Weakened in New England part 2

Part two - writing a new ending for "30,000 Lbs. of Bananas"

          As the topographically challenging Western Pennsylvania gave way to a somewhat less mountainous experience, I figured this road trip was finally back on track.  I was zipping along at a decent speed, with my mp3 player plugged into the truck speakers, giving me over 700 songs to enjoy. 

          In a fit of somewhat demented glee, I had a special plan set up for my music when I got close to Scranton, Pennsylvania.  I would play the live version of Harry Chapin's classic song "30,000 Lbs. of Bananas" with all the endings.  If the link works, you can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HfFM4Ilt4Rs

          For those of you who don't know this song, it is based on a real-life incident in Scranton many years ago.  Maybe I should have remembered that the widow of the driver in the song still lived in Scranton.

          As I came around near the city, playing the song, traffic slowed suddenly.  It was then I noticed a large red semi coming up quickly behind me, whose driver did not seem to realize I was no longer bopping forward at 70 MPH.  I thought,  "Shit, I'm about to get aced by a truck in Scranton while playing the song.  My funeral will be filled with derisive laughter."  Thankfully, he stopped with a full inch to spare.

          We kept going like this, moving forward at about 10-20 MPH, with me feeling like Dennis Weaver in "Duel" as that damn truck kept trying to get as close as possible without us being able to shake hands.

          I finally saw an opening in the lane beside me, and shot forward a few cars, then humbly signaling to get back into my original lane, but now with several cars between me and my tailgating nemesis.

          But then, everything stopped.  Mid-morning on the interstate and nothing was moving.  I looked ahead--there was no sign of an accident.  I recalled the local radio station for monitoring traffic, and tuned it in.  The explanation was dire.

          The interstate was closed!

          They had decided at the last minute to move up the start of construction, and were closing off the road to all traffic.  This, mere minutes before I would have zipped safely through the section.  We were completely stopped as they cleared the last of the traffic out of the newly designated construction zone.  Now, there were but one and a half lanes.  The half lane was for the exit within the zone, and the other was for everyone else.

          For the next 10 miles, all the traffic in the place I wanted to go was condensed to a single lane.  I was sincerely glad I'd already filled the tank and emptied my bladder.  But then, I had an idea--I didn't HAVE to use the interstate to get where I was going!  Surely there must be roads predating the construction of this one.

          I inched toward the exit, finally getting off the clogged road, and turning into a local mall with a Sears Auto Center.  I figured someone at an auto center must have the directions i needed to bypass this insanity.

          Unfortunately, they told me, the interstate had been build directly over the original road.  The only other alternative consisted of a Byzantine set of back roads that even they weren't too sure about.

          I would have to get back onto the interstate.  Worse yet, there was only one entrance ramp I could use--the one I had just left.  I'd have to get back on at the exact same place I'd gotten off.  Harry and the widow trucker were surely laughing now.

          So, after one more trip to the rest room, I drove back to take my punishment on the Interstate.  But when I went up the ramp, the road was unexpectedly, inexplicably, wide open!  I didn't know how, and didn't care why.  My foot drove the gas pedal down hard as I went, hoping it would last long enough to get me out of traffic hell.

          I passed the next two rest areas before stopping at the third to fill the gas tank.  As I stepped out of the convenience store, chocolate in hand, I saw traffic had slowed again--this time due to a wide load big rig convoy with police escort.

          I sighed, and hopped back into my truck, getting back on the road and immediately getting into the left lane.  I knew the convoy had to travel at reduced speed, and also knew that most people would be reluctant to try passing them.  It took me another 40 minutes, but I got by them.  I kept going until reaching an overpass I knew the convoy couldn't possibly make due to the height of the load, then pulled over to take a break.

          I had successfully passed through the worst of the heavy traffic, but the delay had cost me hours, well past my lunchtime.  So I decided food was the better part of traffic and took my lunch break, so to be ready for whatever lay ahead.

Next: Upstate New York, and Albany!

Weakened in New England Part One

Weakened in New England

Part one - A journey of a thousand miles begins with a trip to the gas station.

           I'd been planning this trip for a while, though you wouldn't have known it from the way it turned out. I grew up (despite what some people say) in New England, and had not been back for a visit for nearly twenty years.

          I finally had the right combination of the money to pay for the trip and the time to take it.  So it was that I set forth at 10PM on Thursday night of July 31.  I had decided to drive instead of flying because the aggravation of airports had finally outweighed my love of flyng.

          I enjoyed the first part, driving up to Northeastern Ohio, passing near to Tony Isabella's Weekly Garage Sale & Driveway Comic-Con (There's a man who gets the most out of the place where most of us store non-working cars, and stuff the spouse won't allow inside the house proper.)  I've been to one, (before the addition of the Comic-Con, alas), and really enjoyed meeting Tony.

          By early the next morning, I had stopped to take a power nap and relax just after the border between Ohio and Pennsylvania, along Interstate 80 heading East.  I was congratulating myself on traveling a route with very little traffic and making good time.

          However, there was something I did not know about this route.  Sometimes, near sunrise, it get really foggy.  This alone is not a problem, unless you combine it with a road that cuts down to one lane as it crosses deep ravines and/or curls alongside of what they laughingly call "Little Mountain".  It did this with large semi trucks rumbling along at a speed that makes you wonder if they have a heads-up computer display of where the road is on their windshield.

          After about an hour of wondering if I'd run into a mountain, run into a ravine, or simply run into whatever unseen vehicle was in front of me (or rear-ended by an equally unseen vehicle from behind), the sun broke through and a rest area soon presented itself.  I'm not too proud to admit I was happily relieved (once reaching the restroom) to be there.

          After recovering my wits--well, half of them, anyway--I looked at my map and realized the road was supposed to be less...ahem...interesting...going forward.  I knocked back another Throwback Pepsi and pressed onward.

          But the mountainous terrain the road wound it's way through soon presented another challenge.  My pickup truck had one serious drawback--it did not keep speed going uphill for extended distances.  In order to keep from being a major obstacle to the drivers who insisted by demonstration that a 70 MPH zone meant you were expected to do a steady 85 MPH, I had to hit the bottom of the incline doing nearly 90. 

          But when there's big rigs trundling up in front of you, this is not always feasible.  This had the result of me hitting the last part of the incline doing something closer to 55 MPH.  As you can imagine, I was unloved by those who wanted to go faster. 

          The hindered road racers dared not make any comment with fingers or horns at the truckers, but I presented no such intimidation.  Many people declared me "Number One" and honked horns with abandon.  After about five minutes of this my humble apologies gave way to inventive descriptions of their ancestry and likely progeny.

          Eventually, the road smoothed out a bit and I was able to keep pace with the would-be race car drivers.  I thought I'd passed the worst the road had to offer.

          But, I was wrong.  There was more awaiting me, in Scranton, Pennsylvania.  Yes, Harry, it sucked.

Next: At the Intersection of Harry Chapin and Scranton, PA.