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.