The Dancing Cow

A fable as told by Mary Poppins.

Mary Poppins is back in theaters. The current movie is a sequel — not a remake — after all, how could they even think of remaking a perfect classic? — but it did get me thinking about the original. I was three when it came out in 1964 so if I saw it then, I don’t remember. I did see it sometime when I was a kid. And I saw it again recently, when I spied it on some streaming service and decided to settle down for a little fantasy from my childhood.

There was a movie a year or two ago with Tom Hanks playing Walt Disney and wooing Mary Poppins author P.L. Travers to get the rights to make a movie. I didn’t see that movie, but it did get me wondering about the book the movie was based on. So yesterday, when I was browsing the audiobook selections at my public library and saw the original Mary Poppins book available, I borrowed it and downloaded its files to my phone, along with a half dozen other audiobook titles. Although I started to listen to Neil deGrasse Tyson’s Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, I quickly realized, as my mind kept wandering, that I cared very little about quarks and bosons. I needed something light that would pull me in with a story line. Mary Poppins was just the ticket.

So yes, as I drove southeast through Washington and Oregon in an 8,700-pound truck with a 4,400 pound camper with gear on top of it, I listened to a female British voice actor read Mary Poppins to me.

The book was different from the movie. In it, Mary is terribly vain and not especially nice. She does have that magic carpet bag, though. Bert is in just one chapter and doesn’t ever seem to meet the children. Jane and Michael have twin baby siblings, John and Barbara, who aren’t even a year old for half the book. Mr Banks is cheap but there’s no bank scene. There’s no chimney sweep scene, either (Bert is a street artist and a match seller). There are other scenes, though, that never made it into the movie and that’s what this post is all about.

You see, in one chapter, Mary Poppins told a story about a cow and I found a moral in it. I’m not sure if that’s what P.L. Travers intended, but I suspect it was. The moral had nothing to do with the rest of the story in the Mary Poppins book — at least not as far as I can tell.

Let me tell you a short version of the story.

The Story

There’s a cow called the Red Cow. She lives in a great pasture with the best grazing. Every year she has a Red Calf and she takes care of it. Her life is routine and blissful and she’s happy.

Then one day she starts dancing and she just can’t stop. She can’t sleep, she has trouble eating, and she can’t even properly take care of her Red Calf. While it isn’t exactly unpleasant, it’s definitely inconvenient and is disrupting her idyllic life. Not knowing what else to do, she decides to go to the king for help.

The king sees her dancing and commands her to stop. She can’t. Then he notices that she has a star caught in one of her horns. The courtiers try to pull it off. When that doesn’t work, the king tells one of the courtiers to look up a solution in an encyclopedia hidden under the throne. There’s no reference to a dancing cow, but there is a reference to a cow jumping over the moon. So the king tells her to jump over the moon. There’s some nonsense about her being a proper cow and cows don’t do that but she really isn’t given a choice. So she jumps over the moon.

On her way down, the star falls off her horn and drifts away. She lands in her own pasture where she’s greeted by the Red Calf and promptly pigs out on all that good grazing. She’s happy again.

But not for long.

She feels as if there’s something missing in her life and she connects it with the star. She enjoyed the dancing, even though it was a bit of an inconvenience. She wishes another star would come down and get stuck on her horn, but that doesn’t happen. So she goes to Mary Poppins’ mother to ask for advice. (That’s how Mary Poppins knows the story.) Mary’s mother says that stars fall down all the time, but seldom in the same spot. She’s not likely to catch one again in her own pasture.

And that’s when the Red Cow realizes that the best way to catch another star is to leave her comfortable pasture.

The Moral

It’s the moral of the story that really hit home for me, especially today. I spent the past week packing for a trip that would last two to three months. The whole time, I’d be living in my truck camper, often parked out in the desert without a power, water, or sewer hookup. Sometimes, I’d be so far off the grid I wouldn’t even get a cell signal. Although I don’t mind it at all — in fact, I rather like the challenge of living like this for a while every year — it’s not nearly as cozy and comfortable as my home.

And that’s what I was thinking about as I packed and did laundry and had a long, hot shower, and used the dishwasher and had super fast internet access and slept in a warm, cozy bed. That’s what I was thinking about throughout the day every day when I looked out the windows at the changing season on display.

Winter View from my Home
Here’s what it looked like from my north-facing windows the other morning. It’s hard to leave a view like this behind.

I was so comfortable at home. Out on the road I faced the real possibility of being cold at night and not having a good shower for quite a while. Laundry meant a laundromat, dishes would be washed by hand, I’d have to go outside and start up a generator — thus breaking the marvelous silence of the world around me — just to use the microwave.

What was I thinking? Why in the world would I want to leave my nice comfortable home for a less comfortable and often inconvenient life on the road?

I knew why: I love to travel, I love to be on the road, I love to visit with friends and see new things and go new places. And I love visiting a few places I’m very fond of. I love the freedom of a life on the road: coming and going as I please, changing plans as I see fit, making it up as I go along.

I love nights like tonight: parked in a mostly deserted state park campground on a river, sitting on my camper’s bed, typing a long overdue blog post into a laptop, glancing up through the skylight every now and then to watch the moon play hide and seek with some clouds. I like sipping a glass of wine and thinking about my day — rather than tuning into a television that distracts me from my own thoughts — and wondering what the next day will be like.

I could be the Red Cow, content in her comfortable home. But I’d rather get out and see if I can catch and hold a star. Even a modest little star that makes life different or special.

On the Cusp

I’m on the cusp of another major life change and it feels good. Exciting, uncertain, terrifying, challenging. I won’t say more now but I will say this: I’m pretty sure it was my brush with death back in February that has pushed me into thinking about another path to find and follow.

Understand this: at about 5 AM on February 24, 2018, I really thought I was going to die. I should have died. But I didn’t. I was the luckiest person on the planet that morning.

The lesson I took away from the experience was one I already knew: life is short. Don’t waste time doing shit you don’t like doing. Or shit you’re bored with.

I’m getting bored and it’s time for another change.

How I Spent My Autumn Vacation, Part 6: In Vermont

Not the peak color I was hoping for, but still a great time.

(Continued from Part 5: On the Road to Vermont)

My friends Tom and Tammy are among my oldest friends and that’s who I stayed with in Vermont.

But first, as you might expect, some back story.

The BBS Days and Beyond

I met Tom back in my BBS days — yes, I ran a multi-line networked bulletin board system (think prehistoric Internet) out of my home starting in 1989 when I bought the computer that changed my life. (I thought I’d blogged about the computer changing my life and hoped to link to that post, but a quick search yielded no results. I’ll have to blog about it in the future.)

At the time, Tom was working in a family owned business selling tombstones in a greenhouse just a few miles away. He ran a multiline BBS out of his office there. I honestly don’t remember how we met, but when I left my full-time job to become a freelance writer and computer trainer/consultant, I’d often spend free time visiting with him and talking about computers. Back then, I had an Apple Macintosh IIcx and I think he had a IIci. (I’d later run my BBS on a Mac SE/30, which was perfect for the task.

Through Tom, I became part of a computer “super user” network that included him and other BBS SysOps: Mike, Ralph, and Zeke. Mike was especially well connected. He worked for a design firm that did a lot of cutting edge things with computers and, thus, had access to all the latest and greatest hardware and software. We’d occasionally drive down to his office to gawk at his new toys and play with the latest offerings from Adobe and other companies, many of which no longer exist. (Aldus comes to mind.)

I was self-taught on computers and had managed to get a per diem gig teaching computer applications: Mac OS, Microsoft Word, Microsoft Excel, and Lotus 1-2-3. I think being so well connected with other computer superusers helped make that possible.

Anyway, time went on. Tom married Tammy. My future wasband and I went to the wedding. They sat us at the same table as Mike, who was so white he could be albino and another guy I didn’t know who happened to be the blackest black guy I’ve ever seen. Of course, he and Mike sat side by side. I wish I had a picture. (Isn’t it funny the things you remember?)

Tom and Tammy moved to Vermont not long after that. Tom was into winter sports and I think he was as fed up as I was becoming with the traffic, congestion, and expense of living in the New York City Metro area. He telecommuted to a new job with a big company. He’d gone beyond mere “superuser” status and was a networking expert. He could work from home with a fast Internet connection and he did, making occasional trips down to New Jersey when he needed to.

I didn’t see him at all after his move, but we kept in touch via email and a little Twitter and later text messaging.

Meanwhile, they had kids. Three boys, all named with the initial T.

I moved to Arizona and invited them to visit. But I could understand why they didn’t. Airfare isn’t cheap when you have to buy five tickets. And then there’s that school thing. They like winter sports so they couldn’t come in the winter. And who wants to go to Arizona on summer vacation?

We continued to keep in touch throughout my crazy divorce. He was extremely supportive, providing me with a lot of useful computer information when I needed it.

It was around then that Tom kept suggesting that I come stay with them for a while in Vermont. The boys were away at college (already!) and he had plenty of room in his big, old farmhouse. It was definitely an inviting idea. I hadn’t been to Vermont in years and I remembered how amazing the fall colors had been on my last trip. I envisioned another trip with my camera. We have a nice autumn here, but no autumn compares to Vermont’s.

Still, I couldn’t get a trip together. There was always something else I had to do in the autumn. But this year, I decided to go for it. After playing around with a calendar and his schedule, we decided I’d come during the first week in October.

At the T’s

I rolled up to Tom and Tammy’s house in the Maserati in late afternoon on October 1. It was overcast and wet. Tom came right out to greet me and Penny. It was really good to see him — for the first time in at least 20 years.

After chatting a bit and unwinding from my drive, he gave me the tour of the three-story wood frame house that dates back to the 1800s. They’d put me in Penny in one of two dedicated guest rooms on the second floor with the shared bathroom right outside my door. How nice!

Tammy was busy with something that evening, so Tom and I went out to get some dinner. Along the way, he showed me a few local highlights, including Singleton’s General Store, which features “guns and liquor.” (I had to buy a tee shirt.) We ate dinner at Mr. Darcy’s Bar and Grill. It was good.

Afterwards, back at the house, we just relaxed in the living room with his two big chocolate labs stretched out on the sofa with us. I was pooped and went to bed early.

SpeedTest
Not all rural areas have crappy Internet. The Ts access is three times faster than mine — and mine is nothing to be ashamed of.

The weather was kind of crappy the next day — overcast and rainy — and I had no problem amusing myself indoors while Tammy, a lawyer, and Tom worked in their offices. I’d brought a handful of stones and some jewelry-making supplies and tools. I sat at the kitchen table and made two pendants while Tom and Tammy occasionally stopped by to see what I was up to. I used Periscope to broadcast me creating a piece of jewelry and, although it didn’t have many viewers, I kept it running until the end. The Ts have excellent high speed internet, so I know I wasn’t straining anything.

Lego Candy
I took a photo of the Lego candies to share it on Twitter for my friend Andy, who is a real Lego fan.

Sometime during the day, we went to The Vermont Country Store, which exists to showcase Vermont products and sell tourists stuff they really don’t need. Yeah, I know I sound critical/cynical, but when you’ve spent enough time in tourist destinations, you really get a feel for that kind of shop. There was a lot of merchandise, including more candy and old-fashioned toys — like the ones we played with when I was a kid! — than I’d every seen under one roof. There was also clothes and linens, and kitchen stuff. And maple syrup, of course. One of the nice things was being able to taste three different colors of maple syrup, side by side — there really is a noticeable difference! It was a neat place to browse.

Tammy made dinner and we had a relaxing evening sitting around with the dogs and chatting. I didn’t feel guilty for doing almost nothing all day because I knew the weather would be better later in the week. Besides, it was nice to just take it easy in a comfortable place. I’d been on the move almost non stop since arriving in the New York area the previous Saturday.

Exploring the Forest on ATVs

Penny in the ATV
Penny wrapped in a blanket in a milk crate attached to the front of the ATV I rode. She wasn’t happy about it, but it was the only solution to bring her with us on the very bumpy roads.

Tom took Wednesday off. He pulled two ATVs out of his shed and fired them up. We mounted up, with Penny wrapped in blankets in a basket in front of mine, and headed out on back roads and trails into the adjacent national forest. The trails were very rough in parts, forcing me to slow down and remember my ATV training from about 20 years ago. I was able to follow Tom, but a few times he got way in front of me. It was a lot of fun to be challenged (for a change); my ATV riding in Washington is limited and local.

He showed me the foundations of an old farmhouse long gone and nearly forgotten in the forest and a lake his boys like to camp at, and an old irrigation setup with a dam. Everything was accessible only via narrow forest trails surrounded by relatively new growth trees showing their early autumn colors.

Forest Dam
One trail ended at this old cement dam that holds back a small pond for feeding an irrigation pipe.

It wasn’t raining but the forest was pretty wet and the trail was muddy in spots. I kept a sharp lookout for mushrooms — I was hoping to find some chanterelles — and I actually found some that could be edible. But “could be” isn’t the same as “are definitely” so I left them behind, not wanting to potentially poison my hosts or myself.

After asking me if I was up for a ride on a really rugged road, Tom led me back the way we’d come and then up a different road and trail. It started out the same as the others and then got very rough, with lots of big rocks, tree roots, and fallen branches across the trail. I followed as closely as I could without slipping out of my comfort zone. Suddenly, the trail ended at the edge of someone’s grassy yard and I admit I was a little surprised when Tom continued across it, hugging the edge of the grass. Then more trail and finally a turn with a climb up a short hill.

There was a log cabin there and we walked up the steps to sit on the porch. Tom and his family had been there many times; he knew the three men who had built it by hand. We looked out over the hillside, into a bank of clouds, and Tom assured me that there was usually an excellent view down into the valley and mountains beyond.

We were still sitting there when a small SUV drove up from the other direction and an older couple got out. One of the builder/owners. It felt awkward for only a few minutes; they quickly realized who Tom was. We were soon chatting with them about the place and when they unlocked it, they invited me in for a tour. It was a really basic place with two big rooms and a sleeping loft. Completely off the grid, it didn’t have any electric appliances.

As we chatted, the clouds lifted a bit to give us glimpses of the valley beyond. But they never lifted enough to give us a good view of the valley.

Valley from Cabin
The clouds lifted just enough to give us an idea of how amazing the view from the cabin’s porch might be on a clear day.

We headed back not long after that, taking it easy at the house. Tammy, who’d gone out for a meeting, returned with barbecue takeout from their favorite place. It was good.

Day Trip to Manchester

I was on my own the next day and that was fine. I decided to drive down to Manchester, with a stop for breakfast along the way. I also wanted to check out the Dorset Quarry, which I’d read a little about online.

So I headed out, dropping down off the mountain into Wallingford, where I picked up Route 140. A Google search before departing had me aiming for a little restaurant called Dorset Rising, but I soon reached a section of road work where the detours put me on progressively more rugged roads. Worried about the Maserati, I made my way back to the main roads and somehow wound up on Route 7. So I took that all the way down to Manchester and then came back up Route 30 to Dorset. I passed the quarry along the way, but my primary goal was breakfast so I kept going.

Although Dorset Rising had a nice outdoor dining area where I could have eaten with Penny, it was kind of nasty out — too cool to enjoy a meal outdoors. So I left her in the car and went inside alone. A while later, I was seated at a comfy table with a latte and a breakfast burrito in front of me. They had a nice selection of baked goods but I resisted the urge to take some with me. (We — well, mostly I — had been picking away at those Italian pastries since my arrival. They weren’t nearly as good after two days in a cooler as they had been fresh. Lesson learned.) Instead, I got an iced tea to go and got back on the road.

Dorset Quarry was right down the road and I pulled into the parking lot. The quarry has an impressive place in history: when it first opened in 1785, it was America’s first marble quarry. It supplied marble to there New York Public Library and other buildings in New York City and Washington DC.

I grabbed Penny’s leash and she and I left the car for a walk around what had become a popular local swimming hole. Of course, it was nearly deserted that day — certainly no swimmers — but I could imagine it being a fun spot on a hot day if it wasn’t too crowded.

Dorset Quarry
Dorset Quarry is a popular swimming hole — but not in early October.

Penny at Dorset Quarry
The south side of Dorset Quarry’s big pond. Can you see Penny running towards me?

We tried to walk around the north side of the quarry but the trail soon wandered off into the woods in a direction I didn’t want to go. So we backtracked to the road and walked over to the south side, past huge marble blocks left behind from operations long ago.

As I walked, I looked down at the ground along the path. I was looking for stones — small pieces of marble that I might be able to polish into cabochons. I wound up with about a dozen of them, all smaller than my two thumbs held side-to-side. I filled my jacket pocket.

We reached the place where a creek fed the pond. There was a bridge over the creek and a ladder coming out of the water. I don’t know how deep the water was; I couldn’t see the bottom.

I wandered around and took pictures. Then we wandered back to the car.

We continued on to Manchester, with a quick stop at the Kitchen Store at JK Adams. I was looking for a gift for my house sitter, who really likes to cook. Nothing struck me so I kept going.

A short while later, I was pulling back into Manchester Center and parking in the lot behind Northshire Bookstore, which Tom had recommended. That was, of course, my first stop and I, of course, left with books in hand. Penny and I walked up one side of Main Street and down the other. I wound up buying a maple syrup sampler for my house sitter. (I later kicked myself for not buying myself syrup; I erroneously thought I still had some at home.)

We walked back to the car and stowed my rather heavy purchases in the trunk, then headed down Depot Street, where there were a handful of outlet stores. I was looking for the “wood shop” Tom had told me about. Before I found it, I stopped in at Eddie Bauer, where they had a storewide sale, and bought myself a few shirts and a scarf. I also bought a scarf with pictures of a pug dog on it for my friend Janet, who travels with her aging pug, Lulu. Then Manchester Woodcraft, where they had a huge selection of reasonably priced items made of wood. Try as I might, however, I didn’t find anything I couldn’t go home without.

Then it was back to the car again, stopping only a moment to read the Thomas Jefferson quotes under a Jefferson monument. One of them really stuck with me and I took a photo to share it on Twitter:

Men by their nature are divided into two parties: those who fear and distrust the people, and those who identify themselves with the people, have confidence in them, cherish and consider them as the most honest and safe depository of the public interest.

You might be able to guess which party I’m in.

We continued south on route 7A, past the Orvis company headquarters and the American Museum of Fly Fishing. That got me thinking of Janet again — she’s really into fishing — but I didn’t stop.

Tom had suggested going to the top of Equinox Mountain to take in the views from up there, but when I arrived at the turn, I discovered that it was a toll road. Not willing to spend $20 for the privilege of driving up a mountain road to take in the view on a cloudy day, I skipped it.

I did stop, however, at the Arlington Dairy Bar where I took a photo and tweeted “Will brake for ice cream.” I had a shake and Penny had a small dish of vanilla ice cream. Then we were on our way again.

Arlington Dairy Bar
Will brake for ice cream.

We kept going, eventually reaching Bennington. By then, the weather had turned bad and I wasn’t interested in dealing with traffic to maybe find a place to get out and walk around. So I followed the signs for Route 9, which cut across the national forest on a scenic road that climbed up one side of the mountain and down the other. There wasn’t much to see in Wilmington, which was on the other side of the mountain, so I hopped on Route 100 and headed north. More pleasant driving, although the weather was either gray or drizzling rain the whole time.

By that time, it was late afternoon and I felt done exploring. I think the weather had a lot to do with it. But I did make one more stop: the Crowley Cheese Company, which was a few miles off the main road west of Okemo Mountain Resort. I tasted a bunch of cheeses and wound up buying two for my brother.

From there, it was back to the T’s.

Another guest joined us late that evening and, true to form, I’ve forgotten his name. He came up from New Jersey to do a photography job on Saturday. The four of us spent the evening watching a few episodes of a weird show on Netflix, sitting on the sofas with the dogs lying all over us. The newcomer wound up in the guest room next to mine.

Rutland, Okemo Mountain, and an Old Cemetery

The next day, I went with Tammy into Rutland, VT. She had a yoga class there and I had to visit the post office.

My big piece of luggage was already pretty heavy and I knew that if I added the books and rocks, it would likely weigh more than the 50 pounds allowed by the airline. The solution was to cram all that stuff into a flat rate box and send it home via Priority Mail. So after dropping Tammy off at yoga, I went in search of the post office and took care of that. I also sent Janet her scarf.

With a little time before I had to pick up Tammy, I found a car wash. I had a moment of fright when I saw brushes in the wash tunnel in front of me, but the guys working the controls flipped a few switching and nothing other than water touched the car. I could have made it look a lot better if I had a rag to dry it off afterwards, but I didn’t. Still, it was better than before I’d had it washed. I figured I’d wash it again in New Jersey before handing it off to my brother.

When I picked up Tammy, we weren’t in a rush to get back so we drove into town for some breakfast at one of the coffee shops there. I left Penny parked outside near the car. I had a great breakfast sandwich and managed to muster enough willpower to skip the pastry I wanted for dessert.

We drove back and Tammy got back to work. Tom was already working up in his office. The day had turned nice and I was ready for another day trip. This time, my destination was the Okemo Mountain Resort. Tom had told me that I could drive almost all the way up to the top of the mountain, hike a little more, and visit a fire tower at the summit. The weather looked good enough for a hike so I headed out around noon with Penny.

The drive up the mountain was mostly smooth with just one big pothole I almost didn’t avoid. At the top was a gravel parking lot with about ten other cars and space to back in the Maserati. I grabbed Penny’s leash and got out with her. Together, we walked through an open car gate and up a gravel road. Up is the appropriate word. The road climbed, sometimes steeply.

Tom had told me that the fire tower wasn’t visible from the road, but if I walked to the ski lift I’d be able to see it in the forest from there. But when I got closer, I found a small marked trail. I followed the sign onto a narrow trail into the woods.

Fire Tower
The fire tower atop Okemo Mountain.

Penny ran ahead, as she does. Some hikers coming back thought she was a stray and tried unsuccessfully to catch her. Then they saw me and told me what they’d thought and done. We all laughed. It was that kind of mellow, pleasant day.

We reached the fire tower and, because the stairs looked so iffy, I picked Penny up and carried up with me. It was only five flights and each flight was narrower than the one before it. I came up through the trap door and found myself in a small area with a wooden floor and glassless windows all around. I put Penny down and took in the views in all directions. It really was a gorgeous day.

View of Ludlow
Here’s the view to the east, toward Ludlow. As you can see, it wasn’t quite peak color yet, although I think the cold rain that had been coming through Vermont may have spoiled the autumn leaf season.

I took photos in most directions, including down toward the ski lifts. Then, hearing some people coming through the woods toward the tower, I picked up Penny and headed back down.

In the forest, a couple was stopped on the trail. The husband pointed out a cool looking little snake escaping into the underbrush while his wife absolutely freaked out. I tried not to laugh as I passed them and headed back to the road.

We walked around for a while by the ski lifts. I took some more photos.

Ski Lift
View from the top of one ski lift.

I went into the woods looking for mushrooms and found a bunch — but not the ones I hoped to find. I played with the portrait mode on my iPhone and found myself disappointed again at how limited it was for subjects other than people’s faces.

Mushroom1 More Mushrooms
The obligatory mushroom photos. I took more than a dozen but I’ll only bore you with two.

After poking around in the woods for a while, we went back the car and headed down the mountain. I stopped along the way at a view point where a couple were having some wine and cheese at a picnic table. We chatted for a while (of course) and I discovered that they were from New Jersey. They tried to talk me into have lunch at the restaurant near the bottom of the road, but when I drove past a few minutes later, I knew it wasn’t for me. Instead, I drove into Ludlow, parked, and had lunch with a hard cider outside Mojo Cafe, which I highly recommend.

After a quick walk in town, we got back into the car and headed back to the T’s.

I did make one other short trip before day’s end: to that old cemetery down the road. It was full of wonderful old tombstones, many of them very ornate. The oldest one I saw dated back to 1809, making the cemetery over 200 years old. I walked among the stones, taking photos and thinking about the people who had lived and died — sometimes quite young — in the area. There was one row of stones with the same last name repeated over and over. You could follow the history of the family as you walked in one direction or the other.

Tombstone Tombstone
Two of the dozens of interesting old tombstones in this 200+ year old cemetery.

Later that evening, we were back in Ludlow for dinner. The plan had been to have dinner at Homestyle Hostel, but the place was mobbed and we couldn’t get a table. After a few craft cocktails across the street at Main and Mountain Bar, we wound up at another restaurant a bit farther down the road. I honestly can’t remember what it was called — maybe I had too many cocktails? We had a good dinner and I picked up the tab, mostly because I really appreciated having such a great week with my friends in Vermont.

Last Day

The whole time I was in Vermont, I was pretty vague about when I would leave. Originally, I was going to leave on Thursday; I had some friends in New York State I was hoping to visit for a day or two on my way back to New Jersey. But I was enjoying myself so much that when Tom and Tammy told me to stay through the weekend and my brother reported that he had to work on Saturday and go to a match on Sunday, I agreed to stay until Saturday. I figured I’d spend Saturday evening and Sunday with my friends in New York.

Saturday was the day of the farmer’s market in Rutland. Tom, Tammy, and I headed out together in the morning to see what they had that we wanted. It was a nice farmers market, even that late in the season, with plenty of produce and baked goods and other items. I wound up buying a package of frozen spaetzle, a German pasta that my grandfather and dad used to make when I was a kid. (And no, it wasn’t nearly as good as theirs was.) We wound up walking into town and having breakfast at the same place Tammy and I had eaten the day before. I had the same breakfast sandwich since it had been so good.

We headed back to the T’s after that. I’d already repacked my bags, setting aside enough clothes in a smaller bag for my overnight stay in New York. I packed everything into the car’s trunk, loaded Penny on board, and said goodbye to my hosts.

It had been a great six-day stay in Vermont, despite the less than perfect weather and the disappointing foliage. There’s nothing like reconnecting with old friends in person. I just hope I have the opportunity one day to return the favor and host them on a trip out west.

It was a little after noon when I finally left. I had a long drive ahead of me, but it felt good to be heading toward my next destination.

(Continued)

How I Spent My Autumn Vacation, Part 5: On the Road to Vermont

I revisit my past (again) and reveal a bit more about me than most people know.

(Continued from Part 4: Killing Time in New Jersey)

Overnight, trains rumbled by the historic Port Jervis Erie Hotel where I may have been the only guest. It only woke me once or twice and each time I was able to get right back to sleep. So when I pulled myself to a vertical position around 6 AM, I felt refreshed and ready for the long drive ahead of me.

I showered, dressed, and pulled together the few things I’d taken out. Then Penny and I made our exit, heading out to stow my bags in the Maserati before taking her for a walk to do her business.

Breakfast First

Town was pretty much dead at that hour of a Monday morning. The restaurant on the lower level of the hotel was closed. All restaurants that might have provided breakfast and coffee were closed on Mondays. No problem. I used Google Maps to find a place to eat and get a dose of caffeine. It directed me to Stewie’s Restaurant in nearby Matamoras, PA. We headed out.

(It wasn’t until much later in the day that I realized I left Penny’s brown fleece blanket behind in the hotel. It was a shame because the $5 blanket perfectly matched the brown of the leather sofa in my bedroom. I usually kept it draped over the back of the sofa to protect the leather from the afternoon sun and give Penny a place to sit and look out the window.)

Stewie’s turned out to be a diner-type place, which was fine with me. There were a few locals there when I came in. I ordered a breakfast special and a glass of iced tea. I don’t drink diner coffee. It’s not because I’m a coffee snob as much as the fact that I simply can’t drink the swill that comes out of commercial coffee makers and sits on a burner for hours. (Okay, so maybe I am a coffee snob.)

While I sat there, I used my iPad and Google Maps to plan my drive. I’d go northeast on Route 209, which would take me near several places that loomed large in my childhood. A few side trips might be nice. I wasn’t in a hurry to get to my destination; I just needed to arrive before dark. I had the whole day ahead of me.

Revisiting My Past

When I was a kid in the early 1970s, before my parents split, we owned a 22-foot Prowler pull trailer. Bought originally for vacationing after my dad caught a very bad cold on a tent camping trip, my parents decided that it might make a good summer home when based at a full hookup campground in the Catskills. (My family lived in northeastern New Jersey at the time.) It wound up at a place called Rondout Valley Campground in Accord, NY.

Those were great times — some of the last great times of a mostly good childhood. We lived up there all summer and made friends with other families who also lived up there every summer. The Murrays were a good Catholic family from Brooklyn with four kids in an even smaller Prowler trailer and the Smalls were a Jewish (I think) family from somewhere in Westchester county (I think) with two kids packed into a tiny Shasta trailer. We’d spend our days fishing in the creek, exploring the woods, and riding on the running boards of the pickup that doubled as a garbage truck as it made its rounds around the campground. We made and said goodbye to new friends that came for a weekend or a week. At night, we’d either play flashlight tag in the huge field studded with a handful of tiny pine trees or we’d retreat to the Rec Hall where there was a jukebox, pool tables, and pinball machines. I can’t tell you how many times we listened and danced to The Hollies’ Long Cool Woman (in a Black Dress) and Sly and the Family Stone’s Dance to the Music. One night a week, they’d play a movie in the open sided “Pavilion” — that’s where I saw The Graduate and I clearly remember Mrs. Murray pulling her kids out after the strip club scene. (Oops.)

Two things brought those days to an end. First, after two summers at Rondout Valley my parents found another campground slightly closer to home. It was brand new and cheaper and I think that’s what convinced us all — including the Murrays and Smalls — to make the move. I was excited because our new campsite would be in the woods, rather than on the edge of a big field. I have a clear memory of walking through the deserted campground on an autumn day, past what would be our new site with our big German shepherd.

But the thing that really shut down my childhood was my parents divorce. You see, while we were away and my dad was working, he was also playing. I remember the fights, I remember the screaming and cursing, and I remember the evening my dad came up to the attic room I shared with my sister to tell us he was leaving. I was sitting on the floor next to a low table he’d made for us, carefully pencilling in the irregularly shaped pavers around the courtyard swimming pool of a dream home I’d designed. (I was really into drawing floor plans back then and still like to do it.) I remember my tears hitting the pencil drawing, soaking into the paper, and creating tiny bumps.

Things got bad and then got worse and then got much better when my mom remarried and we moved to Long Island. All that took about three years, which is an eternity when you’re in your very early teens. The trailer got sold to my mother’s cousin (who married a Nazi — really, but that’s another story) and there were no more vacations for quite a while. My dad moved into an apartment with his girlfriend, who he’d later marry, and adopted her daughter from another relationship so I gained a half sister. For a while, I worked two kid jobs: a paper route and a summer job I qualified for because we were so poor. (I was one of a team of four poverty-stricken teens scraping rust off a chain link fence along a railroad track. You don’t know blisters until you’ve done this kind of work.) I got free lunch in junior high school; I’d pick up 65¢ in a small manila envelope in the school office every day and spend only what I had to on lunch in the cafeteria so I could save the change. I also became responsible for watching my brother, who was about five, and my sister, who is 16 months younger than me, while my mother went to work to put food on the table. She’d made the nearly fatal error of dropping out of high school in her senior year to get married and [six and a half months] later give birth to me. Her struggle to get a job without a high school diploma wasn’t lost on 14-year-old me. Actually, none of our struggle was lost on me and it helped make me the strong, independent, financially stable, cynical, and happily childless person I am today.

I don’t mean to play on your heart strings, dear reader. I’m just laying down the facts. Rondout Valley Campground is a sort of touchstone in my life — something I didn’t realize until today as I put down this summary as yet another lengthy backstory for a blog post.

Anyway, part of my drive that overcast Monday morning was along Route 209 that eventually brought me to Wurtsboro, which we’d pass on our way from home to the trailer. Wurtsboro was where we exited Route 17 after coming over some mountains and descending into a valley. It was memorable mostly because the airport there had gliders and we’d often see them flying overhead as we came down the hill. There were no gliders that morning; the ceilings were much too low for anything to fly and thermals that gliders rely on for flight were not possible.

Now I was tracing roads that I’d been on many, many times — more than 40 years before. I remembered numerous signs for a place called Ice Caves Mountain that I think we finally did visit once way back then and looked for them as I drove but came up empty. The place might be part of a state park now. I did pass Custer’s Last Stand, which is a soft-serve ice cream place that still exists (!), although I remember its name being Custard’s Last Stand.

Of course, there wasn’t much else familiar to me. Places change in 40 years. New York State is one of those weird old places that is constantly mixing old and new. There are homes there dating back to before the Revolutionary War near a brand new Starbuck’s or Dollar General. There are ratty old farm buildings tucked away in dense overgrown thickets, seemingly forgotten, near new condos or subdivisions.

I continued along 209 to Ellenville, which was “the big town” near the trailer. I turned right and drove through. It looked depressed and there seemed to be a lot of homeless-looking people around. But I also saw a bakery and, since real bakeries are a treat after so many years out west, I stopped and went in. Cohen’s Bakery, “Home of the Famous Raisin Pumpernickel,” had quite a selection of fresh baked goods. I bought a danish, despite the fact that I had Italian pastries in a cooler in the trunk, and hit the road again.

Google Maps had Rondout Valley RV Campground listed and I used it to home in on Accord and the campground. I admit that I didn’t find much along the way very familiar. I did remember the left hand turn just before the town of Accord. I passed the entrance to the campground, looking for familiar sights beyond: the Rec Hall and the waterfall where the creek that runs through the campground continues its journey east, merging with numerous small creeks along the way. The Rec Hall was gone and apparently had been for some time — there was nothing more than a grassy field in its place. But Mother Nature takes better care of what she builds and the waterfall was still there.

Waterfall
It might not look like much, but when you’re 12 years old, a “waterfall” like this is a big thing.

I circled back and pulled into the driveway for the campground. There was a gate with a little guard house, but the gate opened before I even had time to stop. (I guess I must have looked trustworthy in the Maserati.) There was a big building with an office and shop on the right — the old office had been on the left and was now a lounge. I pulled into a parking spot, put Penny on a leash, and walked up to the entrance. I left Penny out on the porch and went inside.

Soon I was chatting with a woman only a little younger than me about the campground. It had gone through a bunch of changes in the past 40+ years. For while, it was called Jellystone Campground — think Yogi Bear — and I dimly recall driving past with my wasband years and years ago on one of our trips in the Catskills. Now the place was part of a chain and associated with one those “RV resort” time share places. The gimmick is that you pay a fee to join and get “free” camping at member resorts. But I think this campground was also available to non-members. I didn’t ask. I didn’t have any plans to camp there with my camper nearly 3000 away.

After a trip down memory lane with her, she gave me a map and told me to drive through. I told her I’d rather walk since we’d been in the car for a few hours already. Then I went back outside to fetch Penny. Together, we crossed the one-lane bridge and walked into the campground.

Rondout Valley Bridge
The rickety bridge over the creek is the only way in and out of the campground. Once, during a summer flood, the campground had to be evacuated in the middle of the night because they thought they might lose the bridge.

As I walked along the road, I found myself walking the same way as a man about my age. Of course, we got into a conversation. He was traveling with his wife in their fifth wheel from someplace in the south — I can’t remember where. We went our different ways at the intersection where my family’s trailer had been parked that first year. Behind us had been a big, empty field. Now that field had trees and roads and campsites that hadn’t existed. The place had really grown.

Old Campsite
This is the corner where we’d camped all those years ago. (At least I think it was on the corner; it may have been one site to the right.) The trees were newly planted back then, the site was in full sun, and there was nothing but an old cow pasture behind the trailer.

I don’t need to revisit all my memories of this place. What you got above was enough. Let’s just say that a lot of the place was the same but a lot was different. There was a playground I didn’t remember. The Pavilion is now enclosed and has a snack bar. There was a new pool in the big field where we used to play flashlight tag. All the trees that had been around our campsites where huge, giving campers the shade I wished we’d had 40+ years before.

The Pavilion
The Pavilion, which had been built when we were there, is now enclosed.

As I stood on the corner in front of what had been my summer home back in 1972, I suddenly got tired of my trip down memory lane. Although I’d originally wanted to walk through the wooded area of the campground that had been limited to tent campers back then, I found myself just wanting to get back in the car and continue my drive. This had been one stop on what I’d begun thinking of as my farewell tour of the New York area. I think I suddenly realized that I’d said goodbye a long time ago. I didn’t belong there. I didn’t want to see the place as it was today. I wanted to keep my memories pure.

So I turned around and walked back to the car.

Woodstock

It was still early in the day and I had plenty of time to get to my destination in Vermont, so I took a detour up to Woodstock, NY. I had a vague idea of trying to get a local shop to take a few pieces of the jewelry I make on consignment, but I’ll be the first to admit that I’m rather shy about trying to work deals like that. In any case, Woodstock was one of the places I used to come with my wasband and friends back in the day and it was definitely appropriate for my farewell tour.

I took back roads, following the guidance of Google Maps. I wound through farmland, most of which looked neglected. There were more decrepit old farm buildings and some silos, which I rarely see out west, and lots of weeds and brambles covering stuff up. There were also lots of creeks and plenty of trees just starting to turn into their autumn colors. It was a pleasant drive with few other cars on the road.

Eventually, I reached the bridge over the huge Ashokan reservoir, crossed it, and turned east on Route 28. Another turn onto 375 took me into the outskirts of Woodstock.

There was road construction in town. They’d torn up one of the lanes of the road and were using pilot cars to shuttle traffic through a stretch of about a half mile. They had us drive on the compressed gravel side, past pavers working on the other side. I drove carefully, mindful of raised manhole covers and the like. The Maserati rides very low and I had already been warned about potholes.

Town wasn’t anything like I remembered. It had more shops and, try as I might, I could not identify the house a friend’s sister had bought and used as a photo gallery years before. (She’s long gone from the area now, supposedly living near Tucson, AZ.) I drove through town, turned around, and drove back. I parked, put Penny on a leash, and got out for a walk.

A young guy immediately tried to hit me up for a dollar. I said I was sorry but I didn’t have anything for him and I kept walking. Panhandlers in Woodstock? Really?

I went into a few shops, always asking permission to take Penny in. I got into a good conversation with a woman in one shop that I really thought would be a good match for my jewelry, but never got up the nerve to talk to her about it. That was probably a good thing, since she turned to talk about retirement and not being able to afford health care and having to keep the business open just to get by. Maybe not such a good match after all.

I left Penny outside when I went into a bookstore. I spent some time browsing and, as I always do when I go into a local bookstore, I bought a book.

We continued down almost to where the construction began, crossed the street, and walked back. I realized that my trip to Woodstock wasn’t doing anything for me. I found myself eager to continue on my way. So we went back to the car, climbed in, and headed back out of town.

The only other place I was hoping to visit was Smoke House of the Catskills, which still exists. I remember stopping there with my wasband a few times on our way home from visiting friends in Elka Park. But just my luck: it was closed.

The Long Drive

I hopped on the New York Thruway and headed north. I really prefer staying off highways on a road trip, but I had a lot of miles to cover before dark and there wasn’t much else I needed to revisit.

So I took the Thruway north, through Albany. It brought to mind the day 1985 or 1986 when my future wasband and I were part of a convoy of brand new cars heading to Montreal for a Mets game. We were in a Nissan Maxima and our companions drove a Nissan 300ZX, a Mazda RX7, and some other sporty Japanese thing. We were flying at 95 miles per hour most of the way and made it from New York City to Albany in less than 2 hours.

I never thought of the Thruway as Memory Lane, but I guess it can be.

I got off at Troy, dealt with traffic, and finally escaped onto Route 7. Although the day had gotten brighter for a while and even a little sunny, it was overcast again and would stay that way for the rest of the drive. It made things kind of dreary and unremarkable, so even though I was off the highway, I didn’t really enjoy the drive as much as I should have.

Before I hit the Vermont border, I stopped for lunch at a place called Man of Kent Tavern. I’d been passing a bunch of what seemed like British themed restaurants and figured I’d give one a try. The place was absolutely packed, but I got a table near the bar and had the most amazing hearty beef stew — perfect for a damp, overcast day of driving.

Once in Vermont, I continued north on Route 7 into the Green Mountain National Forest. My destination was a friend’s house in East Wallingford, at the northeast corner of the forest. I let Google Maps guide me. Things were fine until I reached the last turn to my friend’s house and Google put me on an unpaved road.

Google had done this once before to me, putting me on an extremely rugged road in Colorado when I was driving south with my camper and boat in tow last autumn. Not knowing how bad the road was up ahead, I’d turned around and found another route, adding about an hour to the total time of my drive that day. Although I didn’t have a boat in tow this time, I also wasn’t in a high clearance 4WD pickup. I’d promised my brother I’d be careful in his car and driving three miles on gravel wasn’t something I wanted to do.

But the road was smooth enough, with a fine, nicely graded gravel surface. I continued up the hill, driving very slowly. The road wound into a thick forest with few homes along the way. There was an old cemetery about a mile and half in that I would have stopped to explore if I wasn’t so road weary. (I’d get to it later in the week.) Then there were more houses and lots of clearings and finally my friend’s 160-year-old farm house, sitting at an intersection.

I pulled into the driveway, parked beside some other cars there, and got out, feeling good to be done driving for the day.

(Continued in Part 6: In Vermont.)

How I Spent My Autumn Vacation, Part 4: Killing Time in New Jersey

A day trip to the shore, a hike among abandoned buildings, a rock show, and more.

(Continued from Part 3: In Washington DC)

My brother had to work on Saturday. He does that sometimes just to catch up when there’s no one in the office. I have vague memories of working in an office environment every day and know how distracting it can be. Meetings, phone calls, co-workers coming in to chat, long lunch breaks. I honestly don’t know how people in an office can get much done.

He took his truck to work and left me the keys for the Maserati. He was gone when I woke up around 5 AM. I washed up, got dressed, grabbed Penny and my camera, and headed out. My destination was Sandy Hook on the north end of the Jersey Shore. (And no, this Sandy Hook isn’t the one famous for the tragic school shooting. That’s in Connecticut.)

Breakfast at Dunkin Donuts

But first, breakfast. My brother had been telling me about these breakfast wraps he gets at Dunkin Donuts. We don’t have Dunkin Donuts in Washington state — at least I haven’t seen any — and since I used to like their coffee, I used Google to find one on the way. The one I went to was in a small strip mall not far from the Garden State Parkway. I went in, stood on a fast-moving line, and ordered a coffee with one of those wraps.

“How do you want the coffee?” the no-nonsense woman behind the counter asked me.

I had completely forgotten that they add milk and sugar to your coffee behind the counter in a lot of places in the New York City area. I looked around quickly; there was no milk or sugar out for me to add myself. This was a dilemma for me. My morning coffee is important to me and I like it a certain way. I knew they’d screw it up. I looked up at the woman and could see that my hesitation was trying her patience. This was the Metro area and I was slowing things down.

“A small amount of sugar and milk,” I told her.

I paid and got my coffee. They called me up to get my breakfast wrap a moment later. I sat at a hightop table to eat my breakfast. Although they’d done okay with the quantity of milk and sugar, the coffee was terribly weak. I forced myself to drink it, knowing I’d have a headache from caffeine withdrawal in two hours if I didn’t. The breakfast wrap was tasty but tiny. I could have eaten three of them.

A Visit to Sandy Hook

As I walked back to the car, a woman getting out of the car next to me said, “I love your car! I’m trying to get my husband to buy me one of those.”

I thought to myself: A Maserati? She must have a very generous husband. Out loud, I said, “It’s my brother’s. He’s loaning it to me.”

“You have a great brother!” she replied, laughing.

The Garden State Parkway

I need to talk briefly about the Garden State Parkway in New Jersey. (You might know it as part of an old Joe Piscopo joke on Saturday Night Live: “I’m from Joisey? You from Joisey? What exit?”) It stretches from the New York State border in the north to Cape May at the southern tip of the state. I drove part of it every day in my last office job. What I didn’t realize then and know now is that it’s basically a racetrack.

You see, even though the speed limit is posted 55 or 60 in various places and I cruised at around 70 to 75, people were passing me. Not just a few people, either. Most of the other drivers. Apparently, the speed limit signs are suggestions and most people are in a big hurry. I didn’t realize this when I was one of those drivers.

The good thing about the situation is that the New Jersey drivers ignoring the speed limit signs are mostly great drivers. They probably drive a lot of miles and they likely have a lot of experience with the terrible drivers putting on the road with them. Driving on the Parkway reminded me of my commuting days when I felt as if I were in a sport boat speeding down a river and the slower cars were boulders in rapids that I had to avoid hitting. I was an expert at weaving between them without making a single one of them hit their brakes. (It’s a matter of looking far enough ahead and seeing the big picture of the flow.) It had been a very long time since I drove like that, but it came back quickly — as long as the pavement was dry. Later in my trip, after it rained, I took it easy, not wanting to test the new tires my brother had put on the car when I went to Washington. The car was perfect for the aggressive driving style popular in the New York City Metro area and, when I dialed in, I really enjoyed it.

I gave Penny some of the bacon and egg I’d saved from my breakfast wrap, and headed out of the parking lot. A short while later, we were driving south on the Garden State Parkway, headed for the Jersey Shore.

The drive way uneventful. The Parkway doesn’t pass through any really scenic places along the way. My brother had an E-ZPass on the car — yes, not only did he loan me his car, but he also paid my tolls — so I didn’t have to stop any any of those super annoying tollbooths along the way. I got off at the exit for Keyport and followed route 36 through some of the northern shore towns I’d never visited in all the years I’d lived in New Jersey: Hazlet, Keansburg, Atlantic Highlands, Highlands. Then the road climbed over a high bridge over a waterway. At the top, my first look in many years of the sparkling blue Atlantic Ocean took my breath away.

Even though I’d never lived on the Jersey Shore, I felt as if I’d come home.

I followed signs to Sandy Hook, which put me on a northbound road. There was a fee booth — Sandy Hook is part of the Gateway National Recreation Area, after all — but it was unoccupied and there way no fee. Back east, “the season” ends on Labor Day in so many places.

I pulled into the first beach access parking lot and got out. Signs reminded me that dogs had to be on a leash so I dutifully hooked up Penny’s and walked her out on path to a wooden observation deck and then down onto a sandy path that cut through the dunes. Out on the beach, a handful of people were walking or jogging or fishing or flying enormous kites.

Sandy Hook Beach
The scene at the beach at Sandy Hook that fine September day.

Penny strained at her leash; she loves the beach and doesn’t like being on a leash when she wants to run. I didn’t want to get cited for letting her off-leash, so I waited until we were almost all the way down to the water to let her go. She ran south along the water’s edge, chasing seagulls, while I walked behind her. It was too cool to take off my shoes and socks, but warm enough to really feel comfortable. Although I’m not much of a swimmer and I hate sunbathing, I really do like the seashore.

Sandy Hook on Map
Sandy Hook has a strategic location on the approach to New York City — which is why there are so many battlement remains and an active Coast Guard base there.

I let Penny run away, then called her back, then let her run away again. I wanted to tire her out a bit. This would likely be the only opportunity all day for her to be off leash. I think that’s the worst thing about traveling with her. She isn’t used to being on a leash and, when we’re in an open place like that, she doesn’t understand why she has to be on one. I don’t, either. If she doesn’t bother people or animals or destroy anything and I pick up after her when she poops, what difference does it make if she’s on a leash or off it? We were two specks on a miles long stretch of sand with only maybe a dozen people nearby. What was the big deal?

I put her back on the leash and walked back to the car. We continued on the road, looking for some sort of visitor center where I could plan my visit a little better. We wound up at the Sandy Hook Lighthouse a few miles away.

Sandy Hook Lighthouse
The lighthouse at Sandy Hook.

There was a visitor center there and I went in for a look. There were a few typical light house displays, but also a neat map that showed the locations of all the light houses that had been in the area over time. You could dial up a year and lights would indicate which lighthouses existed at the time and were functioning. Sandy Hook is at the south end of the entrance to New York’s Lower Bay and apparently it’s a crucial point for navigation, with lots of shallow water and obstacles in the mouth of the bay.

I went into the gift shop where a ranger sat at the counter. We talked a bit about off-season travel and the popularity of the area for birders. Then I went outside where I’d left Penny tied to a tree. There was a group of boy scouts in their teens, along with a few adults and a ranger at the base of the light house. I managed to wrangle myself a trip to the top of the lighthouse with the group. They were just waiting for the previous group to come down.

I went up last on the climb up a narrow spiral staircase to the top of the lighthouse, right behind a guy of about 16 years old who had to weigh at least 250 pounds. At the top landing was a ladder that we’d have to climb though a hatch. The big kid let me go first, which I appreciated; I honestly didn’t know if he’d fit through the hatch. Upstairs, the space around the fresnel lens was tightly packed with people. It got a little tighter when the big kid joined us.

Spiral Stairs LighthouseLadder
A look down the spiral staircase from near the top (left) and the ladder to get up to the top of the lighthouse (right).

The views in every direction were amazing. It was a relatively clear day and we could see Manhattan’s skyscrapers to the north, as well as the endless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, New Jersey, and the shoreline to the east, west, and south.

Manhattan in Distance
You can see the Verrazzano Narrows Bridge on the left and the downtown Manhattan skyline on the right through the haze on the horizon in this photo. In the foreground, you can see the ruins of the various batteries built and abandoned over time.

We didn’t stay long. I was one of the first back through the hatch — mostly because it was so tight up there that no one could easily get around me — but the last down the stairs. Afterwards, I fetched Penny from her tree and we took a walk among some nearby ruins. I love photographing old, disused things and this place was full of them. Unfortunately, so many areas were blocked off — as is common in the eastern part of the country. (Out west, they let you go pretty much anywhere you want but in the east, they’re constantly fencing things off to supposedly prevent people from getting hurt.)

Rusted Door Rusted Gate
I like taking photos of old things, especially if they’re rusty. Why knows why?

Eventually, we went back to the car and drove to the end of the peninsula. There was apparently some sort of major Boy Scout camping event going on — tents with flags for various troops filled one of the parking lots. We walked out to an observation deck that looked out over some marshy lands, a beach, and the ocean and lower bay beyond. There were two rangers on the deck and several men with binoculars and spotting scopes. They were looking for birds. One of them claimed to have Shoreham Power Plant focused in his spotting scope and I accepted his invitation to take a look. Back in 1977, my family moved to Long Island so my stepdad could work on the construction of the Shoreham nuclear plant. I saw the smokestacks in the spotting scope, but I’m not convinced that was Shoreham, which was on the north shore of Long Island at least 100 miles away.

North Beach
The view from the observation platform which was about one story above the dunes.

We hung out for a while, listening to the guys talk and get excited when they saw a bird. Huge tankers passed remarkably close to the beach; later, when I looked at a nautical chart of the area, I saw that the channel was right there with lots of shallow water between it and lower Manhattan in the distance. One of the men seemed knowledgable about marine navigation in the area and I asked him a few questions about the easiest way to get from the ocean into New York Harbor: a channel under the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge or up the west side of Staten Island. He didn’t know. I hope to find out for myself one day.

We walked back toward the car and then beyond it to the remains of a big 9-Gun Battery from World War II. I’d seen lots of old batteries like this on the west coast — most recently on a trip out to the coast of Washington that I never blogged about — but this was my first in the New York area. It was a huge poured concrete structure with lots of rusting metal doors and rails and you can bet I took lots of photos of various parts of it — even though a fence kept me from getting close. I guess they wouldn’t want tourists climbing all over the ruins (like they can out west).

Battery
Here’s a very small part of the 9 Gun Battery at Sandy Hook.

Lunch at Sea Bright

After our walk, we went back to the car. I drove past some of the old housing on the west side of the peninsula in an area called Fort Hancock. Then we drove south off Sandy Hook in search of lunch. The weather was perfect and I was hoping to find a place with outdoor dining where I could take Penny. After pulling into a place with valet parking and deciding I didn’t want to turn over my brother’s car to a valet — remember that scene in Ferris Beuller’s Day Off? — I eventually found a parking spot at Tommy’s Tavern + Tap, a sports bar with a big family outdoor dining area. I carried Penny through, ordered a Bloody Mary and a clam pizza (don’t knock it until you’ve tried it), and settled down to enjoy my meal.

Penny Waits for Pizza
Penny waits for pizza. She ate nearly a whole slice.

One highlight: two women with a kid in a stroller and another kid about 4 years old walked by. The 4-year-old wanted to pet Penny but didn’t ask me or her mother if she could. The mother didn’t ask me, either. Maybe they were waiting for me to offer? I’m not going to offer to let a small kid touch my dog — what if she has allergies or scares Penny into yapping at her? It’s their job to ask me. But they kept walking by and then the kid started screaming because she couldn’t pet the dog. She kept at it for about 10 minutes. It was seriously annoying to everyone on that patio.

Meanwhile, Penny waited patiently until I shared my pizza with her.

We strolled down one side of the street in Sea Bright, looking into shop windows. Several stores had closed down. Remember, the season was over; I’m willing to bet that many businesses on the Jersey Shore get short term leases and close right after Labor Day. We crossed over and followed a path to a big board walk on a new embankment along the ocean. It looked brand new. I suspect the area had been pretty badly ravaged by Superstorm Sandy; there were a few homes under reconstruction on the land side of the walkway. There weren’t many people on the beach and I honestly didn’t feel like taking another walk there with Penny straining at the leash the whole way. So when we were abeam the restaurant, we followed a path off the boardwalk and returned to the car.

Back to Base

I made a few stops on the way back to my brother’s place.

First, an auto parts store. I wanted to get a cell phone holder for his car. He’s got a magnetic thing in there that works with his phone case. I wanted something that would stand the phone up. I wound up with one of those cell phone holders that sits in a cup holder. It worked a lot better than I expected it to. I was going to leave it for him but wound up taking it home and will likely use it in my truck since my new phone doesn’t fit quite as well as the suction cup mount I have.

Next, a Maserati dealer, to try to get the battery replaced in the key fob. There’s a long story about the key fob but it really isn’t worth telling. Let’s just say that the trip to the dealer was a huge waste of time.

Finally, Wegman’s. That’s a chain of premium grocery stores. Think of Whole Foods but without the attitude. (Although now that Amazon owns Whole Foods, the attitude might be gone; I don’t know.) I had the idea of buying something for dinner. But when I got my brother on the phone, he wanted to go out for Mexican. So I satisfied myself with buying some car snacks for the next day and headed back to his place.

We went to a Mexican restaurant that he likes and had a good meal. Then we hung out at his place until it was time for bed.

Heading Out on My Road Trip

In the morning, I got up at the same crazy early hour as my brother. He was going to a match in Pennsylvania that day — did I mention that he’s a competitive shooter? — and needed an early start. We chatted for a while before he left. Then he headed out and I prepped for my big road trip to Vermont.

But I wasn’t going straight to Vermont. Instead, I planned to spend the day in northwestern New Jersey. I figured I’d start with a hike at Watchung State Park, then hit a rock show in Franklin, and spend the night somewhere near Port Jervis where New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania meet.

I planned to bring all of my luggage. I had no idea what the conditions would be where I was going and I didn’t want to run out of clothes. I also wanted to spend some time organizing my luggage and shipping back some heavy things I bought before I headed home. Besides, did my brother really need my giant suitcase on his floor any longer?

It took three trips to get everything out to his car. Then, with Penny on her blanket on the seat beside me, I asked Google Maps to guide me to a coffee shop in Westfield and took off.

Watchung Reservation

I had coffee and an egg sandwich at Rock ‘n’ Joe. Although it was a bit chilly, I ate it at a high top table outside with Penny at my feet. Westfield was a completely different town at the same time of day I’d been there the previous week.

I let Google Maps guide me to the Watchung Reservation, a large park with miles of wooded trails. My brother had suggested it as a destination; he and his ex-wife used to take their dogs there. I wanted Penny to get some quality off-leash time and I wanted to go for a nice walk in the woods. But I didn’t know where to start my visit. I figured I’d wing it, as I so often do.

In the end, I let signs guide me. Once I got into the lush, green park, I started seeing signs pointing to various areas within the park. One of them directed to a “Deserted Village.” Since I’m always up for a walk through a ghost town, that’s where I headed.

I parked among about 20 other cars in a parking lot, but rather than head down the paved road to the deserted village, Penny and I struck off on a nice trail into the woods. I let her off her leash almost immediately and she ran off in front of me as she usually does, stopping occasionally at the base of a tree when she saw a squirrel up above. We don’t have squirrels where I live — not many trees and plenty of predators like eagles and owls — so it’s always a treat for Penny to go for a hike in the woods where squirrels are plentiful. I’ve been with her at campsites in the north cascades where she’s parked herself at the base of a fir tree for a half hour or more just waiting for a squirrel to come down.

I used an app on my phone to keep track of my path so I wouldn’t get lost. The trail had side paths and I chose them almost randomly with a goal of not straying too far from the parking area and getting closer to the deserted village. One trail I took was narrow and wound down a little hill before heading back toward where I imagined the deserted village might be. I only passed one other hiker: a woman walking alone in the opposite direction. We greeted each other and kept walking.

Gravestone
The sole remaining original gravestone in this tiny burial ground.

Eventually, I wound up at a tiny cemetery. There was just one old gravestone still standing — it marked the grave of a man who’d died in 1776. I don’t know if I mentioned this elsewhere in this series of posts, but there are plenty of Revolutionary War error buildings and other sites. This was one of them. There were five headstones there, four of which were installed in the 1960s to replace missing ones.

Across a stream and up an embankment I could see some buildings, so that’s where we headed, crossing a bridge and climbing a path. I put Penny back on her leash, not wanting to get into trouble with any park rangers. We wound up on the Main Street of what was left of Feltville, which had been built starting in 1844 as a mill town, and Glenside Park, which had converted that mill town into a summer resort in 1882. There were a lot of old buildings, many of which were boarded up. There were also a lot of foundations, including that of the mill, which had been torn down in 1930.

We followed the roads and paths all over town to take in the various sights. There weren’t many people around on that pleasant Saturday morning; maybe because it was still early? Back down at the creek, I let Penny back off her leash while explored the mill site and a dam site. I took some pictures.

Feltvill Building
One of the buildings still in use a the Deserted Village. I was still getting use to my iPhone’s wide angle camera and didn’t expect this kind of distortion; I know now that putting it in 2x mode will prevent weird angles like this.

Dam Site
The dam site along the creek. You can just make out the berms on either side. This dam held back a small lake that channeled water to the mill downstream.

Regular Mushrooms Portrait Mushrooms
The obligatory mushroom photo(s). I played a little with the iPhone’s improved Portrait Mode in the photo on right. See how the background is out of focus? I think the mushrooms are a little out of focus because I was too close to them.

We were there about two hours and I only walked about 2 miles. But I was done and ready to move on. So I put Penny back on her leash and followed the paved road back up to the parking lot.

The Rock Show

I make jewelry out of gemstones. It’s a hobby gone wild that began with a lapidary in Quartzsite, AZ gifting me a small piece of bacon agate in January. I’ve since learned to use sterling silver and copper wire to create pendants and have branched off to making bracelets and earrings and even polishing my own stones. I now sell my jewelry online and at various venues in Washington and beyond.

The question I get most often from people who see my work and my sizable collection of gemstone cabochons — I have about 200 of these polished stones — is “Where do you get your stones?” My response, which tells only part of the tale without actually lying, is “I go to rock shows.” So when a chat with a gemstone dealer in Westfield the previous Saturday morning included him telling me about a rock show in Franklin, NJ that weekend, I put it on my list of things to do.

Franklinite Pendant
Franklinite in a sterling silver pendant.

Franklin, by the way, is where you can find Franklinite, a minor ore of zinc, manganese, and iron that was discovered at two mines in the Franklin area. I have a Franklinite cabochon that I used in a piece of jewelry (which is still available as I type this). The Franklin Mineral Museum has been hosting the Franklin-Sterling Gem & Mineral Show for 62 years. It was held in the Littell Community Center in Franklin, NJ. I learned what I needed to know to find it by working Google after talking to that rock dealer in Westfield. (Seriously: how did we survive before Google?)

Google Maps guided me there. I paid a $7 fee, got a wrist band, and drove into the parking lot. Since part of the show was outdoors, I put Penny on her leash and we walked from one outdoor vendor booth to the next. There were a lot of rocks, but not much of what I was looking for: affordable, interesting cabochons and slabs that I could cut and polish into cabochons at home. I bought a few small, cheap pieces: a pair of matched ammonites that I’ll make into separate pendants, a few polished agate slices, and some heart-shaped beads for earrings. Then I put Penny in the car and went inside.

(I should note here that when Penny is in the car, I can’t lock it; the alarm system in the Maserati is so freaking sensitive that a 7-pound dog moving around in there sets off the alarm and there doesn’t seem to be a way to lock the doors without turning on the alarm. So any time I left Penny in the car, the doors were unlocked. That’s normal for back home when I’m driving a 19-year old Jeep but not normal in the NYC metro area when I’m driving an exotic sedan.)

Inside was more of the same, although most of what was there was nicer. There was one booth with some incredible cabochons, but they were very expensive. My artist friend Janet says I need to buy good stones to sell my jewelry, but I know my local market. I can’t spend $50 on a stone when most of my local market balks at paying more than $49 for a pendant. The only pendants I can sell for more are the ones with popular, well-known stones like malachite and turquoise, and even then it’s tough to get more than $69. I’m hoping that if I sell at shows in Arizona this winter I can find a market with deeper pockets.

I did find some large cabochon beads with holes right down the middle. I’ve been using these to make “budget pendants” and, for a while, they were selling really well. I also found some small, inexpensive rose quartz cabochons. I chatted for a while with a dealer who goes to Quartzsite and Tucson every year; I’m wondering if I’ll find him down there in January.

Back outside, I made a conscious effort to find the rock dealer I’d spoken to in Westfield. I’d walked right past his booth on my first pass. We chatted for a while and he remembered me kind of vaguely. I noticed that he had a nice big labradorite slab with really nice blue highlights. He made me a deal on it and, although it’s a bit more than I wanted to spend, I know I’ll get at least a dozen cabochons out of it so it will definitely pay for itself with dividends. There’s even a chance that I might sell part of it for what I paid for the whole thing — I’m thinking about selling some of the slabs I’ve accumulated lately.

I should mention here that I do sell the cabochons that I buy. Although I began by showing them off at my day table as a way to interest customers in custom pendants — buy a stone and pay an extra $30 to have it made into a pendant in two hours — I’ve been selling quite a few stones to other jewelry makers and people who just like stones. The other day, in fact, a woman bought five stones, spending over $100. Although I make more money when I sell the stone in a pendant, I have a markup on the stones and selling them loose is a lot quicker and easier than making a pendant so I’m not complaining.

In all, I spent about an hour and $50 at the show, not including that $7 entrance fee. It was a nice little show, with “little” being the important word. When I go to Arizona in the winter, I see a thousand times more gems and minerals at just one of the venues. Prices are much better, too. I’m spoiled.

High Point

From there, we headed out towards Port Jervis. I had it in my head that I wanted to see High Point, so that’s what I asked Google Maps to guide me to.

Along the way, I stopped at a funky little restaurant in Sussex, NJ called the Sussex Inn Restaurant. It was on the lower level of a hotel. I sat in a booth and had a calzone (of all things). In one of the booths behind me was a very loud (and apparently old) British couple talking about the war — yes, World War II — and another equally loud Trump supporter. The calzone was huge and I wound up taking it with me but later throwing it away.

High Point Tower
A wide angle view up the High Point Monument from its base.

Tower Reflection
On the way out of the park, I stopped for a more artistic shot of the Monument. I really am a sucker for reflections.

At High Point State Park, I followed the signs to get into the park. High Point gets its name because it’s the highest point in the State of New Jersey — a whopping 1600 feet above sea level. The entrance fee booth was closed — remember, it was after Labor Day — but there were plenty of people in the park. I followed the road up to the High Point Monument, a 220-foot tall obelisk built in 1928-1930 to honor veterans. I parked, put Penny on a leash, and got out for a walk. We went to the base of the monument, stepped inside but didn’t climb to the top, and took a hike in the woods. I got some nice views, especially out to the west where the Delaware River separated New Jersey from neighboring Pennsylvania.

A Night in Port Jervis

We didn’t stay long. After our hike, I worked Google Maps a bit to find a place to spend the night. Traveling with Penny is a bit of a challenge sometimes; many places don’t allow dogs. I found the Erie Hotel and Restaurant in Port Jervis and gave them a call. Apparently, the only phone was at the bar and it took a while for the bartender to find a manager who would say whether dogs were allowed. I finally got the green light and a rate and told them I’d be there within an hour.

It took considerably less than an hour to get there. Along the way, I stopped for gas and some dog food. I had a cooler with me — I’d bought some Italian pastries for my friends in Westfield that morning — so I bought some orange juice and yogurt, too. I was hoping to get some dry ice, but the supermarket didn’t sell it.

The hotel was one of those old railroad hotels built in 1890. Restored in 1994 after a fire, it still had the small rooms it might have had when built, although each room also had a bathroom which I doubt it had when first built. It was comfortable and quiet and cheap enough. I had a light dinner and a cold hard cider in the restaurant downstairs, which seemed to allow gambling via a keno-like game. After dinner, I fetched a bucket of ice and put it into the cooler to keep those pastries and other items cold. Then I took a quick walk up and down the main street in town — which was pretty dead on a Sunday night — and went up to my room with Penny.

We were asleep before 10.

(Continued in Part 5: On the Road to Vermont)

How I Spent My Autumn Vacation, Part 3: In Washington DC

I take in a few amazing museums.

(Continued from Part 2: The Farewell Tour)

Third Trip is the Charm

This was my third trip as a tourist to Washington DC and only my fifth trip ever. (Two trips were for work and I didn’t really get to see anything.) The first trip was when I was around 10 years old; it was a family vacation. I still remember parts of it: visiting the Mint and seeing stacks of uncut money and my dad surrendering his service weapon (he was a cop) at the White House after they searched my little purse. I also remember running into my third grade teacher on a street corner. (How weird is that?). The second visit was many years later with my future wasband and, oddly, I don’t remember much of that at all. This would be my first solo trip and my first opportunity to make all the decisions about where to go and what to do.

The next part of my trip started long before dawn. I was dead asleep when my brother woke me up at 3:30 AM. So was Penny, who reacted by jumping off the bed and barking her little brains out. Jolted to consciousness, I rushed from the bed to grab her so she wouldn’t wake my brother’s neighbors. That’s when I ran full speed into the footboard at the end of his bed. The bruise I got on my right thigh would haunt me for the next few days.

The Train Ride

A while later, he was dropping me and a small carryon bag off at Metropark Station in Iselin, NJ, which isn’t far from where he lives. I was catching a 5:12 AM Amtrak train to Washington DC. He was going to work and Penny would be starting five days as an apartment dweller.

It took me a few minutes to figure out where I had to go. I waited on the wrong side of the track for about three minutes, then got directions to the other platform. I walked down, through a tunnel under the tracks, and was honestly surprised that I didn’t smell urine. (New York has conditioned me to associate that smell with any tunnel near train tracks.) Then I was up on the other side, waiting with a handful of other people.

Iselin Station Before Dawn
Iselin station, before dawn on a Monday morning.

A few commuter trains came through and stopped to pick up some of the folks waiting. Other folks arrived. Then my train pulled up and the doors opened. I stepped inside, then followed another passenger back through three cars to the Business Class car. I chose one of the few seats facing forward with a table between it and a rear-facing seat and settled in.

I’d bought a Business Class ticket because I’d always upgraded my rail fare when traveling by train to Washington. Back in my early freelance days, one of my clients sent me there occasionally. Since I flew on airliners so often for them, I decided that on short trips I’d take the train from Newark. (I lived in Northern New Jersey at the time.) They’d buy the ticket and I’d spend an extra $50 for the “club car” update. That was a very pleasant experience, with La-Z-Boy style swiveling recliners, small tables between seats, and waiter service with food and drinks. I thought that Business Class would be the same thing. I was wrong. (Silly me.) It’s just slightly nicer seating at the back of the train that’s less crowded because fewer people pay for the upgrade.

Speed Info
In just six minutes, the train reached a speed of 124 miles per hour. Eek.

I didn’t realize the train was the Acela until we started zipping southwest bound along the tracks. I thought we were going fast, but I didn’t realize how fast until I fired up one of my hiking apps for the current speed: 124 mph. Shit. It reminded me of riding on the Cyclone roller coaster at Coney Island. It isn’t the drops that scare you — it’s the ricketiness of the old wooden tracks and the constant through that they could break and send you careening off into oblivion at any moment.

Nighttime faded into a dreary day with occasionally rain. After crossing New Jersey in about 15 minutes, we took a more southerly route, making a few stops along the way. More people got into the Business Class car. A man sat in the seat opposite mine and unpacked some work on the table. I killed time by writing in a journal I’d started for the trip. Later, I walked up to the very disappointing dining car and got the free drink I was entitled to — an orange juice; it was too early for alcohol — and a microwaved sausage sandwich. I ate back at my seat.

There was some confusion as we neared Washington DC. Apparently a commuter train had some mechanical issues and we were taking on passengers waiting for that. Announcements made it sound as if the other cars were really jammed with passengers. When a woman tried to sit in our car, the conductor told her she needed a Business Class ticket and made her move.

Then we were at Union Station in Washington DC. Because another train was at the platform in front of us, we had to climb down train stairs and make a very long walk on the extended platform to the station. It was drizzling and rather depressing. It was also only around 8:30 AM — a lot earlier than I would have arrived if had I left my brother’s house at 4:45 to catch a plane.

As I left the station, I noted a Verizon Wireless store that was still closed.

The AirBnB

I’d be staying at an AirBnB studio apartment on 11th Street SE for the next few days. Although the host wanted to charge me an extra $45 to check in early, she did agree that I could store my bag on the floor in the “living room” — which was the only room — when I arrived in town. So I caught a shared Lyft — which is really so much cheaper than Uber — and headed over there right from the station.

Row House
The house I stayed in in Washington DC during my visit.

The place was on a very nice tree-lined street, one of a row of attached houses with a few steps leading up to the front door. It wasn’t until I took this photo the next morning that a resident of the area told me that the homes were known as Philadelphia Row and had historic significance. (I’ll let you follow that link or Google for yourself to learn more.) All I cared about was stowing my bag so I wouldn’t have to carry it all day. I followed the access instructions, which required me to open two doors with two different key codes, peeked inside only long enough to make sure the place wasn’t a dump — it wasn’t; more on that later — and left my bag on the floor near the door. Then I locked up and headed out.

The Metro

I chose the Metro for transportation. It was supposed to be close to the AirBnB unit I was staying in. “Close,” however, is a relative term that depends on the person doing the walking and the weather she’s walking in. It was drizzling but warm. I’d donned my old motorcycle rain jacket, which fit over the fleece jacket I’d brought along on this trip, and was able to keep dry during the six-block walk. But the jacket had a rubber lining that made me sweat in the warm, humid weather. Ugh.

I descended underground at the Eastern Market Station. After figuring out how to buy a Metro pass and how much to put on it, I headed for the turnstiles. Soon I was on the platform, waiting for any train that would take me to Smithsonian Station.

It turned out to be a quick, pleasant ride. I got off at my station, climbed up to the surface, and blinked in the bright light of the gray day. It was still raining. I got my bearings and walked the rest of the way to my destination.

The Castle

I had decided to start my visit at the Smithsonian Castle, which is the original Smithsonian Institution Building on the Mall. Although it once housed the museum’s treasures, it’s now an information center with Smithsonian offices. What also makes it a good place to start an early visit of the area museums is that it opens at 9 AM; the other museums open at 10. It was still before 10 AM; hard to believe I’d started in New Jersey just a few hours before.

Smithsonian Castle
The Smithsonian Castle is a great place to start any museum trip to Washington DC.

Follow the Links

I could make this blog post about 20 times longer than it already is by providing details about everything I saw, but do you really want to read that? I hope not because I don’t have the time to write it. Use the links I provided to get information about the highlights of my visit. And then do yourself a favor: schedule your own museum tour in Washington DC one day soon. Bring your kids or grandkids over age 8 if you have some. You won’t regret it.

I spent about an hour there. I spoke to a woman at the information desk, got a brochure that listed all of the Smithsonian museums in the area, got a Metro map, and followed her suggestion to see the permanent exhibit in the West Wing called “The Smithsonian Institution: America’s Treasure Chest.” It included a sampling of items that could be found in the various other Smithsonian Museums. I couldn’t decide which was more impressive: the actual collection or the architecture of the room it was in.

West Wing of Castle
The West Wing of the Smithsonian Castle houses a permanent exhibit of sample items from all Smithsonian Museums.

By the time I was ready to move on, I’d decided on my next two destinations: the National Museum of Natural History and the National Museum of American History, both of which were right across the Mall.

National Museum of Natural History

I visited the National Museum of Natural History first, primarily because it was the first one I came to when I crossed the mall. There was a slight moment of panic when I thought that a group of about 30 school kids would be coming in with me, but they realized, right before they reached security, that they were in the wrong museum and left. Phew.

Inside, the first thing I did was find a locker for my shoulder bag and rain jacket. I was toting around my Nikon with its medium lens and it was heavy. The only reason I brought it on my trip at all was because there was a tiny scratch in my iPhone 7’s camera lens and I wanted to make sure I could get good pictures my trip. But the iPhone photos weren’t that bad and I didn’t want to lug the heavy Nikon around.

Main Hall of Natural History Museum
The Main Hall of the Natural History Museum. There were a lot of interpretive displays related to that big elephant, perhaps to make us feel a little less bad about killing and stuffing a big elephant.

Seeing Museums on my Own Terms

As I hinted in a sidebar near the beginning of this post, I really enjoyed being able to visit museums on my own terms. Not only could I decide which museums to visit, but I could decide which exhibits in each museum I wanted to visit and how much time I wanted to spend at any exhibit I wanted to see. There was no rush to finish up with things I cared about to see other things I didn’t care about. I made incredibly good use of my time and saw just about everything I wanted to see. After this trip, I can’t imagine visiting a museum any other way.

I was primarily interested in seeing the Gems and Minerals exhibit, which had been recommended to me by many friends who know about my interest in gemstones. Known officially as “The Janet Annenberg Hooker Hall of Geology, Gems, and Minerals,” it’s a permanent exhibit on the second floor. The Geology part was extensive and informative — I got a real kick out of seeing a display of columnar basalt just like the cliffs behind my home. Wandering on, there were exhibits about mines and mining and then, finally, the rocks I’d come to see: hundreds of specimens of beautiful gemstones from all over the world. I took numerous photos with my iPhone, sometimes setting it right up against the glass to eliminate glare. I wished they had book or website that cataloged every single one; it would be incredibly useful for identifying the specimens that I come across at rock shows.

Colored Rocks
This display, called “So Many Colors,” arranged rock specimens by color. Every single specimen was identified.

Black Light Rocks
This display shows the features of rocks in regular and then black light. (Yes, that’s my reflection in the back of the display.)

More rocks
More rocks.

I could share all my photos with you, but I won’t. If you like rocks, you really need to see this exhibit.

At the end of the exhibit hall were some famous gems, including the Hope Diamond, which was in its own rotating display with its own extra guard. Although a lot of folks had come to see just that, I really enjoyed the rest of the exhibit, which had taken me well over an hour to walk through.

Afterward, I visited just one other exhibit, and I didn’t stay long: “The Last American Dinosaurs: Discovering a Lost World.” I didn’t stay long, mostly because the place was full of kids on a school field trip — different, younger kids than at the entrance — and I was developing a headache that I realized was likely due to caffeine withdrawal. I hadn’t had any coffee that morning.

Tyrannosaurus
The Tyrannosaurus was just one set of bones on display.

I did stop at the gift shop, where a saw a lot of rocks like the ones I collect for a lot more money than I usually pay. I also saw gemstone jewelry, most of which wasn’t nearly as nice as mine. Then I found my way down to the ground floor where there was food. I bought a small, remade sandwich wrap, a bottle of water, and something that really saved me: an Awake caffeinated chocolate bar. Holy cow. I ate half the bar right after my sandwich and my headache was gone 15 minutes later. Seriously: I need to buy these and take them with me when I travel.

The Museum of American History

It was nearly 1 PM when I left the museum and walked next door, to the The National Museum of American History. I followed the same drill with security and then stowing my stuff in a locker.

This museum is famous for housing Dorothy’s Ruby Slippers (from The Wizard of Oz) and Archie Bunker’s chair (from All in the Family), neither of which I saw. There’s way much more in its three floors. I didn’t really have anything specific I wanted to see, so I started at the bottom at the hall of Transportation and Technology, specifically, the exhibits about transportation by water and land, electricity, power machinery, and money. That alone took over an hour, with lots of stops to really look at the exhibits and the signs that explained them. I took a few pictures, but not many.

Tucker
If you haven’t seen Tucker: The Man and His Dream from 1988, watch it. You’ll get an idea of how ahead of its time this car was.

The American Enterprise exhibit focused on American pioneers in business and industry. It seemed to me that they made a special effort to include as many women and people of color as they could. That’s a good thing — it introduced me to a lot of American businesspeople I’d never heard of.

I skipped the food exhibition and, therefore, missed Julia Child’s kitchen. Oh, well.

I did go to see the Star Spangled Banner, which used to hang behind a protective screen in the main hall. Now it’s in its own room, laid almost flat, behind a pane of glass. I raised my phone to take a picture and the guard said, “No photos!” I assured her my flash was off but she just repeated, “No photos.” I can’t quite understand why I can’t take a photo of this particular relic, especially if my flash it turned off. I’d share a photo from the museum website, but I can’t find one there, either.

I wandered around a handful of other exhibits but, by that time — late afternoon — I was tired. I decided to grab a Lyft to a restaurant near the AirBnB and call it a day.

Ambar

I wound up at Ambar Capital Hill, a Balkan restaurant. I had never had Balkan food and since it was walking distance from the AirBnB, eating there was a no-brainer for me.

I sat at the bar, as I often do when I’m traveling alone. They had a few happy hour specials of small plates and that’s what I went for. Veal soup, bread basket with traditional spreads, drunken mussels, and Balkan Kebab. All excellent. I tried the Sarajevo Old Fashioned (plum rake, bourbon, bitter, and cane syrup) and later tried an apricot rakia. It was an excellent meal and, as usual, I stuffed myself.

I needed that walk back to the AirBnB.

The AirBnB

I made my way though the two locked doors and finally got a chance to really look at the AirBnB unit I was staying it. It was on the ground floor of the row house with two windows facing front. There was another window facing a back yard, but it was blocked by the full-sized refrigerator in the tiny kitchen.

It wasn’t a bad place, but it certainly wasn’t the “five star” accommodations the host kept reminding me it was. Although both front windows had blinds, only one of them had curtains and neither opened. The double (or maybe queen) bed was shoved up against the wall and had no headboard so the pillows kept falling into the space between the window and the bed. I actually made a list of all the things wrong with the place and sent it to the host at the end of my stay, mostly because every single time he/she sent me one of their long, canned messages it reminded me that the place deserved a 5-star review. That really bugged me. I gave them 4 stars but only because of the value for the money. I got what I paid for. All I did there was sleep, wash up, have coffee in the morning, and reheat some leftovers. It was clean enough and convenient enough. But the $95 cleaning fee really irked me when I found the previous guest’s hair in the shower. Ick.

AirBnB
You’re looking at more than half of the room I stayed in. I don’t see Five Stars here, do you? As I told my host in the private part of the review, it has all the charm of a freshman girl’s dorm room. You can see three of the six fake plants; not sure what purpose they served other than to increase tackiness.

My New Phone

In the morning, after coffee, I took another shared Lyft back to Union Station. I was the first customer at the Verizon store.

I wound up buying a new iPhone XS. The smaller screen one. I really liked what I’d seen about the camera. My iPhone 7 was nearly two years old and the camera lens had a tiny scratch. It didn’t make sense to spend $80 to replace the camera in a phone that old.

They had a 55 and older special going that gave me a second phone worth up to $900 for free, including free data, calls, texts, etc. All I had to pay was sales tax (which they didn’t tell me up front). So I also got a red iPhone 8 max. It’s still in its box. I don’t even know its phone number.

They sold me the insurance on both phones but I later canceled it. I figured that if I broke the new iPhone, I’d use the second one as a spare. Free insurance. Whatever.

On my way out of Union Station, I took my first pictures with the new phone. They came out okay.

The National Postal Museum

The National Postal Museum was right across the street from Union Station. I used to be a serious stamp collector. Now I just buy stamps I like and eventually use them. (I’d love to sell my old stamp collection if you know anyone who is interested in first day covers, commemorative blocks, and other mint stamps.) I walked over to the museum to take a look.

Inverted Jennys
Safely displayed behind glass with a light that goes on only when someone is standing right in front of the display. This is one of the most valuable stamps in the world. The history of its release into the world is fascinating.

The museum has a good display of interesting/historic stamps — including a block of four Inverted Jennys behind glass that I was allowed to photograph — as well as larger displays downstairs for the various ways mail is transported. There were planes hanging from the ceiling and an entire mail car from a train.

Postal Museum
The lower level atrium exhibits at the National Postal Museum.

Postal Train Car
Interpretive signs help visitors understand how mail was processed on-the-go inside train cars like this.

I spent a lot more time there than I expected to, really taking in the exhibits and learning a lot about all kinds of things related to the mail. It might sound dull to you, but I found it fascinating. But then again, I’m interested in a lot of weird things.

It was well after noon when I finished up with the Postal Museum. Before leaving, I stopped at the post office inside the building and bought a bunch of really neat stamps to use over the coming year. In the gift shop, I bought a refrigerator magnet of the Inverted Jenny.

Then I set out, on foot, to the next museum on my list.

The Newseum

The Newseum is the only non-Smithsonian Institution museum I visited on my trip to Washington. It was a must-see for me and my only regret is that I arrived there so late in the day.

I also arrived hungry, which is not a good thing. I decided to buy a ticket for the guided tour to get an overview of the museum’s highlights. While I waited for the tour to start, I went into the ground floor cafeteria, which Wolfgang Puck has put his name on, to have lunch. I had a very disappointing meal of fried catfish and sweet potato fries.

There was just me and an older couple on the tour. (I suspected that they were Trump supporters when they challenged the guide’s description of Fake News at a small exhibit dedicated to that topic.) The guide started us on the top floor and we worked our way down. There is a ton to see. The tour gave us some good highlights and insight, but it wasn’t enough for me and I wound up returning the next day to revisit many of the exhibits. My favorites:

  • Today’s Front Pages are the front pages of newspapers from all over the country and world. Not only are they in a long, narrow exhibit on the top floor, but the exhibit is repeated outside every day so you don’t have to pay to see them. (You can actually view 700+ of these online on the Newseum’s website.)
  • Pictures of the Year has award-winning news photography from the past 75 years.
  • News History
    Here’s an example of a document from the News History Gallery.

    News History Gallery shows 300 newspapers (and their predecessors) dating back to the Middle Ages, with interpretive signs that help you understand the significance of each.

  • Broadcast Tower
    The 9/11 Gallery is very moving in an eerie sort of way.

    9/11 Gallery includes the broadcast tower from the top of the World Trade Center, along with front pages from all over the world. It’s a pretty intense display, especially the section that shows the possessions of a journalist who went in with some firefighters and was killed when one of the towers fell.

  • First Amendment Gallery has displays related to the five freedoms of the First Amendment.
  • Internet, TV, and Radio Gallery traces the history of the spread of news information.
  • First Dogs is an exhibit of photos of Presidents with their pets. It was a fun break from the reality of today’s news cycle.
  • The Berlin Wall is a two-story exhibit that the Newseum building was actually constructed around. It includes several panels from the Berlin Wall — more gathered in any single place outside Berlin — and most of a guard tower, as well as many exhibits explaining what the wall was all about and how it curbed the spread of information.

Berlin Wall
Sections of the Berlin Wall on display at the Newseum.

As I mentioned earlier, although I got a glimpse of many of these things during the guided tour, I actually came back the next day for a much better look. In between, I had dinner at the Carving Room, which a friend recommended. (The food wasn’t bad but the service sucked.) I wound up taking half my meal back to the place I was staying. I did a lot of walking that day, but when it came time to go back to the AirBnB, I used Lyft again. The shared ride service was incredibly cheap and a lot more convenient than the Metro.

The next morning, I returned to the Newseum to really focus on the exhibits that I wanted to see. Honestly, if you’re the kind of person who walks through a museum just looking at the exhibits without reading the signs that go with them, you’re missing half (at least) of the experience.

It was a really beautiful day — the first day of my visit with plenty of sun and bright blue skies. I started my visit to the Newseum with a trip up to the outdoor patio on the top floor. From there, I could look up and down Pennsylvania Avenue. I’d revisit that spot later in the day, before leaving to visit my next stop just to take in that view one more time.

Newseum Patio
The view up Pennsylvania Avenue on the Newseum patio.

A Quick Walk through the National Gallery of Art

My next intended destination was the Air and Space Museum, which was on the other side of the National Mall. I had two ways to get there: I could go the long way east on Pennsylvania Avenue to Fourth Street, walk south across the Mall, and then walk west up Jefferson Drive. Or I could cut pretty much straight through the National Gallery of Art and follow the walkway across the mall right to Air and Space. I took the shortcut.

Fountain
This fountain stands in the main entrance hall for the National Gallery of Art.

I really didn’t intend to spend any time looking at art, but the shortcut required me take a bit of a roundabout route through the building. Along the way was the gift shop, which I think I spent 30 minutes touring. I wound up buying a book and getting some ideas for a jewelry design. Then I made my way out to the south exit, stopping briefly to a few photos of the amazing architecture in the building.

The Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum

I’ll admit it: the main reason I came to Washington DC was to see the National Air and Space Museum. The first time I came to Washington, when I was a kid, it might not have even existed. The second time, when I was still a relatively young adult, I had limited interest in aviation. Now, with almost 20 years as a pilot under my belt and some experience with rebuilt or replica antique aircraft, I was very interested in aviation. I had been itching to visit Air and Space for years.

The National Air and Space Museum has two locations. The main location — the one most tourists visit — is the one in Washington DC. That’s the one I’d see that day. The other one is called the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center — named for its benefactor — is in Chantilly, VA. I’d see that the next day.

But first I needed lunch. Always eager to try different ethnic foods, I walked over to the National Museum of the American Indian next door. I’d heard very good things about its cafe. The museum itself looked interesting but I admit that it was not on my list of things to see, mostly because living in Arizona for 15 years, visiting various Native American museums (including the excellent Heard Museum in Phoenix and the National Museum of the American Indian in New York City), and spending an unusual amount of time on the Hopi and Navajo reservations had pretty much overdosed me on Native American culture. But the thought of trying some unusual native food enticed me into the building. The cafe was split into regional areas, each one serving up some native food. I had something from Central America — I can’t remember what — and it was good. Of all the museums I visited, this one definitely had the best food, although it was typical cafeteria style serving.

Next door, at the Air and Space Museum, I went through security and then checked my bag and jacket again and began exploring. I’d been wanting to see a planetarium show for a while and there was a planetarium on the premises. The only show on the schedule that looked interesting, Journey to the Stars, was showing just one more time that day in just a few minutes, so I bought a ticket and got on line. Soon I was seated near the wall in the round planetarium, eager to see that machine in the middle do its magic. I was disappointed. Instead of giving us a true planetarium show, they showed a specially formatted movie on the domed ceiling. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t what I had come for.

I think that set the tone for the rest of my visit. Don’t get me wrong — there were a lot of really great exhibits and displays. The Spirit of St. Louis hung from the ceiling. The real original Wright Flyer sat in its own exhibit room. There was an extremely informative exhibit about time and navigation. The Golden Age of Flight told the story, with plenty of aircraft on display, of the period between the two world wars, when aviation first began to thrive. Pioneers of Flight covered “firsts” for pilots and aircraft. Apollo to the Moon was an extremely informative display about the moon missions.

Main Hall
The Spirit of St. Louis is hanging from the ceiling at the Air and Space Museum in Washington DC — with a lunar lander right below it.

WrightFlyer
A panoramic image of the original Wright Flyer. This is the first aircraft that attained controllable, self-powered flight at Kitty Hawk in 1903.

Pangborn
Herndon and Pangborn could be found on a plaque in one of the galleries. Wenatchee’s local airport is named for Pangborn. Did you know that it had such a place in aviation history? Only they didn’t land at the airport because it didn’t exist yet; they landed at Fancher Field, which is now a housing development called Fancher Heights.

Docked Spacecraft
I loved the lighting in the museum — natural light through huge windows. This is one of the last shots I took during my visit.

I wandered around and took a ton of photos. Along the way, I noticed what I thought was a disproportionately large percentage of displays designed for children. Explanations were over simplified — no, I didn’t use the phrase dumbed down, although it did come to mind — and questions were left unanswered. There was a lot of touch this, push this button, slide this drawer, compare this to something you know kind of stuff. There were entire galleries I didn’t bother going into because they looked as if they were for kids. Not having kids and not really enjoying their company — especially noisy school groups — I stayed clear. But it left me feeling somewhat disappointed. I didn’t know what was missing, but I felt as if the museum could have been a lot better.

747 Nose
I think this is an example of one of the gee whiz dumbed down displays: a 747 nose poking out of a wall. Although I’m sure there was a plaque about it somewhere, I didn’t see it. The plane could not be accessed by visitors. It just hung there.

And then I was done. I’d seen everything that looked interesting to me and was ready to move on.

Scooting to Lincoln

I retrieved my things and stepped outside. It was still a nice day and it was definitely too early to go back to my AirBnB cubbyhole. It was also my last day in Washington DC so I wanted to make it count. I thought a trip up to the Washington Monument might be nice and thought I’d try walking. It wasn’t far — not even a mile — but it was hot out. The humidity, which I’m not used to at all, was killing me. (Not literally, but you know what I mean.)

My GoPed

Back when I lived in Arizona many years ago and had more money than I knew what to do with, I bought myself a a gas powered scooter called a GoPed. The idea was to fold this thing up and take it with me in my helicopter so I’d have ground transportation when I arrived. And that’s what I did — but just once. You see, I took it to Sedona and climbed aboard to ride down from Airport Mesa into town. Along the way — fortunately, near the start of the ride, was a cattle guard. That’s when I learned that a scooters tiny wheels are not compatible with cattle guards. The scooter stopped short but I didn’t. I landed on my face and broke my nose — a fact that I’ve keep pretty much secret for the past 10 years. I’ve done a lot of dumb things in my life, but that was the dumbest. After that, I wasn’t very interested in riding the GoPed. I wound up giving it away to someone in exchange for him removing the surveillance cameras from my hangar before I moved to Washington.

And, in a weird twist of fate, surgery to fix my crooked nose was not necessary because within a year I had another accident: I tripped over the JetA hose at the airport while fueling a Lear jet. When I landed on my face again, the resulting broken nose actually fixed the first break. Truth is stranger than fiction. The way I see it, I was gypped out of the nose job that I’ve always needed.

So when I saw the row of five Skip rental scooters, I stopped for a closer look. I’d been seeing lots of people scooting around Washington DC on these electric vehicles. With just a long stretch of fine gravel “sidewalk” along the side of the mall and a few street crossings, it didn’t seem as if it would be a difficult ride. Why not give it a go?

After struggling a bit to make the app I downloaded work, I was heading west along the south side of the Mall, moving at a good clip. No, I didn’t have a helmet on. Although they say you have to wear one, there wasn’t one available with the scooter. But you can bet your ass that I was keeping a sharp lookout for potholes. (Cattle guards were unlikely.)

Washington Monument
The Washington Monument was deserted that day because it was closed.

The ride was quick and very enjoyable. The breeze cooled me down and the humidity stopped bothering me so much. But I was disappointed when I got to the Washington Monument: it was closed to the public. Apparently, they’re upgrading the elevator and it won’t be open again until spring 2019.

So I kept going. The Lincoln Memorial wasn’t far beyond it and I was having fun. I scooted up there, stopping once to get a shot of the Monument framed by the trees along the path and a fountain I didn’t realize existed between it and the Lincoln Memorial.

Lincoln
Although Republicans like to point out that Lincoln was a republican, I truly believe that today’s Republican Party would horrify and disgust him.

Once I reached the Lincoln Memorial — which was a lot more crowded on that Wednesday afternoon than I expected it to be — I found a place off the path near a bike rack filled with rental bikes to leave the scooter and tapped the appropriate buttons on my phone to “return” it. Then I walked up the steps, past dozens of people sitting in the shade, and visited the big statue of Mr. Lincoln. As I looked up at his wise old face I wondered what he would think of “the party of Lincoln” today, led by a barely literate, narcissistic conman who spreads hateful messages that divide the country he fought so hard to keep together 150 years ago.

I walked to the north wing of the building where Lincoln’s second inaugural address had been inscribed on the wall. (The Gettysburg Address is on the wall in the south wing.) Although it touches on many religious themes and quotes Jesus more than once, it finishes with words that I wish a real president would take to heart sometime soon:

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

Lincoln was a wise man, but I can’t see anything he had in common with today’s Republicans.

Afterwards, I went outside and sat on the steps. The sun was setting on the other side of the building so the steps were in the shade. A lot of people were gathered, sitting around, chatting, resting. I saw the spot on one of the landings where Martin Luther King, Jr. had made his “I Have a Dream” speech in 1963; someone had splashed the letters engraved there with water.

Reflecting Pool
In case you’re wondering, this is what Lincoln is looking out at.

Getting a Lyft from there back to the AirBnB took a long time with three scheduled drivers cancelling before one finally arrived. When I got back to the tiny apartment, I ate leftovers from the day before. I was asleep before 9.

Going to Virginia

I checked out of my AirBnB unit around 8 AM and headed toward the metro station on foot carrying my bags. Every time I take a small bag without wheels I swear I’ll use a wheelie bag next time but I still find myself using shoulder bags. That wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t buy so many books along the way.

Breakfast
This was the best breakfast of my trip. The coffee cup was the size of a small soup bowl.

I stopped for breakfast at a cafe near the Eastern Market metro stop. They gave me a huge cup of coffee with my smoked salmon omelette.

Then I used the Metro card I’d bought on my first day to hop on a train bound for Virginia. I made sure I got on the right train so I wouldn’t have to change trains. It took at least 30 minutes to get to Wiehle-Reston East station. Once there, I called a Lyft and took that to the Steven F Udavar-Hazy Center, which is right near Dulles Airport.

At the National Air and Space Museum’s Udavar-Hazy Center

SR-71
In your face: an SR-71 is the first thing you see when you arrive.

It was raining pretty hard when I arrived. I walked in, went through security, and checked all of my bags in a locker. Then I walked into the biggest hangar I’d ever been in and let my jaw drop. I mean, how could I not? I was standing on a platform overlooking the hangar floor with a SR-71 Blackbird right in front of me and a space shuttle in the room behind it. Parked on the floor and hanging from the ceiling on both sides of me were well over 100 aeronautically significant airplanes.

Completely overwhelmed by what I was seeing, I decided to take a free guided tour. I went down to the tour meet-up area where a bunch of people were already waiting. They split the group in two and I went with one guided by a retired aeronautical engineer. When he learned that I was from Washington State, he began stressing the world Boeing and looking pointedly at me every time he said it. (Boeing is based in Seattle. I don’t live anywhere near Seattle.)

He spent 90 minutes showing us around, mostly in the pre-1920 Aviation area and military aviation areas covering the period up to the end of World War II. It was the tip of the iceberg. When he let us loose, I walked the entire floor, reading plaques for anything that interested me, and taking dozens of photos.

Discovery
The Discovery Space Shuttle is in a room surrounded space stuff. When I put a few photos on Twitter, a Twitter friend of mine asked if a computer unit he used to work on (The IDEX II Workstation) was still on display; I went back to this room, found it, and sent him a photo.

Planes
Planes, planes, and more planes. This is the commercial and general aviation side of the building, with a Concorde, Boeing 707 (367-80 or “Dash 80”), and I think a DC-3(?) with all kind of planes hanging around them. The Vertical Flight area was in the far corner of this room.

World's Smallest Plane
This plane was so small that it fit under the wing of another plane.

I won’t share all the photos. (Seriously: after reading this far you must be exhausted.) I will say this: if you have any interest whatsoever in aviation, you must go visit the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center in Chantilly, VA. Honestly — it will blow you away. This is an aviation museum designed for real aviation enthusiasts. Kids would likely get bored within an hour, but if you are fascinated by aviation and want to see and learn about all kinds of aircraft, this is the place to visit.

I spent nearly the whole day there. By 3 PM, I was hungry and very disappointed to see that the only food available was at the McDonald’s inside the museum. (Really? Is that the best they can do?) I bought some sort of chicken thing that actually contained chicken, some fries, and one of their cheap hot-fudge sundaes.

After my late lunch, I made my way up to the observation tower to watch the planes coming in for landing at Dulles. It was a perfectly miserable day with low ceilings and heavy rain. The jets came out of the clouds not far from the tower, which has 360° views of the surrounding area. There was an aviation radio tuned into the approach (but sadly not tower) frequency. I stayed for about 20 minutes; while I was there a group of high school students came up with sketch books and sketched various part of the tower’s inside.

Watching Planes Land
What a miserable day, eh?

Winding Down and Heading Out

By about 4:30, I was ready to go. I called the Fairfield Inn, where I’d booked a room, and arranged for a shuttle. Soon I was in a very comfortable business style hotel room that looked out over the hotel’s front entrance. I settled in to watch a movie on HBO. I was exhausted.

Later, I found a Chinese restaurant online that delivered and ordered enough food to meet their delivery minimums. I was surprised when the delivery guy brought it right to my room. It was really good but there was a ton leftover. I stowed it in the room’s little fridge.

In the morning, I woke early, as I usually do. I washed all of my dirty clothes in the laundry room on the premises. While I was waiting for it to finish, I checked out the free breakfast. I was absolutely appalled by the mess left by other guests and not tended to by any hotel staff. I’m talking about food on the floor and countertops, abandoned meals, lack of forks and napkins, empty coffee urns. And that was less than an hour after breakfast opened! It was a real shame; the hotel was nice and very comfortable, but they completely dropped the ball on the breakfast.

By 10:30, I was heading out in the hotel shuttle. Rather than go all the way back into the city for a return train ride, I’d booked a flight on American Airlines to Newark. I could carry on my bag. By some miracle, I got TSA Pre√ so security went quickly. The flight was short and I tracked our progress on ForeFlight along the way, seeing a lot of familiar territory from the air.

My brother met me at the airport and we went back to his place where Penny was very happy to see me.

We ate that leftover Chinese food for dinner.

(Continued in Part 4: Killing Time in New Jersey)