On the road again...

Sep 06, 2024

On the road again, I just can't wait to get on the road again...

I've never owned a set of golf clubs, it's been a couple decades since I tried fishing, and no one ever picks me for their volleyball team. I've never bought a pontoon or an RV I leave parked in Arizona. In general, one of the things I dislike about myself is my inability to recreate.

But I do love to go places I've never been before.

It used to be that people would pay me to go to interesting places, which was the best of all possible worlds. Sadly, that ship seems to have sailed. But I can't get past the feeling that if an entire year goes by without a new stamp in my passport, it’s a lost opportunity.

Last week a number of things fell into place. There was a friend in Portland, Maine I'd never met in person, I saw a picture of Quebec City that looked interesting, and we had two grandnieces in Montreal who are suddenly young women, and I wanted them to know who we are before I decline into full codgerhood. The final straw was notice of a cheap air fare to Burlington, VT.

On a map it seemed perfect. Fly into Burlington, drive in a big circle and get back home in a week or so, just in time to make apple cider and can tomatoes.

That's how we found ourselves climbing on an airport shuttle at 4:56 in the morning.

Sometimes I think airlines can't do math. A flight leaving at 7:00 seems reasonable, but they want you at the airport two hours before the flight leaves, shuttles can be unreliable, and some folks don't leap out of bed ready to be seen by strangers for the next twelve hours. The result is setting the alarm for 4:00 a.m. and waking up five times during the night worrying that the alarm won't go off. I don't know if pilots and flight attendants are all people who grew up on dairy farms, but wherever they were born, they are clearly morning people. The airport/airplane/rental car things all worked flawlessly, but about the time we crossed from Vermont in New Hampshire I started to yawn, which can be a problem when you're the driver.

I wasn't really in danger of falling asleep, because we decided to take the cross-country path from Burlington to Portland, which meant driving through the White Mountains. We spent most of our time driving 35 mph and there were times that felt over optimistic.

For me this is kind of a thing. You need to understand – if I hop on the closest Interstate to where I live, the speed limit is 80 mph, and many drivers seem to feel that’s more of a suggestion than an actual limit. There we were swooping up and down hills, around streams and through numberless tiny villages next to tumbling brooks. Beautiful but not speedy.

And old. So old.

One of the things I love about traveling is that it is so mentally uncomfortable. Languages you don't understand, customs you don't know, even road signs you can't interpret. One thing I always find jarring is being reminded just how young our place in the world is. For instance, we live in what is probably one of the oldest houses in Big Stone County. I say, “probably,” because the new part of our house was built in 1916, and no one has any idea how old the old part is, only that it was built a few decades before that. It's been about 150 years since the first permanent European settlers came to my part of the world, and compared to New England, that's practically last week. For even more perspective, we once toured a Spanish mission in Southern California and our guide said, “When the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, this mission already needed a new roof.” And that's just Europeans in North America. There are many places around the world where structures 1,000, 2,000, 5000-plus years old are still standing. It's wonderful, humbling, and enlightening.

We made it to the coast and had time to splash water on our faces before our dinner engagement. Lobster and conversation with the aroma of kelp in the salt air and the warmth of friendship. It was a great day.

Even at 35 mph.