Six-hundred-mile story

Since I decline to board an airplane, we rode the Raven to the Northeast last fall, for our eight-day tour of New York and New England.

In the spirit of enjoying the journey as well as the destination, our habit is to travel only during daylight (or early evening hours if absolutely necessary). The rule of thumb is to spend no more than nine hours in the car on any given day.

I had mulled over the route for many weeks before our departure date, planning the itinerary and selecting places to stop for meals and attractions along the way, as well as making lodging arrangements, all the while keeping a weather eye on the horizon.

So it was that on the day before we left, I spent the afternoon (it was a Sunday) organizing my outfits and accessories, and getting the ball rolling on packing.

By the time I went to bed that night, I was so excited at the prospect of finally taking our trip that I was afraid I wouldn't sleep.

Not that there was much time for that; I rarely get under the covers before midnight, and I wanted to be on the road by six o'clock in the morning.

(TG was chatting with a man at church whose wife also likes to take car trips. TG observed that in such cases the men merely drive the car; further input is not needed. The man corrected TG: "I don't drive the car; I just hold the steering wheel.")

Haaaahahahaa. What an astute gentleman.

Anyway, the night went even less smoothly than I had expected and hoped. As in, I slept for perhaps ninety minutes. At three thirty, I got up and made coffee.

I can't really drink coffee at three thirty in the morning, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

By five thirty, we were heading out of the driveway. Our destination was Glen Mills, Pennsylvania -- Andrew Wyeth country -- six hundred miles northeast of Columbia.

The above is but a humble iPhone 7 photo and not of great quality, but I'd never seen a sunrise quite like that and I wanted to show you.

Not that I see that many sunrises; I don't. But still.

Several hours down the road, we planned to stop at the Dixie Restaurant in Petersburg, Virginia, for lunch. 

Before reaching Petersburg, however, we took a planned detour in the town of Smithfield, North Carolina.

That's because, one, it was time to stretch our legs, and, two, Ava Gardner is buried there, at Sunset Memorial Gardens.

It took only a few minutes after exiting the Interstate, to find the cemetery.

Helpful markers led us to where Ava rests beside her parents and five of her six siblings.

I wouldn't describe myself as any stripe of an Ava Gardner fan, but I am a lifelong classic movie fan.

And she was great as Julie LaVerne in Show Boat. I cry every time she sings Fish got to swim, birds got to fly ... I gotta love one man till I die ...

Anyway. We paid our respects at Ava's grave -- still dew-soaked on what would be a beautiful autumn day -- and walked around for a few minutes.

You may be asking yourself at this juncture, knowing the pirate needs her beauty sleep, how I was feeling after resting for a mere ninety minutes, then spending all day riding in the car.

Rough. It was rough. I believe I swam in and out of consciousness at least eighteen times that day -- in ten- to fifteen-second increments. 

See, I cannot lie down and sleep in a car. Yes; I had my pillow and blankie. Yes; my seat is comfy and reclines to almost flat. The problem is that I knew TG was tired too.

Although he would bite his tongue off, chew it, and swallow it before he'd admit to fatigue.

I have seen him sleep while driving. He denies it. But I have seen it and having seen it I cannot forget it.

According to plan, we reached Petersburg and located the Dixie Restaurant. it was right where I'd read it would be, which is where it has been since 1939.

As welcome as the sight of our first dining establishment of the trip certainly was, the sad reality of the situation was that, one, all of the booths were taken and, two, we had missed the window to order breakfast.

(Which is why I prefer -- and scour the Web for -- restaurants with stellar reputations that serve breakfast all day. Not the reputations; the restaurants.)

But our meal was pleasant enough (I vaguely remember a hamburger) and soon we were on our way again, still on schedule to reach Glen Mills no later than five o'clock.

First I was moved to photograph both the restaurant and an ivy-covered building across the street.

Small-town America. You've got to love it.

This would be the part of the trip that would take us around the nation's capital -- always dicey traffic-wise but especially at the time of day we were passing through. 

(One holds one's breath and tries to think of something else, all the while hoping for a miracle.)

Our intention upon reaching Glen Mills was to check in to our hotel and then drive a mile or so to circa-1704 Newlin Grist Mill, and take pictures of it during the golden hour.

Do you think you could handle such excitement? I wonder. But this is the sort of thing I enjoy: historic, scenic, iconic, quiet, and free.

You should try it sometime. It's not an amusement park but that's what's good about it.

There was no miracle and we did encounter constant slowdowns -- accordion traffic, TG calls it.

You speed up and the cars achieve distance between one another. Then you slow down and everyone comes together again. Repeat until you want to faint or scream or both.

About the time I was beginning to despair of clapping my eyes on the Newlin Grist Mill in that calendar day, it became obvious that we would be tooling into Glen Mills at around dusk.

Technically that is too late to take pictures -- the golden hour having passed -- but we decided to skip the hotel part and go straight to the historic site.

We reached it in time for me to walk around briskly -- it was cool and getting cooler -- and get in some shots.

It's a stunning place; I'd like to go back and get to know it better someday.

There was a tiny, narrow red structure that looked as though it had thought about being a barn but settled for being an oddly-shaped shed.

So charming.

There was something that reminded me of a crude guillotine but I'm sure that's not what it was. I don't know what it was; I just liked how it looked.

There was an actual millstone embedded in the ground. If only it could talk.

My camera was letting in lots more light than was actually present, so the photos I got are better than I deserved.

In due time we left and drove a mile or two to our hotel, which turned out to be a wonderful surprise in more ways than one. 

We'd be staying at the same place on our way home, and therein lies a tale, but I will tell it to you later.

That night we were hungry enough -- the Dixie Restaurant nearly eight hours in the rear view mirror -- that, tired as we certainly were, we sought out a local diner for a snack before crashing.

En route -- we hadn't been in the car for five minutes, and it was dark -- TG was encouraged to pull over by way of flashing blue lights in the aforementioned rear view mirror.

Wut????

Turns out -- haaahaha -- he had signalled and made a legal left turn, then immediately changed lanes because there was Ruby's Diner up ahead, and failed to signal for that.

I won't defend said moving violation but I will say that when you are on vacation and have out-of-state license plates? Mind your P's and Q's.

TG was released on his own recognizance, with a warning.

At Ruby's, I vaguely remember consuming a grilled cheese sandwich brought to the table by a friendly waitress.

We had the place to ourselves. There was a model train going around a track over our heads.

I slept well that night, as you might imagine. The next day contained adventures and discoveries -- both internal and external -- that I cannot wait to tell you about.

There were disappointments, but we've come to expect those, haven't we?

It's okay because there were also some wonderful surprises.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday

Comments

[Mari]

This is exactly the type of vacation we love. Historical sites, taking photos, little towns... It sounds delightful!

[Jennifer]

@Mari ... it truly was. I hope you and Bob can head east and visit these places someday. You'd love it. xoxo

[Barb]

This is how we travel too, but Bob (the planner) charts our course. He also likes to drive, but wants me alert at all times because at our age, he's afraid his reflexes aren't as sharp as they used to be. We leave before dawn and try to stop while there is still light. I'm on an opposite body rhythm schedule from you - I'm an early riser (I often get up while it's still dark), and I go to bed early - around 8-9 (though I read for awhile before falling asleep). When I was younger, I used to like to sleep in a little (after the children were grown), and I remember when Bob's grandma stayed with us, she'd rap on the wall by her bed with her cane so I'd rise and help her with her morning toiletries. She always said that her bones would hurt if she stayed in bed past dawn. Now I've become her! I love that little faded red shed, but my favorite is the shot where the porch light is glowing in the background. I'm enjoying your trip! PS We got 71/2' of snow in Breckenridge so far in Feb. Should I send you some?

[Jennifer]

@Barb ... hahahahaha noooooooo do not send snow. We (at least I) like a snowless existence -- pretty and charming as the snow certainly is. My day for rising early may come, but I've been a night owl my whole life so I rather doubt it. There's lots more trip to share so stay tuned! xoxo