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| Monte is red and ready | Let's roll! |
Note: Clicking on any of the pictures will bring up a larger version, in a click-thru album for that day. Enjoy!
Another year, another trip!
And this time, a biggie. Not maybe in terms of days (don't think we'll ever beat 2008's 42-day odyssey), but in terms of miles, this looks like it might be our longest.
Off to Maine (similar to 2001) - but with a return trip thru upper Michigan (via Canada, if they'll let us in). Might be close to 7,000 miles.
Vehicle? Even at 25 years young, the Mighty Truckasaurus is still holding up well (except for that burned-up electrical system on the way to Long Beach last fall). And that's fixed. But Suzanne's Monte Carlo, aided by our cartop carrier, did very well on last year's trip - and Suz slightly prefers driving in that car. And there's the 50% better fuel economy. So it looks like red car instead of blue truck this time.
Meanwhile, we were so busy in the weeks (and especially weekends) leading up to the trip that we had very little time to actually prepare for our travel. But the departure day arrived regardless of our lack of readiness, and we (meaning mostly Richard) persevered in packing and loading and stuffing and smooshing everything we'll likely need for the next four weeks into every spare space of the Monte. And then a cooler full of food & drink, a couple snack bags, travel toys for the Duncster, and barely enough room for three bodies.
And yet we hoped for a noon departure. Ha. No. But by 1 PM (OK, actually 1:30) we were ready to depart on our very long trip, and so the fully-laden Monte waddled out of the driveway and began its cruise across the nation.
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| Monte is red and ready | Let's roll! |
2:04 PM, less than 30 miles from home: "Are we there yet?"
With the cruise control and air conditioning both set somewhere in the low 70s, we transitioned from the cacti-studded Sonoran Desert to the juniper and scrub of the rugged central mountains, and then (after an engine-straining climb or two) up to the cool pines of northern Arizona.
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| So long, saguaros... | ...Hello, pines! |
We settled into our road trip routine: Richard at the wheel, actively scanning the open highway, the gauges of the instrument panel, and the fast-changing numbers on the GPS & DMI. Suzanne in the right seat occasionally gazing out the windows to make sure Richard hadn't steered off the road, but mostly keeping company with all the little people who live in her phone. Duncan somewhere in the back seat, now with his relatively-new iPad he'd received for his 100-month birthday, playing all sorts of odd apps, giving impromptu lectures which invariably began with "Did you know that in Minecraft...", and utterly oblivious to the passing scenery.
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| An omen of things to come? | Here, you drive for a while. |
We motored north up I-17 and merged onto I-40 eastbound, where the panoramic 100-mile views of the mesas and mountains of northeastern Arizona unfolded before us.
More indeterminate muttering from the back seat: "Did he really just say: 'The chandelier is out of milk'?"
Kept going until the ruddy rocks of the Meteor Crater Rest Area came into view, and we exited for a bit of warm-weather leg-stretching fun. Duncan loves to bound up and down the sandstone slopes at these rest stops, and if it'll get his nose out of that iPad for a few minutes, we're all for it. Dad chaperoned & spotted on some of the more-difficult climbs, and then a race back to the car to continue the first day's travel.
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| Relaxing on the red rocks | Catch me if you can! | King of the Hill! |
Just west of Joseph City, the Jack Rabbit Trading Post and its world-famous sign set on old US 66 next to the Interstate, welcoming one and all for souvenirs, merchandise, and photo opportunities with the big fiberglass bunny out front. The ever-busy Jacquez family greeted us warmly, and somehow talked Richard into getting a replacement hat for the beat-up version that was seen in so many 2012 road trip photos. Then some Love's fuel a few miles down 66, and onto the freeway again as the late afternoon sun burnished the buttes.
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| Visiting our favorite Arizona fiberglass bunny | Don't make me get back in the car! | We love you, Jackrabbit! |
We had wisely planned not to get too far on our first day, and when dinner time arrived it found us exiting onto Hopi Drive in the town of Holbrook, and a stop to see some good friends at the Wayside Cafe on the west side of town. Peewee Maestas and her daughter Wendy served up some yummy grub, including two types of tacos, which filled us up enough to enjoy the Mexican and Native American dancers performing at the corner of Route 66 and Route 66 downtown.
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| The inviting Wayside on 66 in Holbrook | "Hey, Peewee, can I show you my games?" | Native dancers on the Holbrook square |
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| Quality time with Clifton Lewis |
We were up early at 6 AM, knowing that all the time zones we'd be crossing during our progression east were not going to be doing us any favors. The flat-screen TV in our teeny tepee was still displaying Phoenix-area stations as we packed up our stuff, while Duncan popped out of hiding places through the outside windows. And of course no Wigwam visit would be complete without the obligatory dino-picture, and Duncan dutifully posed with his familiar green concrete friend - although every time we visit it seems to get a bit smaller by comparison to our son.
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| Our tepee for the previous evening | Row of white wigwams on Route 66 |
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| Someone's having trouble getting up today | Peek-a-wigwam-boo! | Ride 'em dino! |
Breakfast sounds good. How about a hearty one at Joe & Aggie's? We walked into this Route 66 landmark, with Duncan carrying his good buddy "Flip" the stuffed bear (which he won at this year's Maricopa County Fair), and sat down for a good meal in a friendly atmosphere. Stanley Gallegos was behind the grill this morning (he can cook and cut hair!) and served up some good feedin's. Then full & happy back to the car, and...
Uh, where's Flip?
There he is! The friendly and alert waitress had rescued him from his hiding place behind the honey and marmalade, and the reunited gang motored east out of Holbrook and toward more adventure.
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| Stanley grilling us breakfast at Joe & Aggies |
We let several sleeping dogs lie as we strolled into Ortega's Indian Center, set in the red-rock country of far eastern Arizona. We've been friends with Armand Ortega for several years, enjoying our visits to his hotel in Gallup and and to his numerous traps of tourism lining the highways of several states. Although Armand wasn't up to seeing us today, we did spot a few must-haves on the shelves, including a mustache mood ring for Duncan (current mood: crazy) a spare Arizona flag for Richard, and the perfect pine-nut necklace to accessorize with Suzanne's outfits. And ice cream bars too!
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| Ortega's Indian Center on Route 66 | 'How' you doin? | "Son, it's a 70s thing. But you'll like it." | One petrified, the other energized |
Twenty minutes later found us winding our way under the brilliant stone shapes of Painted Cliffs and into New Mexico, and we waved bye-bye to our home state (and an hour of time) and crossed our first of many state lines.
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| The Painted Cliffs of Navajoland | Hello New Mexico, goodbye one hour! |
Didn't need to stop much for a while, but when the red & white facade of Bluewater Outpost came into view on the port side, we figured that might be a good spot for a break. Once within, Duncan made a beeline for the massive piles of fireworks - but was dismayed to see them off-limits due to changes in local regulations (not to mention uncooperative parents). But sticks of processed meat were entirely acceptable substitutes for sticks of explosive powder, and Richard also spotted an indispensable camping accessory - a combo folding spoon - fork - knife combo that'll look great digging into dinner at the next Cub Scout campout. Then an orbit 'round the building to burn off more energy, and back into the Monte for more freeway flying.
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| "But I WANT the insane ones!" |
We will not speak of "The Slim Jim Incident".
Duncan's Summer Vacation Log, June 15th edition: "My parents ruined the road trip." Only 6500 miles to go, kid...
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| We'll see about that. |
Summertime in the desert Southwest means there's always a chance of rough weather, especially when the anvil tops of cumulonimbus clouds are billowing nearby. And so it was that the outflow boundary caught us west of Albuquerque, sending a huge cloud of dust and tumbleweeds (and worse) at high speeds diagonally across our path. Bleah. But after a few interesting minutes and miles, we blew through to the other side, topped out on the mesa, and plummeted into New Mexico's largest city on the banks of the Rio Grande.
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| Winds and dust complicate our travel |
We exited onto a hot and busy Central Avenue & began a search for quick eats & a full tank. Ended up settling for 7-11 chili dogs for us, pink milk for the kid, and Alon 86 octane for the Monte. It'll do...
Uneventful drive through the Sandias and onto the Plains. Kept moving until Clines Corners, but couldn't find anything we couldn't live without (although if the Dunc-sized tropical shirt had been at a slightly-lower price, that might've been different).
A spell east of there is the city of Santa Rosa, where the Pecos River courses its way through the wild West. And Duncan certainly remembered that Park Lake, one of most-favoritest-ever swimming holes, was right there in the middle of town. And even though we had an ambitious travel schedule, we could spare a few minutes for a splash. Annnnd... he was outta the car & in the pond in no time flat.
"So, son, is the water warm, or cold?"
"Both."
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| Is someone happy to be here? | Geronimo! | Cool enough for ya? |
"Tucumcari Tonite" blared the eastbound billboards for scores of miles, promising thousands of rooms of varying accommodation. And so it was that we rolled into Tucumcari at twilight, looking at the blinking neon of many a motel sign. Although we'd had a good stay or two at other establishments, we chose to look into bunking down at the Buckaroo Motel - it looked clean and well-kept, with very reasonable rates, and even a happy cat or two wandering the property & rubbing against everything in sight. Then time to relax & cool down, watching decade-old Pixar movies as the air conditioner rumbled in the background.
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| 1,200 rooms. One will be ours. | Beddin' down at the Buckaroo | Tucumcari kittycat welcoming committee |
The day started with Richard being pleasantly surprised by a passel of Fathers Day cards appearing in the room (the dogs have remarkably good handwriting!)
The motel door opened to a cool and quiet morning on Route 66, and Richard snapped some photos of a few of the historic buildings along this storied highway, as the giant blades of the Mesalands College windmill whooshed in the background. After this, we tucum-carried our stuff out of the Buckaroo and into the car, and detoured up into downtown Tucumcari (north of 66 on old US 54), which in many areas has become unfortunately a shell of its former self - and in the case of some burned-out buildings, quite literally so.
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| Welcome to Tucumcari! | Quiet Route 66 in Tucumcari | Tucumcari moo-ral |
Another hour disappered from the clock as we rolled into Texas, and the well-eroded badlands gave way to very-flat prairie. A bit over 20 miles into the state is the very small town of Adrian (population a hunnertandsumthin), which has been described at great length in prior Big Road Trip travelogues. But there are new places in the old town to talk about - Fran Houser, who for many years ran the famous Midpoint Cafe, has opend a shop of her own in the nicely-restored building next door, which she has named "Sunflower Station" befitting her sunny attitude and disposition. "Dunnnnncannn! Howya doing?" echoed across the fields as Fran spotted our son, and Brody the puppydog joined in on the greeting as we came in the screen door.
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| Happy Fran and her Sunflower Station | Big hug from our Texas friend |
Fran's been very nice to us in the past - but this time, it was our turn to return the favor. Richard had a small model Texas highway patrol car that he thought Fran might want for the Station's decor, and Ms. Houser was very happy to accept this gift. As we were looking at the unique items for sale (and Duncan was clambering all over the outdoor furniture), a couple of cross-country bicyclists from the UK showed up, and Richard talked to them for a while about their two-wheel travels.
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| A heartfelt gift to Fran from Duncan | Patrolling the shelf | Cycling blokes from the UK riding 66 across the US |
And since we were right next door to the Midpoint Cafe, we couldn't leave without at least having a bit of brunch & yummy cream pie, and also enjoyed a chat with Dennis Purschwitz about all the happenings since our last visit.
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| New soda fountain at the Midpoint! | Love that Midpoint pie! |
Merge on the freeway. Passed by a black pickup truck. Hey, is that a Guam plate? Tamo Y Chamorro! Add it to the fast-filling list of license plates in Suzanne's journal.
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| That's quite a way to drive... |
On the outbound leg, Amarillo was skipped (except for a stop at the ATM to trade electrons for cash), and the tall buildings & taller signs zipped by as we stayed on the Interstate. Kept cruising until a brief stop for hydrocarbons and meat sticks in Conway, and then right back onto the freeway to gobble up more eastbound miles.
One of the iPad-based diversions that's been keeping Duncan entertained over the endless miles is "Zombie Farm", a charming little app where you grow, nurture, and harvest little flesh-eating undead dudes, turning them loose against adjacent agrarians in a feast of green flesh and chomping teeth. Well, it turns out that in order to obtain a badly-desired upgrade to his farm, he needs brains. Many of them, in fact. Which led to the following conversation:
"Can we buy a brain? Pleeease?"
"You already have one. Use it."
"No, I mean for Zombie Farm."
"No, you have to earn all your brains. Speaking of which: have you been keeping up with your journal?"
"Can I just pleeeassssee get a brain? Pleasepleaseplease?"
"No."
This went on for a while before Duncan realized that a) no, he wasn't getting a brain and b) the chocolate donuts being offered as a snack weren't a bad consolation.
Look! That big cross to the right. Count our blessings.
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| Big cross blessing our way |
Across 100 degrees west (about the same as the temperature) and Oklahoma around 3PM. Quick inventory of our snack & soft drink levels. Doing OK, but could use replenishment. Isn't Puckett's Market right there in Erick? Yes, yes it is. Park on Sheb Wooley, drag the family in, adjust a grumpy Duncan by sticking his head in one of the open-chest freezers (with a bit of ice thrown down his back for good measure). Toss some grapes, pudding, & Diet Dr. Pepper in the shopping cart.
More Day 3 road-induced whining, somewhere near Elk City:
Duncan: "Why won't my iPad hurry up and charge? My Tamagotchi is probably dying!"
Suzanne: "I want to play Words With Friends! Why won't anybody take their turn?!"
Richard: "Don't look at me, I'm just driving..."
And as we zipped eastbound, we noted that were heading right under some very billowy clouds - that were turning dark in a mighty hurry. The fury of Oklahoma storms needs no introduction or explanation - the recent news reports of flattened buildings and smashed cars were still readily remembered. And there was unmistakable evidence of very recent EF5 tornadoes along our exact path - shredded billboards & stripped trees were still very visible on the roadside.
And then it started to rain, at a "Biblical Deluge" setting. The freeway soon was overwhelmed and flooded, with drivers slowing & stopping in the middle of the travel lanes (don't DO THAT!) as the water shoshed & pooled under the wheels. As for us, the Monte is very surefooted in bad weather, and that cartop carrier was holding up like a champ not letting even a drop get inside; however, the clamping system that was securely fastening the carrier to the car in the gusting gale had the minor side effect of compressing the weatherstripping gaskets around the doors. With the result that Richard received quite the cold shower, as water gushed in over his shoulder and hair.
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| Evil Oklahoma weather |
And that's when the hail started. Oh boy.
Options: Stop? No - we'd get hammered by hail. Turn around? That would make us even more exhausted and late. Outrun the worst of the storm? Worth a try. And we wove around the semi-stalled traffic, accelerated as conditions would allow, and tried to stay ahead of the red blob darkening the radar screens of middle America.
And then, in the middle of all of this, a plaintive cry from the back seat: "I have to go bathroom now..."
The parents normally a model of indulgence, turned with steely glares and replied: "Shut up, kid - we gotta outrun this."
"Reeeeeeallly."
"Make it FAST."
And by the time we invaded the Oklahoma City suburbs, it looked like we'd been successful in evading the tempest. This allowed us to relax a bit as we cruised the completely-new alignment of I-40 through Oklahoma City, noting odd sculptures with colored lights trussed above the still-clean concrete (you mean it's a pedestrian bridge?) Veer north on I-35, then east on I-44? No, let's take 66 instead - we're thirsty from all that storm-running.
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| Cool sculpture over the new I-40 freeway |
And if you're thirsty anywhere near the town of Arcadia, you're in luck, as the unique glass edifice of Pops contains thousands upon thousands of different brands and varieties of flavored beverages. And why not have a pop with Pop at Pops on Pop's Day? Duncan thought that a couple bottles of "Toxic Slime" and "Bug Barf" were just right for him (although he left "Kitty Piddle" on the shelf), whereas the parents leaned toward more-conventional choices, such as Dad's Root Beer (in honor of Father's Day, of course).
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| Thirsty, son? | Quite a selection of questionable soda flavors | Mmmmm - Bug Barf. |
East again on OK 66. And an exclamation from the back seat: "I earned a brain! I earned a brain!!"
It was about eightish when we rolled into Chandler and saw the pointy sign of the Lincoln Motel. The proprietor was initially gruff, but after forking over a valid card seemed to be a bit more agreeable. And a short walk away is the Sonic drive-in, where a burgerific dinner was topped off with a huge strawberry shake (with a cherry on top, of course.) Then lights out on a busy day as another window-rattling thunderstorm roared into the night.
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| The Lincoln Motel in Chandler | Neon sign shines along old 66 |
We were up early watching semi-bad 80s comedies on the motel TV while we assembled ourselves for another day on the open road. And once ready, we made the drive... a short distance from the Lincoln to the red-block building housing the 66 Gallery, and a smiling Jerry McClanahan offering to let us in and show us around. Jerry's somewhat of a legendary figure in 66 circles, as the author of the definitive EZ-Guide travel reference, and an accomplished artist as well, whose works have decorated many an iconic postcard or wall along many historic highways. Can't even begin to describe all the cool stuff within, other than to say he has quite the extensive and unique collection of artifacts and memorabilia, along with original versions of many of his oft-seen works. And another special treat: seeing a partially-completed painting of the Munger Moss Motel in Missouri, marveling at the amazing details painted as reflections in the chrome of a car's fender.
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| Jerry McClanahan's amazing Route 66 Gallery in Chandler | That Jerry seems to be slightly talented | Weren't we just there a couple days ago? |
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| Jerry's latest impressive creation | Are you sure we can't talk you out of this? |
At some time during this grand tour, Duncan slipped outside to investigate the goofy mushrooms that had popped up overnight on Jerry's green lawn (we don't get those too often back home). But no problem - a loud and lively kid isn't hard to find in a quiet yard, and he did get a bit of much-needed exercise.
As we rolled east out of Chandler, we stayed on 66 for a piece, and in a few short miles were scooting through Stroud. You hungry too? Hey look, there's the Rock Cafe. Let's say hi!
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| Route 66 rolls through Stroud | Anyone want to buy a legendary restaurant? |
We walked in the side door and sat down at one of the large wooden tables, and a Lithuanian exchange student waitress with a very happy attitude was serving us chicken snakes and big tasty burgers. Had a bit of time for more Story Cubes, where Duncan composed this epic saga: "I went camping, had a campfire, and a flashlight. There was no cell service. I was by the beach and saw a turtle. Then I fell asleep and dreamed of a bee stinging a flower, then saw a castle. The end."
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| Mmmmm. Chicken snakes. | "I went camping, had a campfire, and a flashlight. There was no cell service. I was by the beach and saw a turtle. Then I fell asleep and dreamed of a bee stinging a flower, then saw a castle. The end." |
Out to the car, back on the turnpike. More rain, and lots of it. Did get a great view of the Tulsa skyline as we veered along I-244, and caught up on our travel time as we whizzed northeast toward the corner of the state. Not as scenic or fun, but it's a tradeoff we need to make in order to make it to New Jersey on time. But human bodies need to take a break sometime, and an exit onto US 60 brought us to the whitewashed exterior of Afton Station. Although our friend Laurel was taking a well-deserved day off, the place was still open for many visitors, and Duncan refreshed himself by sitting on the running board of a silver DeSoto guzzling a frosty cold "Route Beer" right out of the bottle while Richard added the family's name to a fast-growing set of scribbles from visitors from all over the world that already covered two doors and part of a wall.
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| Afton Station - another good stop | Swigging a "Route Beer" on the fender of a DeSoto - this is the life | Placing our inscription on the station's door | Making a small mark for posterity |
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| Multiple showrooms of automotive wonder | Interesting old autos | Shiny, sleek, and quite collectible |
Back onto the pike, across the border into Missouri, off the first exit, and less than a minute later into the state of Kansas and on northward past the green parks of Galena and up to the corner and the Kan-O-Tex pumps in front of the Cars on the Route store. Although our buddies Melba & Renee weren't there, Donna & Abby were more than welcoming for our brief visit, and Duncan talked their heads off about our trip, Minecraft, and other fascinating-to-8-year-old topics.
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| Welcome to Missouri | But first, Kansas. |
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| Cars On the Route in Galena | Duncan talking Abby & Donna's ears off | Us 'n Tater |
We eventually rescued the young ladies from iPad-action-app overload, stuffed the kid in the car, and re-entered Missoruh on old 66. As we approached Joplin, we were reminded that it's been a bit more than two years since a significant portion of the city was blasted off the face of the earth by a monstrous EF5 tornado. Richard still remembers that fateful evening listening to the emergency response crews on a radio link, hearing very familiar street names as the dead and injured were found. We hadn't visited since then, but we were heartened to see that the rebuilding process was well underway - but with many vacant lots and the occasional mangled foundation still seen. And there was something else: trees that had been stripped by the storm were now brightly painted as a symbol of hope and of Joplin's rebirth.
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| After devastation, hope and rebirth |
OK, south on Rangeline and back on the freeway. Mid-American highway vignette: Cruising along, passing a flatbed semi-truck with "DON'T BUMP BUBBA!" in big letters near the taillights. Look at the fuel gauge: might need a bit. Stop and fill up across from the wonders of Ozarkland - looks mighty inviting, but we had other things on our mind. Sweet, sticky things, in fact.
Re-enter the rumbling flow of I-44, and now we're starting to see billboards with an oddly gleeful expression advertising Redmon's Candy Factory off exit 118 in Phillipsburg. Free samples! Clean restrooms! Sounds sweet to us. Suz & son scampered down the aisles, loading bags chock-full of snacks for future travel consumption (plus maybe an on-site sample too), and in short order a kaleidoscope of wax-wrapped taffy was purchased & stowed for future happiness.
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| Oddly gleeful billboards | Happy to be here! | Canwegetawholebunchoftaffyplease? |
On the highway again, with looming clouds and diminishing daylight. We could have gone a bit farther, but why not see what's available in Lebanon lodging tonight? Cruised through town, made our way to the east side - and there it was, looking just like we'd seen it that morning in Jerry's painting - the Munger Moss Motel. It had been 16 years since we'd stayed here last (on our original 1997 Big Road Trip), and of course Ramona didn't know any of us from a brick wall. But that didn't stop her from selling us a room, and Duncan wasted no time in sprinting over to the blue swimming pool for some early-evening frolicking, as the famous neon sign shone behind him and the large group of Spanish motorcyclists vroomed & cheered.
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| The iconic sign of the Munger Moss | Beat you to the room! | Dunc getting a good Munger-dunk |
How about dinner? Ramona suggested T's Redneck Steakhouse, but there was no way we were going to get that boy out of that water. So Richard was volunteered to procure a pile of to-go food, and very good it was - piles of brisket, potatoes, and side dishes that made a nice night even more memorable. After the feeding, Richard headed over to the office for some small item, and struck up a conversation with Ramona, which wandered for most of the evening over any number of subjects - old 66, the characters that travel and are attracted to historic 66, politics, the Munger Moss itself, running a motel year-round in this day & age, dealing with people when their expectations don't match up with your reality, and so on and on and on. But even the best chats with legendary characters must end, and so to the room for a relaxing sleep.
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| I think he likes T's Redneck BBQ | Haven't we been to a few of these places? |
We mustered out of the Munger Moss in the bright morning sunshine, and an app on Suzanne's iPhone notified her of a geocache hidden very close by - on the motel property, in fact. Although she'd recently taken up the sport of geocache hunting, up to this point there had been a lot of seeking, but no finding. But today, after a few minutes of Duncan-aided snooping and squinting, success! - and our names were added to the roll of folks who had also found the cache in the past.
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| Look! We found a geocache at the Munger Moss! | Adding our names to the list | Showing our find to Ramona |
Left Lebanon on old 66, stopping briefly for a fill-up at the MFA Oil on the edge of town, where a brightly-painted old fuel truck quietly sat waiting for its next delivery. Ever since our very first trip along this stretch of 44/66, we'd seen billboards for a jigsaw puzzle store just east of Lebanon; however, every single time we passed through we were either too early, too late, too far behind schedule, or too tired. But today we had no excuses, and into Nancy Ballhagen's Puzzle Store, filled top-to-bottom with thousands of assorted puzzles in an astounding variety of shapes, sizes, and pieces. Petted the kittycat that greeted us at the door, and sorted thru the selection until we'd found the perfect pieces for friends and family.
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| Puzzles? Interesting. | Puzzle kitty greets Dunc |
Later, as we coursed eastward through the Ozarks, it occurred to Richard that the family needed a few useful items such as bulk bungee cords and rocket propelled grenades - OK, maybe not the grenades (are we sure about that...?) And the big sign saying ARMY SURPLUS did look a mite inviting (to the males of the family, anyway). We strolled in past the NRA Pride and Don't Tread On Me stickers and the impressive selection of holsters, only to find out they were fresh out of roll bungee - want some paracord instead in 28 colors? Duncan did get a camo T-shirt for future hide & seek missions, though, and then back onto the highway, gawking at an impressive grafting of a giant fiberglass chicken onto a Chevy El Camino as we accelerated down the on-ramp.
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| It's a giant Missouri El Camino chicken! |
As we were rollin' into Rolla, our bellies had got to rumblin' a bit, and so we pondered our feeding options. Remembering we were now in the land of the mighty Takhomasak, we slipped into Steak & Shake for some good burgers and frosty drinks, as Duncan proudly donned the white cap of quality eating.
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| Meaty goodness. Our son approves. |
We orbited Saint Looey on the south-side beltways, arching over the runoff-swollen Mississippi River on the I-255 bridges. Then a few miles into Illinois, it was time to say goodbye to freeways for a while, as we exited onto US Highway 50 for some peregrination across the prairies, and a quick stop for snacks (and hardware) in our second Lebanon of the day (this time in the Land of the Illini) kept us pleased.
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| Loopin' 'round 'Looey | Arching over the Mississippi |
US 50 & 51 meet up in Sandoval, and the two routes share a bit of roadway in that town. And off to the side of that shared roadway is the blue enamel sign of Taylor Maid Frozen Custard. The original idea was to just get some ice cream, but the interesting array of food items hand-written on the menu board enticed us into making it our dinner stop for the day. While waiting for the sloppy joes & chicken chunks, the story cubes were again deployed, and bizarre tales dictated by the scattering of the cubes filled the air.
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| Great old sign over a good stop in Sandoval | Prices are right, too. |
US 45 also joins US 50 for a few miles, and where that highway stretches to the north toward upper Michigan (via Chicago), Suzanne gave a halfhearted suggestion to just turn left and get to the fun part of the next-to-last week of the trip a bit early. Sorry - gotta keep going to Maine...
From the back seat: "Minecraft Minecraft Minecraft Minecraft Minecraft Minecraft Minecraft Minecraft Minecraft Minecraft!!"
As we cruised the level terrain of southeast Illinois, Richard was scanning the maps to confirm our course (yes, we still proudly use paper maps - no problems with scrolling, rescaling, software bugs, or rebooting). A town up the road had an oddly-familiar name - where had we heard of it before? We pondered a bit, and then fired up the Roadside America app on the iPhone (yes, we utilize the magic of modern electronics as well), and it had the answer - ahead lay the home of the legendary White Squirrels of Olney. Turned into town, and began our hunt for pale fur and bushy tails. And we didn't see any white ones, but did spot a whole passel of their dun-colored brethren as they scampered up the trunks and across the sweeping branches of the majestic trees of the city park - and did see a beautiful rainbow arching across the green expanse.
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| Home of the what squirrels? | Olney seems proud of their small pale fuzzies | No white ones? OK, we'll take gray. |
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| Big trees in a pleasant park | Inspirational graffiti in odd places |
But rainbows mean rain. And this time, lots of it. And the Holiday Motel suddenly became a very inviting place to spend the evening. The staff couldn't be nicer & friendlier as we checked in & settled down, and Duncan couldn't believe his good fortune as the indoor pool allowed for more aqueous action. Then a plop onto the comfy beds, & lights out on another fun day.
Woke up (on our holiday) at the Holiday and filled up on massive pancakes and other good grub from the very convenient on-premises restaurant - good start for a busy day.
After Olney, if you're heading east, there's not much Illinois left until you get to the white-stone bridge arching over the Wabash that takes the old highway into Indiana and downtown Vincennes. This city was known to the Moeurs as the home of our Great-Aunt Tootsie, a very ebullient lady who is still fondly remembered. But that was many years ago, and today we just poked around the streets & storefronts, ending up on the busy business route of US 41 (I think we'll see this road again on the return trip, only farther north).
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| Straight to Copper Harbor, hang a right for Miami Beach. |
Interstate 69, once confined only to Michigan and adjoining states, has begun a relentless march south and west toward the wildlands of south Texas. Although officially recognized as a future freeway, it's not a continuous route quite yet, and its interchange with US 50 was remarkably quiet due to the fact the highway dead-ended just a few miles north, temporarily interrupted on its way to Bloomington and points north. But it was still a bit funny to see full signing for Evansville to the south, but nothing but blank green spaces left open for future northbound destinations.
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| ...and a destination to be named later. |
"Does anyone need to stop in Loogootee? No? OK, let's keep going."
Shoals, Indiana. A seemingly-nice small town on the edges of the Hoosier National Forest. Brick buildings along the main street, right where the darkened red lights of the grade crossing wait patiently for the next train. And near the corner: a building with G&R Variety on the top and display windows filled with all sorts of eclectic items. Let's step in for a minute, shall we?
As many long-time Big Trip aficionados know, one of our favorite things is to discover interesting small-town stores that are different from the WalMart & Dollar Tree homogeneity so often seen across the nation. It's fun to prowl the aisles of a place where you don't know exactly what to expect - odd poultry-shaped sugar bowls on one shelf, inexpensive tools and cargo nets on another, and oddly-flavored soda pop on another. And Duncan, could you please put that axe down before you break something? And the people are usually nice as well (after the 8-year-old stops swinging the pick, that is). We talked about the road trip as we rang up the colorful bungee nets, country-themed decor, and occasional can of Yoo-Hoo, and we were wished a safe and pleasant journey.
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| Shoals, Indiana | G & R Variety - a great place | Be careful with that pickaxe, son... |
East of Shoals, route 50 takes a winding course through hilly terrain, passing numerous quarries which have yielded the stones that have graced the fascias of many a world-famous monument. But this also means there will be trucks on the roads to haul those massive monoliths, and we spent quite a bit of precious vacation looking at shiny back bumpers of slowly-laboring diesels curving through the woods and glens. But somewhere west of Seymour, the ground gets smoother and the passing opportunities return, and the bumper-bumpin' is no longer an aggravation.
US 50 follows the winding course of the Ohio River as it departs Indiana and enters the state with the river's name. After rumbling our way through busy intersections for beltways and casinos, the road curved alongside the rail tracks and trees lining the wide river, and made for pleasant and somewhat-uninterrupted driving. But hey - why not interrupt the driving a bit, especially when there's a pretty park and playground alongside the water? Duncan almost didn't wait for the door to open after he saw the other happy kids on the play structures at Fernbank Park - he zoomed lickety-split right into the gang of girls & boys to join in on the play, while we stretched our legs, visited with the other adults, and watched the barges rumbling under the Kentucky bluffs across the stream.
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| Round sides, hi middle. Got it. | The Ohio River flows next to US 50 traffic | Scenic view from the banks of the Ohio |
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| Outta the car and into the playground! | Skipping and stepping | Making new friends along the way |
From Fernbank, it's a short drive (if the traffic cooperates) to downtown Cincinnati, where we merged onto Interstate 71 as it wended its semi-underground way past the skyscrapers and sports stadii by the riverfront. Steering northeastward to depart the metro area, we noticed that most of the heavy traffic was headed inbound toward the center city - great for us, but slightly odd, unless they're heading for a ball game or other event. But soon we were amid the rolling fields of rural southwestern Ohio, and exited onto a quiet stretch of US 22 for some relaxing 2-lane late-day cruising.
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| Pick an arrow, any arrow | Downtown Cincy from the freeway | Still a working town |
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| A peaceful scene on quiet US 22 | Farms and fields by the roadside |
We'd mentioned Duncan's obsessive electronic activities previously. This might be a good time to note that Suzanne had been busy staring at her iPhone as well, with many a round of Candy Crush conquered, as well as numerous simultaneous games of Words With Friends with the little people who live in her phone (rumor has it they might also exist in real life, but this is unverified). But another form of virtual life had taken up residence in the iPhone and iPad - Suz & Duncan both had the "Tamagotchi" app, where one could grow and care for a small yet insistent creature in the same way as people around the world did in their egg-shaped games during the craze back in the late 1990s. Suzanne had been raising a particularly fine specimen of Pink Ginjirotchi since we'd left Phoenix, and was looking forward to it celebrating its 16th (in game time) birthday. But alas at some time on US 22 the little Gotchi was gotten by the dark hand of death, and the screen showed a little angel winging its way into the 8-bit beyond.
Is it suppertime yet? Seeing the signs for Washington Court House stirred our synapses into remembering there was a Frisch's Big Boy that we'd visited last when Duncan was but a wee baby, and the thought of tartar-slathered beef (or maybe something else) didn't sound too bad. We re-enacted our 2005 photos with the slim yet grinning Big Boy statue out front and a much-larger kid underneath, and then loaded up the grub for a sun-in-the-rear-view drive over toward Centerville. We consulted the mom 'n pop motel list at http://www.motelguide.com for suggestions, and followed old US 23 north from the lively downtown to a spot - where there definitely wasn't a motel. OK, no problem - there's another one south of town that really is there, and we pulled in by the neon ENTRANCE sign to relax from our busy day at the aptly-named Relax Inn.
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| Back at Big Boy with a bigger boy | (same place, 8 years earlier in 2005) | Neon guides us to the Relax Inn |
Finished our relaxing at the Relax Inn, loaded up, and cruised US 23 seeking some not-good-for-us-but-yummy-anyway food to start the day. Saw a Rax Roast Beef restaurant by the side of the highway, which brought back memories of savory sandwiches at the Rax near West High School a third of a century ago.
We may not have been aware of it earlier, but Centerville is the center of one of the most-impressive pumpkin festivals in the United States (not until October, of course). We made a note that it might be worthwhile to visit this gourd-geous place during that time in a future year, and proceeded away from the punkin-shaped water tower toward eastbound adventure.
An hour or so of scenic driving brought us to the town of Lancaster and as we rounded the curve and spotted Smoke Stack Hobbies, we thought it would be a great idea to investigate within. Like any self-respecting hobby shop in a mid-sized town, there were neat rows of model locomotives, radio-controlled aircraft diving from the ceiling, and a great selection of injection-molded kits just waiting for young (or not-so-young) hands to assemble (and free cookies too!) Richard found a mint-condition treasure in one far corner - a plastic electric Goodyear Blimp model just like the one he had (and unfortunately wrecked) when he was just a bit older than Dunc's age - took quite a bit of willpower to place that back on the shelf. We did purchase a rubber-band-powered plane for future fun, said thanks for the cookies and the company, and rolled into the fountain-bedecked downtown to seek a geocache that had been detected by Suz's iPhone app. Although our hunt was unsuccessful, it did make for an enjoyable break from a long day of travel. Back in the Monte and eastbound past Somerset and its statue of hometown hero Phil Sheridan, and diagonally onward into the east side of the "O" state.
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| Smokestack Hobbies in Lancaster - a good fun place | Son, someday you'll be old enough for these trains... | A blimp from Richard's past |
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| Where's the geocache? |
Zanesville, Ohio: The Loudest City On Earth. We pulled into the Gulf station for a fill-up, and immediately our ears were assaulted by the din of muffler-free motorcycles, over-revved pickup trucks, screeching-tire sedans, and a background racket that would have put a full-throttle jet engine in a hailstorm to shame. But at least the people were nice (when we could make out what they were saying, that is), and we struck up a conversation or two with folks who asked about our journey and destinations.
East of here, US 40 and I-70 run concurrently or parallel, depending on topography and development. The Interstate is fast but crowded and busy, while the US route winds around the hills and through the small towns along this historic transportation corridor. In fact, in many locations US 40 is the route of the National Road, the first-ever Federal highway. Initially conceived all the way back in 1811, the National Road served as a vital land transportation link from the Atlantic coast to the Great Plains. And even though two centuries have passed and covered wagons have given way to RVs, US 40 still possesses some relics of that original highway, including carefully-preserved stone bridges that have seen many hundreds of seasons, and some of the original milestones still proudly standing by the roadside showing distances to towns that still endure.
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| An old milepost on the National Road | Ancient obelisk still measuring the miles |
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| Nearly-200-year-old bridge still in service | Explaining the wiggle: 19th-century roadbuilders didn't have the luxury of skew alignments |
And now for a more-personal note. From the time they first met, Suzanne and her best friend Alison were very close, and shared joys and tears as the vagaries of life and fate played out through the lives of their families. But in January of 2013, Alison suddenly passed away, and is very dearly missed.
And along US 40 in eastern Ohio is the town of Cambridge, the hometown of our aforementioned Alison. We drove under the brick facades of the stately buildings downtown and continued to the east side of the city, and pulled in under the sign for Wally's Pizza. Alison considered Wally's to be the ultimate achievement in the art of pizza pie, and frequently raved about the wonders of these rectangular-crust food products, even going so far as to bring pieces all the way back to Arizona to share. And so in honor of our departed friend, we order a large sausage deep-dish, and enjoyed its steaming-hot stringiness was we departed eastward toward the boundary with the next state.
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| Welcome to Cambridge, Ohio | The picturesque downtown of Cambridge | Wally's Pizza - Alison's favorite. Not bad. |
West Virginia is many things - and one of them that definitely applies is "oddly-shaped". Sporting not just one but two panhandles, one of them protrudes like a wiggly antenna separating Ohio and Pennsylvania amid the wrinkly Appalachians. I-70 goes east into Wheeling on a tall and rather congested bridge (hope the chunks of rusted concrete didn't fall off recently), and then into a tunnel and out east toward Tridelphia. We exited into the parking lot of Riesbeck's Supermarkets, and set about replenishing our depleted supplies. Gumdrops and Pop-Tarts and fizzy cola was dropped into the cart (hey, we're on vacation!), and the cooler and food bags were refilled.
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| Welcome to WV! | The I-70 Ohio River bridge at Wheeling |
And only a few miles after exiting the market parking lot, we saw a Pennsylvania bicycle route sign, marking our entry into our third state of the day. The western part of Penn was uneventful, and the miles passed quickly. A stop for fuel in New Stanton before plunging through the toll booths, and then onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike for some high-speed zipping across this rectangular state. Pennsylvania is bisected by the ancient Appalachian Mountain range, which adds a wrinkle (both figuratively and literally) to east-west travel across the state. We could have chosen to use some of the scenic winding roads, but we weren't sure we'd be able to have enough time to make our destination, or even see anything along the way. So the Turnpike was our choice, and Monte's nearly-new engine purred as we followed the sweeping curves of the open highway.
As the afternoon sun started blazing in the rear-view mirror, we started doing calculations on where we were and where we might stay for the night. The steep exit tolls on the Turnpike and long distances between exits meant we couldn't just keep looking every few miles, but had to actually plan ahead. Scan of the map - seems like Breezewood would be a good place to stop. Hmmm - Breezewood?
So what's so special about Breezewood, Pennsylvania? Due to a quirk of Federal law, highway planning, and relentless commerce, Breezewood is the only place on the entire cross-country route of Interstate 70 where the freeway's mainline flow is interrupted by traffic signals and driveways. Through traffic on I-70 heading for Maryland or Ohio has to stop, turn onto US 30 (the Lincoln Highway, incidentally), and make their way past half a mile or so of truck stops, gas stations, restaurants, and motels before resuming expressway travel.
And so it was that we rumbled in that throng of vehicles through Breezewood, spotting some interesting lodging a bit too late to make the turn. No problem - we'll just U-turn.. Uh oh - we just left town, there's a big median, and no places to U-turn. Keep going... and going... aha! Turn! And a long drive back to town. Definitely not missing the turn this time - and we pulled in to the parking lot under the impressive moderne letters on the roof of the Wiltshire Motel and inquired about rooms.
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| Breezewood - the only traffic lights remaining on Interstate 70 | The green lawn of the Wiltshire Motel in Breezewood |
What's the big ominous-looking red phone outside the office for? Nuclear strikes? International diplomacy? Calling the bullpen? Didn't get a chance to find out, as the proprietor personally showed us the rooms, complete with vividly-colored vintage porcelain bath fixtures and impressively-sized flat-screen TVs. But most important, a reasonable price. :)
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| The Red Phone Of Doom | Now that's colorful porcelain. |
We settled in, and Duncan spied a couple kids playing on the verdant lawn outside the door. Out the door he flew to join them, with Dad close after. The plane from the hobby shop was deployed and saw several successful flights propelled by small hands, and much fun was had. But rambunctious fun also leads to big appetites, and the Bob Evans up the street was a perfect place to fill bellies with fare we can't get at home. Then a wash-up in the colorful washroom, and a doze in the beds to finish off a busy eastern day.
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| Is this how it works? | New pint-size play buddies roughhousing with Duncan | "You got me that time, but I'll be back!" |
Been on the road almost a week. Let's get going.
Say thanks to the fine folks at the Wiltshire Motel, ease our way into the bumper-to-bumper traffic on US 30, pick up a toll ticket with a long column of astronomical prices, and merge onto the eastbound Pennsylvania Turnpike for some high-speed haulin'.
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| The Booths Of Revenue Extraction | Lots of exits, but none of them cheap |
As mentioned yesterday, the Allegheny / Appalachian mountain chain run mainly north-south across this state, while the Turnpike runs east-west. This means the highway must go either over or around the ridges and rolls - or, in some cases, directly through them. The Turnpike does have several sets of twin-bore tunnels along its length, a legacy of the original roadbed having been developed for a railroad in the late 19th century. Although the rails failed to materialize, the highway uses the tubes to allow travel while avoiding some steep grades. However, it can still be a bit, um, interesting going through a nearly-mile-long tunnel sandwiched between white-tile walls and a large roaring semi-truck.
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| Hazmat incidents can be unpleasant. Hazmat incidents in confined spaces especially so. | Through the hill instead of over it | But what if the white line crosses us? |
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| Rumbling through the tunnels | The light at the end... yeah, you know. |
We eventually emerged into the flatter lands of the Cumberland Valley, waving hi to the signs for Carlisle and seeing the cooling towers for the Three Mile Island nuclear plant as we crossed the Susquehanna River. Didn't make too many stops except at the service plazas, where Duncan filled up on Roy Rogers sandwiches and Hersheys ice cream and Suzanne admired the busy buzzing bumblebees working around the colorful flower beds.
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| Hey Suzanne! You can get off here! | A formerly famous place for not-good reasons |
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| Break time! | I'll take one of everything! |
Back on the tollway, Richard was noticing that although the Turnpike has plowed its revenue into modernization and upgrades, this road still displays quite a bit of its 70+-year heritage, including the intricate concrete fascias of bridges constructed prior to its opening in 1940. Although the road was way ahead of its time in design and layout when it was first opened, it's a case where some of the then-futuristic geometry is now obsolete, and even at reduced speeds a driver must be alert and wary. The traffic continued to increase in volume as we neared the Philadelphia suburbs, and by the time we began our arc toward New Jersey, the Turnpike was anything but a free-flow facility.
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| Many-decade old bridges still span the Turnpike | Still showing the PTC stamp |
Found our exit for the orphaned stub of Interstate 95, paid the nearly-$30 toll for only a half-day of driving, and soon crossed over into the Garden State as we slipped around central Trenton. Then another exit onto US Highway 1 (US 89 is long behind us) and a sideslip onto US 206, and the final miles of the first week were spent watching the bumpers of the long lines of cars in front of us as the commuters plotted their escape from the corporate campuses in the area. Driving past the leafy campus of Princeton University reminded us that Richard's maternal grandfather was posted to this campus during the Second World War as a naval officer, working closely with some shaggy-haired guy named "Albert" on some secret projects involving neutrons and stuff. And then into Hillsborough (or is it Hillsboro?), turning onto Triangle Road - no, wait, the other Triangle Road - and into the driveway of our friend Regina's house exactly one week and five minutes after rolling out of our own driveway in Phoenix.
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| Welcome to Joisey! | Many miles from US 89 |
Regina gave us a most warm welcome and helped us in with our items, and we set about rearranging souvenirs, piling up loads of laundry, and reciting the highlights of the outbound journey - while Duncan simultaneously attempted to instruct Regina on the finer points of Minecraft mob management. But everything eventually settled down, and over an excellent home-made meal of soup, baked chicken, and green bean casserole we caught up on items and happenings as Regina's little dog Holly bestowed kisses upon our son (and everyone else). Then into the comfy guest beds, open the windows to let in the soft evening Joisey breezes (and the soothing whirr of the jet engines on approach to Newark Airport), and a sound sleep to recover from much travel action.
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| Regina welcomes us to her home | Do you want to see every single one of my apps? | Spot the puppy! |
Didn't we just drive well over 2000 miles? Doesn't matter. Gotta go sightseeing anyway. In the biggest city in the United States.
Into the Monte and up to the New Jersey Transit station at Somerville, where after a few minutes' wait the scheduled commuter train came rolling into the station, the bell loudly clanging as it heralded its arrival. Found some good seats on the upstairs level of the double-decker car, and watched the happy back yards and decaying industrial zones of suburban New Jersey unroll outside the picture windows. Through Bound Brook and Dunellen and Union we rolled, until we pulled in under the time-worn canopy of Newark's Union Station to transfer for the final leg. Ended up in a standing-room-only car as we crossed the Meadowlands, where Duncan's kaleidoscopic souvenir shirt from Pops acted to strike up a conversation with some folks from Chandler, Oklahoma (our overnight stop less than a week before). Then into the tunnel under the Hudson River, a brief glimpse of the skyscrapers lining 33rd Street, and into the maze of tunnels and walkways that comprise Manhattan's Pennsylvania Station - a transportation hub with all the delicate charm of a multi-level bus station, only without the nuance.
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| All aboard at Somerville | Here comes the eastbound NJ Transit train to NYC |
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| Happy to be on our way | Getting to see the grittier parts of the towns |
Finally burrowed our way to the surface and burst into the brilliant New York City sunshine on this warm summer day - and because of the travel time from Jersey, we were already a bit hungry. And New York City isn't exactly known for its bargains in restaurant fare. But there is another option - the nearly-ubiquitous "dirty water" hot dog stands and carts along the streets and sidewalks, where $2.00 will get you a red-hot frankfurter (and unlike Chicago, a happy dose of ketchup) on a soft steaming bun. Top it off with a fruit smoothie from a stand in the open-air market on 6th Avenue and then a Mister Softee frozen cone from a bright pink truck, and you have a meal finer than that offered by any lousy five-star joint.
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| Her's got the Empire State in his hands | Is somebody happy to be here? |
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| A fine dining establishment in midtown Manhattan | Dirty water hot dogs. With ketchup. Mmmmm. | That's Mister Softee to you! |
We made our rectilinear way up to 34th Street and the bustling bevy of Macy's famous flagship store, where the staff was smiling and the restrooms were open. Out for a stroll across Herald Square, and then a zigzag walking route around Midtown, where we happened upon the Manhattan outpost of the Boy Scout Store, and Duncan happily talked the ears off the staff about all the doings in Grand Canyon Council as his parents enjoyed the air-conditioned coolness.
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| Our maniac at Macy's | Heralding our arrival at Herald Square | The Statue Of Dunc-erty |
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| Cooling smoothies from 6th Avenue street vendors | Duncan doing his best! |
It was becoming clear that a purely foot-borne approach wouldn't take us to all the places we wanted to see (and Duncan's a bit too small to ride a CitiBike yet). After a brief debate (summarized as "Mom gets her way"), the decision was made to employ the services of one of the swarming legions of yellow taxicabs infesting the streets of the borough.
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| We wouldn't be "lion" if we said all this walking was tiresome | A 4-wheeled thrill ride in the making |
Duncan's instructions as we piled into the back seat: "I want this to be really fun!!!"
A faint smile played across the face of the driver as he stomped the Crown Victoria Police Interceptor's V-8 engine to full power.
We're not saying that the acceleration forces we endured were the same as those experienced by astronauts during space launches, but it certainly felt like it as we screeched away into the turbulent traffic flow. And the sudden sharp swerves as the driver slalomed around the other objects had us rhythmically slamming against the side windows, as Suzanne's fingerprints began to leave permanent marks in the cushion on the door handle. We merged onto FDR Drive at seemingly extra-legal speeds, enjoying the velocity-blurred view along the East River waterfront - look, there's the WilliamsburgMannhattanBrooklyn Bridges (about that fast, yes). And then a quick exit into the Battery and a slamming stop at the curb, and our mustard-hued journey was complete.
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| Zooming under the bridges | Blasting by Brooklyn |
The reviews from the critics were not delayed - as he tumbled out of the back, Duncan proclaimed at the top of his lungs that "THAT WAS THE BEST RIDE EVERRRRR!!!"
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| Hamming it up with a Haring |
We staggered south through the throngs in Battery Park, sidestepping the wobbly folks on rental bicycles and senior couples hand in hand. We saw that the playground and splash area was still fenced off, having been severely damaged by Superstorm Sandy late last year, and that the City only had a single hose and garden sprinkler set up for cooling spray-time fun. But never let it be said that the kids here are sprinkler snobs - as far as they were concerned, both tourist and local, that one lonely sprinkler was the best water park on Earth as they gleefully shrieked their way around and across the spray as the parents took in the view of the Statue of Liberty and the harbor traffic, including speedboats, cruise ships, and many merry ferries.
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| Charged up to be at Battery Park | Impromptu splash pad attracts the kids | Water wackiness |
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| Lady Liberty looks out from a busy harbor | Tall ship exits the East River | Cruisin' on a Saturday afternoon... |
Cooled off and rested, we promenaded by the water's edge, until interrupted by a dude in a striking Statue of Liberty outfit beckoning Duncan over for a photo opportunity. And Dad of course snapped the photo - only to find out that "Lady" Liberty was fully expecting a full five bucks for just standing there photogenically with our offspring. But it admittedly was a good picture.
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| Statue of Dunc-erty - The Remake |
Just north of here are the stone-clad canyons of Broadway and Wall Street, and we bypassed the long lines awaiting a nose-rub and picture at the big bronze bull to instead enjoy a shady circular rest at Bowling Green Park. Then past Trinity Church and its yard full of famous crypts and headstones, including a man whose picture graced our wallet right at that moment ("Hi, Al!"), and a walk westward along Carlisle Street to a place of even slightly less levity.
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| The shiny high-rises of Lower Manhattan | Bowling Green Park - a NYC fixture for almost 300 years | I see you! |
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| Broadway - Canyon of Heroes | Broadwayyy! | New nesting dolls for Suz |
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| And we even have a commemorative portrait in the wallet. Cost us $10, though. | Suzanne! You're famous! |
Flashback: We last visited New York City in June of 2001. On that trip, we decided to visit the observation deck at the Empire State Building, because we figured that on our next visit that our buddy Maggie (who had an office on the 82nd floor of the north tower of the World Trade Center) would give us the grand tour of that facility. But we all know what happened a couple months later - and although Maggie made it out safe & sound, we weren't going to ever be seeing that observation deck in person. It was profoundly moving to see the memorial where the water cascades within the exact footprint of each former building, and it brought back sharp memories as we circled each tower and saw the names of those murdered on that day. And an impromptu lesson: as Duncan reached down to touch the flow at the lip of the memorial, he placed his other hand on the name of Fire Chief Ganci, and I gently informed him of the importance of that name and all the others lining the pools. But above this scene also soars the 1,776 feet of the new tower, which is rapidly nearing completion as a visible landmark of the nation's resilience.
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| Visiting the memorial | Paying our respects where our friend's office once stood | And seeing the new tower rise high above |
As anyone who has visited the city can attest, a tourist's experience in New York City can be greatly affected by their personal comfort. And if there's anything that's in extremely short supply, it's public restrooms - and many hotels and restaurants gruffly repel all who seek relief within, unless they have reservations or a room key. But one opulent lodging venue (whose name will be withheld to prevent future problems), when faced with the pained visage of a distressed 8-year-old, took pity upon us and allowed us to use their marble-walled facilities, for which we will be eternally grateful (and when we make a whole lot more money, we'll return the favor with our patronage).
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| Oh thankyouthankyouthankyou! |
The day was getting long, and for some insane reason we thought Times Square would be a good place to head to, and so we headed for the subway entrance - only to see them closed off for weekend reconstruction (that darn Sandy strikes again). So hail to the taxi, and a slow meter-spinning drive up Avenue of the Americas through the Village and Chelsea, and the clogged streets of the mid-30s. We bailed out into the horrifically packed throngs teeming around the tourist traps and theaters, and realized that maybe this wasn't really a Good Idea. After a short escape into a welcoming Starbucks (OK, we're not coffee drinkers, but it'll be hard for us to say bad things about them after that - thanks!), we plowed through the mobs of fast-talking hucksters, over-dressed theatergoers, and oddly-attired tourists over to Seventh Avenue, and decided to just get the heck out of town while our wits were intact (well, after stopping for a sanity-restoring Mister Softee, of course). We trudged south on Seventh as the boutiques shut around us, thinking that this part of the trip wasn't all that great.
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| Taxis swarm busy streets | Fresh air! Times Square! |
And then a man of tin did his part to cheer our souls. Street performers are common in the busier areas of the borough, but this metal-clad human statue went above and beyond to make us smile after a wearying day. Deftly fashioning an impressive sword from a long balloon, he bestowed the weapon upon Duncan with a smile, and the remaining blocks back to Madison Square Garden went faster & better as Duncan fought off many an imaginary laser-beam foe as the street preachers thundered from their sidewalk pulpits. Oh, and the Pie Face pies helped too. :)
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| And this... | ...is how... | ...you can make an 8-year-old's entire day. |
Around the Garden and onto the train amid the crowds of sunburned travelers and weekend workers. Almost got lost in the station in Newark, but made the correct connection and rode the rails back to Somerville without incident. Then back to Regina's happy home and a thud into the beds, with memories of the day's craziness to accompany us.
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| Setting sun in concrete canyons | Empire in the twilight |
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| Penn Station | Back to New Jersey with our unregistered weapon |
We're tired and worn-out from cross-country travel and marathon sighseeing. Go back into the city again? OK, why not. What could possibly go wrong?
The train ride was again enjoyable (OK, except for the "Newark Shuffle", but even that wasn't all bad). On the train, a deep thought from Duncan: "Electronics are an abomination to Nature." But I don't think you'll be cashing in your iPad anytime soon, my boy...
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| We've got a ticket to ri-ide... | Trundling through the trusses on the Raritan Valley Line | Pondering the imponderables |
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| Maze of rails at Newark | Arriving in Manhattan from underneath |
At Penn Station, we elected to stay submerged and catch the C train north toward the Upper West Side. Duncan found a new friend as they clung to the pole as the subway car shuddered to a stop and creaked back into motion, and then off at 81st Street and directly into the underground entryway to the world-famous American Museum of Natural History. Ever since seeing the movie "Night At The Museum" many years before, Duncan has reallyreallyreally wanted to visit this place, even though we patiently explained then Ben Stiller would definitely not be working there.
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| Catching the uptown subway | Hang on tight! | Looks like our stop |
The lines leading to the admission booths were painfully slow, and we quickly surmised the problem. It seems the admission fee is a "suggested" one, and many folks were involved in lengthy negotiations with the cashiers over what a reasonable amount would be, balancing civic virtue with naked self-interest. When we finally reached the head of the line, we elected to just pay the full price (you hear that, karma? huh?) and speedily enter the facility to maximize our remaining time.
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| Day at the Museum |
We made our way to the most-impressive rotunda, where dino-skeletons are surrounded by larger-than-life quotes from some "local boy" named Theodore Roosevelt, and murals and friezes commemorating important moments in global history. Another thing in the rotunda was an overabundance of loudly-communicating specimens from the genus Homo, so we stepped sideways into the darkened gallery of African animals, where the herd of elephants silently thundered and the koodoo wondered hoo da heck the weirdoes on the other side of the glass were.
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| Impressive rotunda | Hello there, big guy! | First-rate friezes |
We landed among the elands and pointed ourselves past the geology and insect exhibits, sensing the creepiness of giant millipedes and blood-sucking mosquitoes. Then a wave to the life-size model of the blue whale suspended in space, and over to the land of paleontology. This was Duncan's true goal, as he was very intent to see "Rexie" from the movie, although the full-size apatosaurus (we can't call it a 'bronto' anymore?) was impressive as well. Then on by the giant fossil turtle and shark jaws, the massive mammoth, mastodon, and moose bones, and (of course) to the gift shop, where the funny souvenir shirts competed for our attention and cash.
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| Big herd o' elephants | Getting the Serengeti |
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| Who doo the koodoo see? | Themsbok? Gemsbok! | The geology of our home state, along with one non-mineral specimen |
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| Big bugs. Really big bugs. | Almost life size. | A whale of an exhibit space |
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| Sauro-whata-morphs? | Hi Rexie! | You can almost hear the "Flintstones" theme in your head. Admit it. |
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| A passel of fossils | Chomp. | Big smiles on the fossilized turtle and his new friend |
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| Their tricera is tops! | Massive mastodon | Super Moose! |
A glance at the watch verified that we were not going to be even close to seeing everything in the museum, so after a break for an impressive view of Central Park and Midtown from the fourth-floor balcony, we proceeded into the Polynesian area to view the serene visage of the Easter Island moai who for some reason wasn't interested in the many offerings of gum (maybe after hours, but not now). Then past the primates and Native lands and out the door right at closing time, as the green statue of Teddy and his helpers stood guard over the bustling scene below the steps.
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| Stone faces | "Dum dum, give me gum-gum." | That's using your (Polynesian) heads |
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| Examples of primates on display | Expansive view from the upper floors | See ya later, Teddy! |
So what's across the street? Central Park, of course. And on a sunny summer Sunday afternoon, it seemed like a nice place to visit. But it's BIG. And the places we'd heard of (carousel, pond, etc.) were a long hike away, and the pedicab driver's offer of a flat $90 fee for transport didn't help. So what's actually nearby? We discovered the Shakespeare Garden, with its array of floral delights in a winding setting of glacially-deposited boulders, and the green spaces between the park roads, on this day overrun with packs of pedestrians and cyclists heedless of anything in front of or around them.
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| Central Park on a sunny summer Sunday afternoon | The verdant expanse of the Shakespeare Garden | Festive floralities |
But Duncan really wanted some playground time, and soon. Some asking & searching brought us to the Diana Ross Playground near 81st Street, where Duncan eagerly joined the other kids in stomping the sand, navigating the monkey bars, and getting all sorts of swaying on the cool tire swing with its three degrees of freedom. And our Arizona boy then put on a clinic on effectively using the splash area - as the local kids said "no, it's too cold!", our son proudly stood in the chilly stream - but, in hindsight, it may have been wiser to have asked him to change his clothes beforehand. As for the name: back in the 1980s, Miss Ross personally paid for the construction of the playground, and it has held up well in the service of the children who live in and visit the city.
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| Lady Sponsors A Playground | Multirotational merriment | Maybe a bit too much swingin' |
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| Not cold at all! Really! | Mr. Grubby in his habitat |
Time to escape New York. One last look across Central Park West to the sun-dappled trees, and then to take our still-sopping-wet son & us back down the C train to Penn Station, and onto the NJT rails. After we popped out of the Hudson River tunnel, we saw a magnificent sunset over the New Jersey Meadowlands framed by the under-reconstruction Pulaski Skyway, and then an impromptu driving tour of Somerville and Hillsborough to catch a light dinner before a final evening of rest under Regina's roof.
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| Rolling under the streets | Do you think they'll let us drive? :) |
Next Stage: Downeastahrahma
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Latest Historical Revisionism 31 May 2014
Scripting: Richard C. Moeur
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