Day 2

Breezewood, PA to Buffalo, NY to Niagara Falls, Canada

Mileage – 334

I felt as though we were continuously driving through a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle. There definitely was a larger picture, but so many components contributing to the whole. Each blazing red tree, each flaming orange leaf, each red barn, each white farm house…

Salamanca! I love this name. For miles we saw signs for this town. Eat here. Get gas here. Stay here. And each time we passed a sign, I called out, “Salamanca!” trying to convince Daniel I was casting a spell on him. He finally turned to me and said, “It’s an Indian name, Lori.” It still sounds magical.

Zippo Lighter Welcome Center and Museum – We walked in to a giant American flag created from thousands of various designs of Zippo lighters. The sign beside the flag challenged the visitor to find the one Zippo lighter that was inserted backwards. I looked for a couple of minutes, then gave up.

Zippo has a satisfaction guarantee – if it breaks, send it back and they repair or replace it free of charge. We saw lots of examples of lighters sent in – chewed by a Cocker Spaniel, run over by an airplane, put through the wringer (literally) in an automatic industrial strength dishwasher.

Altoona, PA – What a great name!

On a marquis – “Redemption has consequences.”

The Falls By Night

We drove along the esplanade, towards the brightly colored rainbow lights – blurs of yellow, red, blue, green. We parked the car then started through the cold, wet, darkness. The umbrella I had was really of no help; I used all my strength to pull it close to me, trying to prevent it from snapping inside out. We ran across the deserted street – right up to the railing. That’s when I started squealing. Before I could make out the Falls in the darkness I could hear them. The dull roar of millions of gallons of water tumbling, crashing onto rocks below. I squinted. Through the bright rainbows, I could see the faint outline of the mist of the falls, the wind hurling shards of water at our faces. I skipped along the walk, trying to savor this moment. This moment I’ve anticipated for so long now. This moment when I first saw, heard, felt, the Falls…

Pondering:

Why doesn’t anyone use butter anymore? It’s nearly impossible to find butter in restaurants on the road.

Why are barns red?

Day 1

Winston-Salem, NC to Washington, DC (or MD) to Breezewood, PA

Learned:

Bojangle’s chicken isn’t as good as it used to be. If you drink a JumBO size of Bojangles sweet ice tea, you will have to stop at every rest area on your journey.

Sitting in a car for a long time makes me tired (not a good harbinger for the days to come….)

West Virginia is to the west, not the north, of Maryland.

Anticipation….

Today is the day. The day we start our big trip. I woke up before the alarm went off. I’ve been cleaning, packing, re-packing, waiting for our appointed departure time. Excitement….

Quote of the Day

“Oh, let’s just be adventurous and get that glass of Spanish wine with our Indian meal. That’ll be our big adventure for the day.”

Setting: I’m sitting in an Indian restaurant with two of my mother’s friends.

Not A Good Sign…

I was in Wal-Mart tonight, finishing up last minute preparations for our cross country drive/camping adventure. This led me to the Sporting Goods section of the store, better known as “Hunter’s Paradise.” Rows and rows of fashionable camouflage outfits, gun accessories for your every whim, it was scary. Being around guns has always unnerved me. Mostly because the people who are holding them are exactly the people who shouldn’t be. Case in point:

As I walked up to the counter in the Sporting Goods section, ready to ask the salesperson where hot/cold compresses were, I heard these words, “Well, I sho’ don’t know *exactly* what this here’s fo’, but I think it’ll work anyhow.” The clerk is assembling, loading, doing something, to a gun there on the counter. (Yes, they sell guns at Wal-Mart, but that’s another story…) These words pique my interest, I look over, on his badge are the words “Clerk In-Training. Please Be Patient.”

The Library

I love the public library system. Always have. I can remember, at age 6, riding my Schwinn bicycle to the Rural Hall Public Library, at that time no larger than a large closet, with shelves and shelves of mostly dog-eared paperbacks. Discovering Sidney Sheldon (people do that?), Danielle Steele, all the others that frankly I’m amazed made it past the censorship committee.

One of the first things I did when I arrived back to North Carolina was renew my public library card. It just amazes me that there is such a plethora of materials available, gratis, for my consumption. It’s like going to a buffet and eating for free.

Yesterday one of the books I checked out was due. I didn’t have time to get to the library before it closed. Today, I made it a priority to return it. As I stood at the “Returns” desk, the librarian motioned for me to just leave the book. But, I think I owe a fine. I’m a day late. “Honey, we don’t charge fines fo’ books. We just glad you returned it.” I was shocked. I was pleasantly surprised. I love the library.

Projects

I am a project type of gal. I love making lists. I love projects. I have spent the day writing postcards to my so-yae grandfathers in Korea, creating a first aid kit for our cross country trip, putting together a roadside emergency kit, packing the camping gear, and jotting down a grocery list for campfire meals. I’ve printed out directions to hard to find attractions (thanks, mapquest), I’ve highlighted routes in the US Road Atlas, and I’ve searched for any winter clothes I might have left behind at my parents’ house. I literally bounce from task to task, I’m so excited (although, the sugar content of the Krispy Kreme doughnuts I had for supper could also be contributing to my energy level…)

Restraint

I spent a couple of days in Raleigh, visiting dear friends from college. Only a year older than me, but a world apart. I look at them, with their steady jobs, their advanced degrees, their church/synagogue leadership positions, their community involvement, their families, and wonder… They just seem so grown up. So together.

At the door, as I was saying my goodbyes, little 4-year-old Jack commanded me to “Wait!” He skittered into the kitchen, quickly returned, and presented me with a ziploc bag of 5 oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, made especially by him. I was touched. “Jack, thank you so much. These will be a perfect snack for my drive home.” He wrinkled his brow, then, with all seriousness, said, “Well. I think you should only eat one in the car. It really is best to save the rest for later.”

Great. Even a four year old has better sense than I do.

Road Trip

My friend Daniel is moving from New York to San Francisco. While I was in New York, he talked at length about whether he should drive across the country or fly. His main concern about driving was that he really didn’t want to drive 3000 miles by himself. Well, that sounded like enough of an invitation to me, or perhaps not, in any case I invited myself to accompany him. He graciously accepted my invitation.

I am my father’s daughter. When my parents decided to travel around the world, my father sent me a 50 page itinerary, detailing where they would be, accommodations, sights to see, etc. I mocked him. I should have known.

I have devoured every book, every website, that I can about tourist destinations between here and San Francisco, via the West and Pacific Northwest. I have seen good websites, and not so good. Informative ones, and not so much.

We set off next week, and I am excited. Very, very excited. This will be the ultimate adventure.

In the evenings, I enjoy running on the track at the local high school. There’s grass all around. It’s peaceful. It’s quiet. Sometimes, I share the track with a few other people. Tonight, I was alone. Mostly.

After my fourth lap, I passed a family. A father, carrying an infant, walking beside the most adorable 3 year old boy, donned in dress slacks and a silk vest. The three year old watched me. I passed, and continued. On my next lap I passed them again. The three year old stared at me, again. The next lap, I walked. As I was approaching the family, the three year old turned around, and exclaimed, “Awwwww. Now I see. You walkin’ *aaaaaaaand* runnin’.” This utterance struck me as incredibly funny. I smiled, laughed, and heard the words, “Sho’ nuuuuuuuff.”

“Sho’ nuff” – where did that come from? I glanced around. I was the only other person on the track. Yes, those words, that southern exclamation for “sure enough” had come from my mouth. You can take the girl out of the country….