. We’re just news junkies, I guess, after all. Had I not been working, we wouldn’t even have had those glimpses of the internet. So here’s us at the Tse-Tse Fly, which has remarkably little comfortable seating.

A little sun for a change

First day since our arrival that we had real sunshine to light things up. It made everything look different.

In case I forgot to say so, it was rainy and or cloudy at least part of every other day we were there. After the usual struggle getting out of the house, wondering what the hell was wrong with us, we drove to Blackwell, very nearby, and some sort of touristy spot. The roads were a lot like the back ones we took to the “Grand Canyon,” but the trip was definitely shorter. We checked with Sam when we arrived and discovered there had NOT been a shorter or easier way this time.

Anyway, Blackwell is the town, by which I mean tiny hamlet, where the woman with the store, by which I mean the only store, didn't know what there was to do or see nearby. Given that, why do you suppose she went to all this trouble to grab our attention, seeing as how she wasn't expecting anyone? I mean, no one actually lives within sight of this store, so why even have one if there's no local attraction?

No tchotchke left behind. Click to see all the crap. We didn't buy anything.

So once we found the trailhead, we parked and used the restroom (the composting kind. Whee!) and prepared to walk the dogs. They immediately started crapping all over the place, which was fine; we were prepared for that. Not so much the overflowing trashcan. We did our best with it and started up the trail. And that's how we found out Stella doesn't like bicycles. And gee, I was so tired already!

So we took a few pictures and headed for Wellsboro again, because it was so sunny we thought we'd walk around the park, which we figured the dogs would also like. And because we took so many pictures, I'm going to do another blog entry just about that.

I just work here

I’m dedicating this entry to several of the people we encountered along the way in north central Pennsylvania. I now wish we’d met even more people because I would like to know if this thing is common in the Pennsylvania Wilds. We went out Monday night to the local tavern. We did this after calling to see if they had Monday night Football (because there was no TV or wifi in the cabin) and while the woman who answered, and turned out to be the bartender, had no idea of the time and channel, she said we could surf for it. So we went.

When we got to the tavern, the pre-game was already on two out of three TVs, so apparently they’d done this before. We ordered beer and read the menu and asked the bartender how the chili was. She said, “Oh, I don’t eat chili,” but went on to say that others seemed to like it. So that was twice the bartender didn’t know Jill Poop. We’ll return to the tavern below, but for now, I want to describe the other people we encountered in that part of the state.

One day Joyce wanted to get a case of beer, and it’s very hard to find beer in that area. It was the same in Gettysburg and Lancaster County. So we asked where to buy beer and were given the most god-awful directions, and couldn’t find it. But we at least had the name, so started asking for that. Two of the first three people, who worked right there in Wellsboro, had no idea where it was.

On another occasion, we went into a visitor’s center for info and some tourist was asking the employee about local foods, particularly a Chinese place. “Oh, I don’t eat Chinese,” she says. And again, we stopped at a country store to ask what the big attraction was in the area, a place to which Johnny had directed us. The woman had no idea. She lived there, and it was a paved hiking and biking trail that ran by her store along the river. We found out when we stumbled onto the trailhead parking lot on our own. We were just gob-smacked that so many people in that area had such limited experience. It wouldn’t be odd if one person didn’t eat Chinese, or if some out-of-towner didn’t know where the liquor store was, but only one person we asked had the answer. I was wondering how long it would take for us to return to civilization: those parts of Pennsylvania where people know something. What bugged me about the non-eaters was the way they said it, implying they were too good for this kind of food. It sounded like, “Why would you ask me such a thing? Do I look like I eat Chinese????”

Anyway, back to the tavern. They had a somewhat limited menu so we decided not to press our luck. Johnny said the food was very good, but the tavern didn’t look like the sort of place where everything wasn’t frozen and then heated in a microwave. There was no smell of food in the place at all. Cheeseburgers seemed safe, and they were fine, as was the chili. Because of the entertainment in the tavern, though, I no longer remember anything about the football game, not who played, not who won, because we left early. But I can tell you all about the locals. We parked in a lot across from the tavern and as we crossed the street, two young women came flying out, all in some uproar. They were shrieking some kind of nonsense and we flat out asked them, “Should we not go in?”

“Oh, they’re being mean to us because of our music,” one tells us. Actually they didn’t even look old enough to drink. Their problem didn’t sound like it would extend to us, so we went in.

Inside the front door were three men wearing hunting camouflage and talking about football. One man seemed more drunk than the others, and had only one arm. But I mean, it’s a bar. Nothing out of the ordinary. In the back near the booths where we sat was a couple on those uncomfortable, high teetery bar stools. I want to say clearly not married but I’m not sure why I thought that immediately except for the disparity in their dress. I did get confirmation of this from overhearing their conversation, not to mention her subsequent activities. Okay, he looked like a putz and she looked like a ho. So there you go. Those were all the locals. And no one else came in the rest of the night.

Unless you want to count the little chippies we thought had left. Within minutes they were back and ordering big sugary drinks at the bar. One had on a sequined top, like you might see at a New Year’s Eve party. They sat at the bar carrying on at one another over something I couldn’t make out, and they made several trips to the juke-box. They were in and out all night, smoking, drinking, playing music, hair-flipping and just acting silly. None of the men in the bar seemed to be available, or of interest, not to mention they were a lot older than these young things. Maybe these two were hoping for more drinkers to appear. Maybe this is something they do every blessed night. We never went back so we don’t know.

Meanwhile, in the back, by the booths, the ho is really working the putz. Her hands are all over him, whispering in his ear, sliding her legs between his. Joyce says to me, “Get a room, for crying out loud.”

They too, frequently left to smoke outside, while the chippies and the men used the front sidewalk. Sometimes they would all be gone but us, and then back in again. So we ate and the game went in the wrong direction (I do remember that much) so we decided the locals weren’t that compelling and left. And the bartender told Joyce, when she asked, that they could sell beer, but only two six-packs. So we got out of there and stuck our beer in the fridge. And that was our not-so-thrilling night on the town.

I don’t have pictures of all this, but here’s the cute little post office across the street.

We made it! The OTHER Grand Canyon!

Two or three naps into the day, we finally got our asses in gear. It was just so hard to gather the energy to move out of the cabin, and the big run out back spoiled us and the dogs rotten. Luckily everything we wanted to see was close, except elk. There are no elk within hours of there, which was not the impression I got from the Wilds of Pennsylvania site. There’s a lot they don’t tell you about most attractions, lodging, shopping and food. So we put the Grand Canyon into the Sam the GPS and off we went.

Immediately we turned off the main highway and found ourselves bumping along over dirt, gravel, crumbling blacktop – just about everything but cobblestones, not to mention one-lane bridges, the kind where you stop and blow the horn before proceeding A lot of this was accomplished in second gear. But the GPS said we were close, so we decided to keep going. Apparently Sam thought it would be more fun to send us over the top of a couple of mountains instead of the easy (but longer) way around the bottom. And she was right! This was indeed the scenic route, and because we were all alone, we could stop and take as many pictures as we wanted.

But we really had to laugh when we parked and found the lot full of cars that had obviously come up some other way. The colors in the Canyon (or Pine River Gorge) were pretty much gone by, but still pretty in spots.

We went to the gift shop through a cloud of flies, got coffee in a clud of flies, and tried to take pictures in a cloud of flies. The woman in the gift shop said it was their last hurrah. What? All year long they're plagued by flies? What died, and keeps on dying? Anyway, the last one, above, is a shot I can hardly believe I got. You know what my pictures are normally like! Yeah, that's a bird, probably a hawk. Click it and see!

Not quite to the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania yet.

What, don’t tell me you never heard of it! Neither had we, before starting our trip planning. Another reason Johnny-town was so appealing, was that it’s right next to this thing, sort of. Anyway, not a real long drive, which is always good for us and the dogs.

But wait! I have to backtrack to Gettysburg for a moment. This is what happens when you don’t review your notes before you publish an entry. So first let me say the Country Inns and Suites at Gettysburg were a huge leap up the socio-economic ladder from Red Roof Inns. I chose it because it was in Gettysburg (not at some distance, where hotels are definitely cheaper), and because I figured, for a long stay, we could do the luggage cart thing. And there were no Red Roofs within a long, long way, either. And yeah, the pool and spa always figure in. So we got there, and went in the pool and spa, and it was great. We actually went in there all three days, especially since because of the rain we couldn’t go anywhere else! So the second night we went in the spa, as I took off my cover-up, Joyce said to me, “Have you got your bathing suit on inside out?” And sure enough, I did. It’s a featureless black and I didn’t pay attention. So there it was, seams out. But not very noticeable. She told me “No one will notice. Let’s go in.”

So we got in the pool and cavorted around a while like we always do; no one else was there anyway. Eventually Joyce wanted to switch to the spa so we got in and were joined by another retired couple and chatted with them until they went swimming. This, it seemed to me, was just the right time to take off my suit and reverse it. Joyce had gone back into the pool so that meant I wouldn’t have to argue with her. And the spa is all bubbly so you can’t see anything in there anyway.

I got the suit off, no problem. And then I turned it right side out, a bit more of a challenge because I had forgotten that those same jets that make the bubbles to hide under are strong enough to rip your suit out of your hands. Then I tried to put it on. Then another couple came in, an Eastern European couple, maybe Russian or Greek; anyway not speaking any language I recognized. Now don’t get ahead of me here; just let it play out.

So the couple had a discussion and decided to try the spa first. By this time I had tried several times to step into the suit, but forget it. A suit my size is like a sail and it just wanted to fly all over the spa without me. Then I realized I had no idea how many minutes were left on the timer. I could be exposed at any minute. I called Joyce to come back and she yells, “Why?”

Right. I’m going to tell her! I just gave her that look spouses give one another and she came and got in. Then we had to casually back me into a corner (the spa was quite huge) with her between me and them, trying to hold the suit down. Of course she’s laughing and trying to suppress that so as not to draw attention, but luckily the woman was extremely self-absorbed, ordering the man around, complaining and carrying on (you didn’t need to know their language to get the picture), so that two fat lesbians, one naked, both struggling with a big black suit in a corner of the spa, weren’t even on her radar.

Anyway, I managed to get the thing back on and we ran and jumped in the pool, overheated from all our exertions. Luckily the timer didn’t run out for several more minutes, giving the European woman something else to complain about while we all tried to mime to the man how to turn it back on. So from now on I’ll check my suit before I leave my room! Of course you would love to see pictures of this, and of course, I would love to share some with you, but there aren’t any! But here’s a link to a picture of the pool and spa, anyway. There’s a gallery of four pictures. It’s easy to click on the right one.

http://www.countryinns.com/gettysburg-hotel-pa-17325/pagetty/hotel/services/detail

Of course I can't add a link, not even by following the instructions (!). So just C&P if you want to see it, and use your imagination.

Onward to Wellsboro, more or less

After three days of not seeing Gettysburg, it was time to push north again to our first weeklong rental which we'll refer to either by its nice pseudonym, "Kettle Creek" or its naughty one, "Tse-Tse Fly." And although it was finally not raining, we weren’t too pissed off because we wanted clear weather for our drive, because we know nothing of central Pennsylvania. My mom took me on vacations in the Poconos when I was a kid, or we drove straight through on the Turnpike on our way to the Midwest, but we never stopped anywhere west of Lancaster County. And the government shutdown continued, so the nice weather wouldn’t have done us any good as far as seeing the Park. Idiots.

In fact, I almost forgot something very interesting that happened because of the closure. The one day we drove around, looking at barriers and traffic cones in a downpour, we came across a local news station van and they began to wave and yell, so we stopped. Turned out they were looking for a story of folks who had traveled a long way only to be shut out of the Park. Joyce leaped at this opportunity to give the federal government a piece of her mind, and then we got to see ourselves on the local Harrisburg evening news. All I had a chance to say was, since this wasn’t our whole trip, it wasn’t entirely ruined. Joyce was very funny and did a good job, although they edited the swearing out.

Now, I say “Wellsboro, more or less” because we don’t wish to be sued for libel, so all names will now be changed to protect the blogger and her family. There are plenty of little towns within reach of Wellsboro, which is real, and our town, “Johnny-Town”, could be any of them. No one needs to know exactly which town or rental we stayed in, or who the owner is. Actually “Johnny” was extremely sweet, but just a tad too eccentric, even for us.

Maybe I should explain what the hell we were doing way up there in the Wilds of Pennsylvania, as the area is called. We were looking for leaves, elk and general scenery. I put all that into a search for dog-friendly lodging and came up with “Johnny’s” place. The leaves were supposed to turn there first, so we went there first, after which every subsequent stop would take us back south where we belong, (according to our arthritis) again. Our arthritis gets a vote on every location we ever visit, determining whether or not we return, or what time of year. So, charming as Wellsboro was, we have seen enough to satisfy our curiosity and our leaf-cravings.

So, going from Spa-Gettysburg to Wellsboro, more or less, requires so many changes of route that I didn’t even attempt to check it before telling Sam where to take us. She got us into Gettysburg via a lovely, scenic route and we hoped she would now do something similar. Sometimes we weren’t on a segment of the route for more than 500 feet when we would have to turn again, and again, and again. Some of this was due to construction, and some to the fact that except for the Turnpike, there are very few direct routes anywhere. It’s kind of like Illinois. And going up into the Wilds, you definitely leave the Interstate way behind.

But even with all that to consider and endure, we arrived quite early in the afternoon at our rental cabin, the “Tse Tse Fly,” in “Johnny-Town.” And to find out why we chose this pseudonym, you’ll just have to read on, but the weather was great and the sun was out, and here’s the cabin. Yes, that's Van O'White, out front, now 22 years old and still going strong.

A look around the Tse-Tse Fly and environs

Note: Please read "Onward to Wellsboro, more or less" before you read this one. Somehow they got published out of order and I can't figure out how to fix it. Sorry.

We had quite the wild ride getting to “Johnny-town” the previous day, and only stopped once, while lost, in a general store where Joyce picked up the bare minimum of stuff, because that was all they had. Now, how could we get lost with a GPS? By inputting the destination Johnny gave us, of course. He said the actual address wouldn’t work. So we ended up against the side of a hill, wondering what to do next. But we retraced our steps and the guy in the store knew Johnny, everyone does, and he directed us. Later on when I found out the actual street address of the Tse-Tse Fly, voila! Sam took us straight to it.

Well, imagine our surprise when on arrival at the cabin, it was RIGHT ON THE ROAD. I mean the main road through Johnny-town, where 18 wheelers scream through day and night. This is one of those things you can never tell from the internet, and the owner won’t tell you, either. Renting a house of any kind is a crap-shoot. You just have to hope for the best. So we had thought it was on a back road, up a hill, on a mountain, in a forest, something like that. But no, it’s at the edge of Johnny-town on the highway. In other words, a very dangerous place for dogs, especially Ollie, who is a door dasher. So the first thing we wanted to do was secure the place so they could get out.

The doors were wide open and the most God-awful country music was blaring. Turns out Johnny is an aficionado, as is everyone else in north central Pennsylvania. All country, all the time. We got him to shut it off so we could hear him, we said, but we never did turn on the radio in that place again except trying to find news, which is an interesting story for later. So Johnny started showing us the house and Joyce, who has the patience of a hungry hyena, interrupted and got him to show us how to take the dogs into the run, so she could inspect it first. Well, there were two ways and Johnny is a talker and he showed us both while Joyce was fuming but she finally got into the run and satisfied herself that it was secure. Then we took the dogs back there and they just loved it.

In the top picture below, you can see all three a lot bettter if you click to enlarge. The second picture just shows our 18-year old, Nick. The dark dog is Ollie and the tawny gold is Stella.

This was our reason for choosing the Tse-tse Fly to begin with: an actual dog run right off the back door. And it's huge and even had trees inside it, which you can see. While I stayed with the dogs for additional security, Johnny showed Joyce all around the tiny house and she was just appalled. At first. We grew to like it but at first, it seemed impossible. It’s not a place I would have chosen had I somehow been able to see the whole thing, but all I had was the still photos on the site and it looked okay, really.

Finally he more or less left, by which I mean he removed himself to another nearby structure, and we unloaded the van. It was truly a beautiful day and despite Joyce’s wailing about unloading I took pictures because who knew what the weather would be like tomorrow or any other day? And it was a damned good thing I did. Because after that, it rained for part of every day we were up there. We had some clear weather, too, but it wasn’t as though you could depend on it.

Reminder of code names: Johnny = pseudonym for the guy we rented our cabin from Johnny-town = pseudonym for the village where we stayed. Kettle Creek = nice pseudonym for Johnny's rental house Tse-Tse Fly = not-nice pseudonym for Johnny's rental

Spa-Gettysburg

Because just about all we did here was go in the spa. First of all, it just poured down rain, cold rain, about the entire time we were here. Second, the government was on its stupid, famous shutdown, and all we could see of the National Sites were from the public roads that run through, which can’t be closed. We recognized the sites of Little Round Top and Pickett’s Charge from having seen them on TV. And we could see lots of artillery and lots of graves. You can’t hide stuff that big. The only other thing was could get into was a private museum, and it had a crappy gift shop attached, where we got a magnet. That’s all we have to show for those three days, except we drove into a private cemetery by accident and there we saw our first real fall foliage.

The first night there we found a great Greek restaurant and ate leftover baklava for three days. The second day was the one we were able to drive around a little. The third we spent alternately getting drenched and drying out as we had to take the dogs out every few hours. We used the spa both days we were there, and luckily only encountered a VERY child-burdened family on our way out as they were coming in. That was one of the best things about this trip: few, if any, children anywhere. They’re in school, or at least supposed to be. We are seriously considering confining all road trips to the fall as a result. The trip as a whole was far less stressful because we were able to almost entirely avoid children. And we drove across the parking lot to TGIF, the closest thing to us, and I was totally soaked by the time I got in, since I nicely dropped Joyce off at the door. The butch always does that, as I explained to the maitre’d.

So since nothing else happened, it’s time to talk about the Garmin. For Christmas, Joyce got me a new road atlas because the old one we used in 2009 had basically fallen apart. Florida and South Dakota, especially, were a problem because we lost them. Now I love atlases and maps, and I have excellent map-reading skills (thanks to my mother, who couldn’t read a map, couldn’t follow directions, and always got us or herself lost) but as the time for this trip approached and we were trying to come up with ways to make traveling by car even possible for Joyce, who has multiple hang-ups about driving, I realized this new map was basically useless because it cut every state into several pieces with no overlap from one page to the next. So I began to campaign for a GPS and because it would spare her any map-reading and sign-finding, Joyce caved and we got it a month early and tried it out. So although I still checked the route against the Interstate page in the atlas, we relied on Sam heavily. That’s as in Samantha, the name of the robotic voice we chose to guide us. We soon learned to ignore her, argue with her and shut her in the glove compartment, but on the whole she did a good job, as later blogs will reveal. But for now, did you know that Gettysburg is way out in the middle of nowhere, as in like 30 miles from any interstate? Well, we didn’t know it, but Sam did, and she got us there without a hitch.

Note: this is the last of my pre-written blogs that I did on the road. Now it's off to the notebook to reconstruct the rest of the trip, so they will take a bit longer to do. Bear with me. I am already writing the next one.

I told you I was tired.

We had planned to go out, but we didn’t. I knew this was going to be a hard trip, and this was where it set in more than before. (Please take note that I will frequently complain about this. Things are never as simple as they seem.) We just vegetated at the hotel. Nick and I made a circuit of the grounds every hour and a half or so, but that’s the furthest any of us got. Both of us felt guilty for holding the other back, but we both needed to rest. It was a beautiful day but we just couldn’t drag ourselves out of there. We even sent out for Chinese, which wasn’t nearly as good as in South Carolina. This time the pool was warmer, but the spa was cold. We went in both of them anyway. Maybe we’ll see the Natural Arch on the way back; maybe not. Since we have so little energy now, I don’t know what we’ll be running on by the time that happens. But I do know this location is so good, we’ll be staying here again.

During our peregrinations around the grounds, which included a secluded waterfall you could barely glimpse, Nick and I met a woman with two tiny dogs. There were any number of dogs and cats in our wing, and I was glad so many were there. It underscores a need for this kind of place.

Anyway, this woman had a tiny car, the two dogs and a serious mobility problem. On top of this, she just wouldn’t shut up. She came and went several times over the course of the day, and seeing she was one of those talky types, I did my best to avoid her. But finally I saw her having some sort of problem, which I thought was with tangled dogs, but turned out to be a key card issue. Hers had apparently expired, and I had, coincidentally, locked myself out of the hotel entirely, and Joyce was napping. This woman, who is rounder and shorter than I am, declared she had to pee, so Nick and I raced off to the front end of the hotel where you can walk right in to the desk, thank God. I explained, they believed me, and I got us each a new key card. Nick and I raced back out and gave her the card. I thought that was that.

A couple of hours or so later, all five of us were touring the grounds once again. The little car, little round woman and little dogs were gone, but there was a cane on the ground. Joyce thought it was hers, until she picked it up and we realized it was too short by half. So this woman had gone off in her car without her cane. We didn’t know if she was coming back, so we took it to the desk. We were feeling real sorry for her because, unlike Joyce, she absolutely couldn’t move without her cane. Joyce only needs hers on uneven ground and stairs without railings. But she did come back, and when she thanked us, explained she always carries several. Anyway, that was our excitement for the day. And it was about all we could stand, anyway.

So here’s another picture I took the day before. Joyce is in it, but you have to squint. This was the welcome center in the tiny corner of southeastern Tennessee we drove through. They had it decorated all over, inside and out. Very appealing.

Virginia hotel jackpot

Before I move right along, I want to explain some more things we’re doing this time to make the trip easier on ourselves. I mentioned the drive-up rooms. But we are also taking a room each on this trip, with Stella and Ollie in with Joyce while Nick bunks with me. Although we originally decided this because of Joyce’s snoring, it turns out to have many other advantages I didn’t think of before. One, there’s only half as much travel crap in a room, so that each of us can have an entire surface covered with pill bottles. Our different sleeping schedules don’t matter. We like the privacy from each other, since we are jammed together in the van all day a lot of the time. The dogs don’t want the pack split up, but we still spend most of the day together, and they have adapted as they always do. They’re really better travelers than we are.

We also changed their cages. We got rid of the heavy metal cage and replaced it with a bigger, lighter one made of nylon. It’s collapsible if we need it to be. We don’t bother bringing the cages in any more, at least, not so far. We are each using one everyday suitcase, and we have an extra one for use at the long stops. No more trying to make breakfast in the rooms; it’s just too much trouble. We only packed the small cooler for the road up, and are buying more things in grocery stores. There are probably other things that aren’t occurring to me right now, but just these make the whole thing a lot less exhausting. Basically, there’s less to haul over shorter distances.

So, on to Virginia. Although this leg was almost the same length as the previous one, it took a lot less time, and was still a beautiful drive with the leaves just beginning to turn.

And when we drove up to the Red Roof Inn, I realized I had made a mistake: it didn’t have the drive-up, motel-style entrances. What an idiot! But they saved me from myself and put us on the first floor near the back door where we only needed to make up one cart-load of gear, and it was very easy for me and Nick to get in and out at night. Best of all, there were a pool and spa. And now it was cool enough to leave the dogs in the car, so we could eat in a restaurant. As soon as the sun was low enough to be sure we could park completely in the shade with the windows cracked, we skedaddled next door to the Cracker Barrel. So we planned to spend the next day driving around the countryside the way we had in South Carolina. After dinner we tried the pool and spa. Pool too cold. But we watched the sunset from the spa which was a great way to end the day, and it helped Joyce’s back, too.