Wednesday, February 29th Vinnie asked me if I would be able to drive to Pittsburgh on Friday, a scheduled day off. He wasn't certain he'd need this special carpet padding that soon, but he'd know before the end of Thursday. I said sure, I'd go if he needed me to. When I arrived at work Thursday, he told me I was going. He suggested I take my GPS. I like to think I would have done so anyway, but in any case, I was very happy that I did.
Friday morning at a few minutes after seven I loaded my backpack full of MP3, GPS and assorted other necessities into the van and set out. I had the address of my destination on the paperwork, and I began loading it into Hermione as I slogged through Meadville, heading for Interstate 79. She wouldn't accept the street name, however. I guess she'd never heard of it. Luckily, there were directions included in my paperwork. I proceeded as if it were still the twentieth century, with directions printed on a piece of paper. The font used was about six point. Trifocals are good.
"If you are coming from Meadville, you will want to get onto79S and stay on there, you will pass several exits ex: Craberry Twp./Warrendale, keep going past the Wexford, until you see the Sewickley exit, you will bear to the right, go to the first stop sign, make a left follow through small village at a slow pace, you will come across another stop sign beneath an over pass, make a right onto RT 65 north, stay on there for about six miles..." I passed the Cranberry Twp./Warrendale and the Wexford. There was one exit that mentioned Sewickley, but was not called the Sewickley exit, so I gritted my teeth and stayed the course. I was soon rewarded with the actual Sewickley exit. So I followed through a small village at a slow pace, came across a stop sign beneath an over pass, turned right onto State Road 65 and tried like hell to read the directions and drive. "...You will pass Quaker Village Shopping Center/Giant Eagle on your right, Red Cap Cleaners on your left, you will then see the Leetsdale Ind. Park on your left side, bear to the right to get onto the ramp for our facility..." I puzzled over that one while I tried to watch for the landmarks mentioned, never really sure I hadn't already missed one.
My cellular phone rings about three times a month. Twice a month it's Carmen. At this particular stressful moment, it was Vinnie. "Call me when you have the padding loaded. I gotta send you over to the Pittsburgh Sherwin Williams store." "Okay. Bye!"
Keeping the faith, at last I passed the Quaker Village Shopping Center and the Red Cap Car Wash. The industrial park was indeed visible on the left. Bear right...right! Oh shit! Lane change, exit right onto a ramp, left turn at the top of the ramp, cross over the highway to the complex. This part of the journey reminded me a little of Boston - once you find it you see how to find it.
The industrial park's signage pointed the way to the Shaw carpet distribution center. I drove around back to see if there was a shipping office door. I didn't see one, so I pulled into a parking space in front of the building. Stiff from two and a half hours on the road, I climbed out of the van and hobbled to the office door. Inside I found an empty reception area, empty hallway, empty offices along the hall. There was a button to push on the ledge of the reception window. I pressed it and waited. It wasn't thirty seconds before a human came through a door at the end of the hall and approached me. I showed him my paperwork and explained my mission, leaving out the challenges associated with finding the place. He scratched his head. Obviously this paperwork wasn't the normal sort. He went to an office door and expressed his dismay to another human, who took the papers, turned to his computer and began the business of sorting it out. "Where's your truck?" he asked. "Drive it around to the roll-up door in back, and someone will load you up."
Fifteen minutes later and much heavier with ten rolls of padding inside it, the van was on its way back to the highway. I pulled off to the edge of the parking lot and called Vinnie. He gave me the address of the Sherwin Williams at 6583 Hamilton Avenue in Pittsburgh. I fired up Hermione again, fed her this new information, and like a dog with a bone, she was all over it. First we were back on 65 southbound toward Pittsburgh. Hermione said we had about fourteen miles to go before we should exit onto I- 279 North. On we slogged in Friday morning traffic, watching the miles tick off on the GPS. After about twelve miles I encountered road construction. Soon after I began seeing signs telling me that the road was closed ahead, detour ahead, danger Will Robinson. With a sinking feeling, I realized that the exit Hermione was telling me to take was going to be closed. We were indeed shunted off SR 65 about fifty feet shy of the exit. Now maybe if there had been another pair of eyes in the van, we could have found the easy way to turn this misfortune around and find I-279 north. I saw south, and hoped the northbound equivalent would present itself. If it did, I didn't see it.
Hermione was not amused. I continued on the detour with her crying out instructions to exit right and go back to the real exit. I tried to reason with her, but she kept right on recalculating. I exited as soon as I could, and just began taking every turn and every exit she recommended. I have no idea where we went. I remember going through a shopping center parking lot, a business park and an apartment complex. I was completely at her mercy. Finally we got off highways and got on Penn Avenue for a couple of miles of good old fashioned city driving. For a short while, she had spasms where she would recalculate and try to tell me how to get back on Penn Av. I was still on Penn, so I ignored it. She'd unkink herself for a while, then go through it again, like three or four times.
Finally we reached our turn at Liberty Street, which quickly took us to Hamilton, I turned, and there was Sherwin Williams! Good old Hermione! I pulled in, unkinked myself and walked inside the store. They seemed to be expecting me. They told me to back my truck to their dock so they could load a couple of pallets. My perplexed look gave them pause. "Uh, I've got ten rolls of carpet padding in the van. A pallet isn't going to fit!" "We told him to send a box truck!" they replied. "You told Vinnie to send a box truck?" "Who's Vinnie?" "The guy that sent me in a van." A look of understanding dawned on their faces. "There's another Sherwin Williams about a block up the street," they said. "Maybe that's where you're picking up from. This here is an automotive coatings division store."
Oh. I reboarded the van, pulled out onto Hamilton and drove another block or so. There was Sherwin Williams. They were expecting me, and they had six five gallon buckets of paint for me. That fit fine. In ten minutes I had loaded the paint, unloaded my bladder and called Vinnie. "I need you to go to the Hermitage store on your way back." he told me. The Hamilton Street store guy got me the address, and I loaded it into the GPS before setting out once again.
This time she directed me by a few short connectors to State Road 8. I remembered 8. It went through Butler last year when I drove down for my rah rah training meeting with other new people in the district. I pulled out the Pennsylvania map we keep in the van and saw where it was taking me. It was taking me north to the Pennsylvania Turnpike. That's cool. I had zero cash. I figured I'd stop in somewhere where I could buy a Coke and some kind of snack and get cash back for the Pike. On and on I drove through some very pretty countryside, unsullied by stores where I could get Coke and cash back. Miles and miles I drove. Turnpike 5 miles. Turnpike 2 miles. Turnpike 1 mile. I held onto the notion that there's always a commercial center at a major highway intersection. And I was right. Suddenly I had hundreds of possibilities. I chose right side, easy on/off the highway, easy parking. Rite Aid. Good. Coke, trail mix, cash. Mission accomplished.
I could just stop now. The rest of the story is pretty routine. The turnpike took me to I-79, to US-422 to I-376 to State Road 18 right to the Hermitage store. I got two more 5 gallon buckets of paint and headed for home like a horse to the barn.
As she has so many times before, Hermione saved my bacon. Without her I would still be wandering around Pittsburgh.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Monday, January 9, 2012
The Road Less Marked
Today's road trip was one of those trips that make me happy to have a blog about trips. Especially delightful is the fact that Rand McNally was involved.
Today was Monday, after a 97-day weekend - my first day back at Sherwin Williams. As I went to hang up my coat, I glanced at the delivery boards. None at all, all week. I was disappointed, since deliveries are really the only part of the job I truly enjoy. So I mentioned it: "No deliveries," I said. "Oh yes there are!" said Diane the manager. So I was shown the three-deep pile of delivery orders and told that she and Carrie (the new 'third key' employee) had just about gotten them together. So I took all the trash in the building to the dumpster and returned to the front a while later. My mind was scrambling to remember how to enter delivery info into the computer and get the appropriate paperwork to print. The twenty gallons of laquer needed two bills of lading, always fun to diddle up. It took longer than it should have, but I got 'er done. Then I asked about the hand-written address on one order for a company callen N. D. Rustic Furniture. "Oh, Vinnie told him we'd deliver there today. Vinnie's out sick. I'll see if I can print you a map." A map might have been good.
So Diane went on her computer and came back with a set of directions from Rand McNally dot com. They were easy enough. Go out the main highway west to Perry Highway (where Route 19 turns south,) go twelve point six miles, turn right on Lake Road, go three miles and turn left on Dodge Road. Point seven miles later, you're there at 105 Dodge Road! Twenty point one miles total. Easy Peasy. So, I took my laquer, my paperwork and my directions and headed out.
I knew that if I took the much faster Interstate 79 to the next exit south, I'd be in the vicinity of my destination, so that's what I did. I got on Route 19 and kept a sharp lookout for Lake Road. And Whoa! There it was! I whizzed by it almost before I saw it. About a mile down the road I found a place to turn around. Back I went to Lake Road and turned. Keeping a close watch on the odometer, I looked for Dodge Road as three miles rolled up. No left turn there. There had been an unmatked dirt (ice and mud, really) road a few tenths earlier, and another a few tenths after, but I wasn't willing to set out into the woods on a sloppy road based on the vague hope of it being right. I pressed on. I reached the road to Atlantic and was sure now I'd gone too far.
I pulled over and whipped out my cell phone. Hurrah, there was a signal, even way out here in Amish country! I called the number without much hope. Amish customers often give a phone number of a neighbor or friend who really isn't much help when push comes to shove. This one rang six times and was picked up by an answering machine. I left a message, knowing full well that there was no point. I continued on, looking for a place to turn around, saw a couple of guys shingling a roof, and pulled in there.
"Hey," I called, "do you happen to know where Dodge Road is?" They didn't, but they said I should knock on the door and ask the residents. I did. They had not heard of Dodge Road, or N. D. Rustic Furniture, but they had computers up and running, so John invited me in to look at the detailed map he called up from somewhere. He showed me that there is another Lake Road down in Mercer County, in Sheakleyville. He showed me a convoluted series of secondary roads (paved??!) that would get me there. "And that is US 19 there." I thanked him very much and told him to come on down to Sherwin Williams for paint. "Say hello to Vinnie for us," he said. He's been there.
I eschewed the secondary roads and tore out for 19. I turned right, drove three miles to Sheakleyville, and kept a sharp watch out for Lake Road over in Mercer County. There were a couple of unmarked roads to the right, but no Lake Road. I pulled in to a gas station and went inside. Why yes, the mechanic under the car on the lift HAD heard of Dodge Road. "Just go back north on 19, and turn left at the Church of the Nazarene." I asked if it was unmarked. "Probably. But that's Lake Road. Turn left and go about five miles. If you come to County Line Road, you went too far, turn around and come back a ways." I thanked him very much and set out again. The road was indeed unmarked, but there were a couple of mail boxes in front of houses with numbers and Lake Road stickered on. At three miles there was a dirt road off to the left. I kept going until a few tenths later I came to County Line Road. I returned to the unmarked dirt road and turned right.
The first barn I came to had a mailbox out front that had '145 Dodge' stickered on it. Yay. I continued to the next barn, with a house set back at the end of a gravel driveway. There were no numbers anywhere, but there were an Amish mother and three-year-old boy walking toward the house. And there was a car parked in front! I turned into the driveway and, seeing no-one around the barn, headed for the house. The mother quickened her pace, as if she were afraid of me. I stopped way short and climbed out. "Excuse me," I said. "May I ask you a question?" She stopped and turned around. "I don't know if I'll know the answer," she replied. "I'm looking for 105 Dodge Road," I said. "This is it," she said. "N. D. Rustic Furniture?" I asked. "That's my husband," she said. Jackpot! She said I should put the laquer in the barn, and I did.
Rand McNally: 20.1 miles, fifty minutes. Reality: 43 miles, ninety three minutes. If the directions had said "Drive to Sheakleyville, turn right at the Church of the Nazarene and left at the last dirt road before County Line Road, things would have gone much smoother. Evidenly, Rand McNally doesn't know everything.
Today was Monday, after a 97-day weekend - my first day back at Sherwin Williams. As I went to hang up my coat, I glanced at the delivery boards. None at all, all week. I was disappointed, since deliveries are really the only part of the job I truly enjoy. So I mentioned it: "No deliveries," I said. "Oh yes there are!" said Diane the manager. So I was shown the three-deep pile of delivery orders and told that she and Carrie (the new 'third key' employee) had just about gotten them together. So I took all the trash in the building to the dumpster and returned to the front a while later. My mind was scrambling to remember how to enter delivery info into the computer and get the appropriate paperwork to print. The twenty gallons of laquer needed two bills of lading, always fun to diddle up. It took longer than it should have, but I got 'er done. Then I asked about the hand-written address on one order for a company callen N. D. Rustic Furniture. "Oh, Vinnie told him we'd deliver there today. Vinnie's out sick. I'll see if I can print you a map." A map might have been good.
So Diane went on her computer and came back with a set of directions from Rand McNally dot com. They were easy enough. Go out the main highway west to Perry Highway (where Route 19 turns south,) go twelve point six miles, turn right on Lake Road, go three miles and turn left on Dodge Road. Point seven miles later, you're there at 105 Dodge Road! Twenty point one miles total. Easy Peasy. So, I took my laquer, my paperwork and my directions and headed out.
I knew that if I took the much faster Interstate 79 to the next exit south, I'd be in the vicinity of my destination, so that's what I did. I got on Route 19 and kept a sharp lookout for Lake Road. And Whoa! There it was! I whizzed by it almost before I saw it. About a mile down the road I found a place to turn around. Back I went to Lake Road and turned. Keeping a close watch on the odometer, I looked for Dodge Road as three miles rolled up. No left turn there. There had been an unmatked dirt (ice and mud, really) road a few tenths earlier, and another a few tenths after, but I wasn't willing to set out into the woods on a sloppy road based on the vague hope of it being right. I pressed on. I reached the road to Atlantic and was sure now I'd gone too far.
I pulled over and whipped out my cell phone. Hurrah, there was a signal, even way out here in Amish country! I called the number without much hope. Amish customers often give a phone number of a neighbor or friend who really isn't much help when push comes to shove. This one rang six times and was picked up by an answering machine. I left a message, knowing full well that there was no point. I continued on, looking for a place to turn around, saw a couple of guys shingling a roof, and pulled in there.
"Hey," I called, "do you happen to know where Dodge Road is?" They didn't, but they said I should knock on the door and ask the residents. I did. They had not heard of Dodge Road, or N. D. Rustic Furniture, but they had computers up and running, so John invited me in to look at the detailed map he called up from somewhere. He showed me that there is another Lake Road down in Mercer County, in Sheakleyville. He showed me a convoluted series of secondary roads (paved??!) that would get me there. "And that is US 19 there." I thanked him very much and told him to come on down to Sherwin Williams for paint. "Say hello to Vinnie for us," he said. He's been there.
I eschewed the secondary roads and tore out for 19. I turned right, drove three miles to Sheakleyville, and kept a sharp watch out for Lake Road over in Mercer County. There were a couple of unmarked roads to the right, but no Lake Road. I pulled in to a gas station and went inside. Why yes, the mechanic under the car on the lift HAD heard of Dodge Road. "Just go back north on 19, and turn left at the Church of the Nazarene." I asked if it was unmarked. "Probably. But that's Lake Road. Turn left and go about five miles. If you come to County Line Road, you went too far, turn around and come back a ways." I thanked him very much and set out again. The road was indeed unmarked, but there were a couple of mail boxes in front of houses with numbers and Lake Road stickered on. At three miles there was a dirt road off to the left. I kept going until a few tenths later I came to County Line Road. I returned to the unmarked dirt road and turned right.
The first barn I came to had a mailbox out front that had '145 Dodge' stickered on it. Yay. I continued to the next barn, with a house set back at the end of a gravel driveway. There were no numbers anywhere, but there were an Amish mother and three-year-old boy walking toward the house. And there was a car parked in front! I turned into the driveway and, seeing no-one around the barn, headed for the house. The mother quickened her pace, as if she were afraid of me. I stopped way short and climbed out. "Excuse me," I said. "May I ask you a question?" She stopped and turned around. "I don't know if I'll know the answer," she replied. "I'm looking for 105 Dodge Road," I said. "This is it," she said. "N. D. Rustic Furniture?" I asked. "That's my husband," she said. Jackpot! She said I should put the laquer in the barn, and I did.
Rand McNally: 20.1 miles, fifty minutes. Reality: 43 miles, ninety three minutes. If the directions had said "Drive to Sheakleyville, turn right at the Church of the Nazarene and left at the last dirt road before County Line Road, things would have gone much smoother. Evidenly, Rand McNally doesn't know everything.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Texas Toast
Carmen's mother and father live in a beautiful house in a huge subdivision in Crosby, Texas, a bedroom community outside Houston. We've been there a few times here in The Gospel. We stopped there overnight on the way to the Grand Canyon in 1993. We and the cats stopped in for three days on the way to Albuquerque. I'm sure you remember.
Since they have lived there, they have added Carmen's younger sister Jamie to the household, as well as Jamie's daughter Brittany, now sixteen. Three years ago, Jamie's daughter Brooke was born, adding a lively new dynamic to an already quite dynamic household. So a few months ago they added a bulldog puppy, now five months old and forty pounds. His name is Shadow. He's big, he's a puppy.
On the day after Christmas, we flew to Houston, with a plane change in Philadelphia. To add to the adventure, we took advantage of a Hampton Inn offer: we spent the night there near Pittsburgh Airport, left our vehicle there and took the courtesy van to the airport. That way we didn't have to set out for the airport at 5:00am, and the cost was about the same as leaving the car in the airport parking garage. Win win, with one minor exception - as we approached the hotel we looked for something to eat at 5:00pm on Christmas Day. Nothing. Not McDonalds or Burger King or Cracker Barrel or Bob Evans or a grocery store or even a Walgreens. Nothing! We asked at the desk as we checked in. The only place they knew about was Domino's Pizza, a Republican stronghold. Eeeew. So we had a (damn it!) pretty durn yummy pizza for supper in our quite comfortable hotel room.
Overnight Carmen was overcome with the urge to purge, so she was able to eliminate one bag from our carry-on load. She left it in the car. Yay.
The courtesy van loaded us up at 6:30 in the morning and off we went to the Southwest Airlines ticketing entrance of the airport. Check-in was smooth, and even better when the agent told us we could each check a bag for free. Yay. Then came the dreaded Security hoo-ha. I knew it would be bad for me. Knee replacements set off the metal detectors, no question about it. So I was pulled aside and subjected to a full body pat-down, most of which time was spent reeling off a long list of disclaimers about where he was going to touch me, with what part of his hand and why. Jeez, man, just get on with it!
Carmen went up to the counter at the gate and secured a pre-boarding pass based on my recent knee replacement surgery. When we boarded the plane we saw the perfect spot on the Boeing 737. The first seats on the port side of the plane are behind a bulkhead, and the aisle seat sticks out farther than the bulkhead, giving me unlimited legroom. Perfect! Two planes there and two back, I got that seat on all four flights. Good ol' CarCar!
Three and a half hours in the Philadelphia airport went by fairly quickly. Then came the four-hour flight to Houston Hobby Airport. Good thing we ate a burger in Philly, because that jive sack of a dozen peanuts wasn't going to see us through to Texas. One really good thing, in my opinion: they've stopped rolling the stupid cart up and down the aisle. The attendant fills a tray with a load of beverages (pre-ordered by us) and walks it down the aisle. Much better.
Jamie picked us up at Passenger Pick-Up very soon after we picked up our bags at Baggage Claim. We rode in her big-ass Ford pickup with the extended cab, just one among many big-ass pickup trucks on the highways and byways of Houston. We're not in Pennsylvania any more, Toto.
Six days in a house with a teenager, a three-year-old, a forty pound puppy and a 72 inch television was quite a change for us. We missed our quiet house with our mostly relaxed kitties. The bestest bestest highlight of the week for me: we all (all but the dog) went out to an excellent Mexican restaurant on Thursday night. I know it was Thursday because Thursday is my evening shift as dispatcher for Tamarack Wildlife Rescue here in Saegertown, PA. The gig is to call the voicemail for messages, and deal with whatever messages there were. Up until that evening, the only message I had ever heard was, "There are no new messages in your mailbox." I was going to do it all by cellular phone, but there were very few spots in the house where I could get a signal. Then we went to the restaurant. I checked messages on the way there at 6:00 EST. No new messages. I checked at 7:00 EST as we were finishing dinner. A woman had called a few minutes after 6:00 EST to say that she had a raccoon in a trap in her ceiling and can somebody help her get it out because it's hissing and growling and stuff. This was my third time taking a shift for Tamarack, and my first time ever dealing with a situation, and I didn't have my notebook with me at the restaurant. The notebook has all the numbers to call for advice or action. It was near 8:00 EST by the time we got back to the house. I called for advice. The advice was: "We don't handle raccoons. Tell her to throw a thick blanket over the trap and pull it out of there. Open the trap outside with a long stick, and the coon will run away." She wasn't very happy with that advice, but understood that we aren't allowed to handle "rabies vector" species. Anyway, my part was fulfilled, there were no more messages, and my shift was over at 9:00 EST. And the Mexican dinner was excellent!
Saturday was preparing for the New Year's Eve cookout and fireworks extravaganza. I vacuumed inside the house and swept the back porch and the driveway. Jamie moved around the outdoor furniture and got firewood for the fire pit. Then she went out to buy more fireworks. Brittany straightened up the garage. Sandra prepped the bacon- wrapped vegetables and scallops for the grill. Olen played golf. The party started as darkness fell, and neighbors poured in from all around. The fireworks scared the piss out of the puppy, providing more clean-up opportunities inside the house because he sure as hell wasn't going outside! It went on until about 2:00am CST, long after I went to bed
Sunday morning I got up, made coffee and was given the unglamorous task of waking Jamie up. She wanted to drive us to the airport, four hours of sleep later. Sandra too wanted to ride along. She was in bed before midnight, so was in a better state of wakefulness. Brooke stayed asleep. Yay. Olen stayed with her.
Ticketing check-in was smooth once again, and security was not bad. Houston Hobby has the nekkid scanners, so I was directed in there as soon as I mentioned my knee replacement. Much quicker and much quieter. Three hours to Baltimore and 45 minutes to Pittsburgh, after an hour and a half layover, medical pre-boarding both legs. Carmen called the Hampton when we landed, and the van came just a few minutes after we went outside with our baggage. An hour after landing, we were in our car arguing with Hermione about the best way home. It was dark, it was raining, and the rain would soon turn to snow.
But Toto, we're not in Texas any more!
Since they have lived there, they have added Carmen's younger sister Jamie to the household, as well as Jamie's daughter Brittany, now sixteen. Three years ago, Jamie's daughter Brooke was born, adding a lively new dynamic to an already quite dynamic household. So a few months ago they added a bulldog puppy, now five months old and forty pounds. His name is Shadow. He's big, he's a puppy.
On the day after Christmas, we flew to Houston, with a plane change in Philadelphia. To add to the adventure, we took advantage of a Hampton Inn offer: we spent the night there near Pittsburgh Airport, left our vehicle there and took the courtesy van to the airport. That way we didn't have to set out for the airport at 5:00am, and the cost was about the same as leaving the car in the airport parking garage. Win win, with one minor exception - as we approached the hotel we looked for something to eat at 5:00pm on Christmas Day. Nothing. Not McDonalds or Burger King or Cracker Barrel or Bob Evans or a grocery store or even a Walgreens. Nothing! We asked at the desk as we checked in. The only place they knew about was Domino's Pizza, a Republican stronghold. Eeeew. So we had a (damn it!) pretty durn yummy pizza for supper in our quite comfortable hotel room.
Overnight Carmen was overcome with the urge to purge, so she was able to eliminate one bag from our carry-on load. She left it in the car. Yay.
The courtesy van loaded us up at 6:30 in the morning and off we went to the Southwest Airlines ticketing entrance of the airport. Check-in was smooth, and even better when the agent told us we could each check a bag for free. Yay. Then came the dreaded Security hoo-ha. I knew it would be bad for me. Knee replacements set off the metal detectors, no question about it. So I was pulled aside and subjected to a full body pat-down, most of which time was spent reeling off a long list of disclaimers about where he was going to touch me, with what part of his hand and why. Jeez, man, just get on with it!
Carmen went up to the counter at the gate and secured a pre-boarding pass based on my recent knee replacement surgery. When we boarded the plane we saw the perfect spot on the Boeing 737. The first seats on the port side of the plane are behind a bulkhead, and the aisle seat sticks out farther than the bulkhead, giving me unlimited legroom. Perfect! Two planes there and two back, I got that seat on all four flights. Good ol' CarCar!
Three and a half hours in the Philadelphia airport went by fairly quickly. Then came the four-hour flight to Houston Hobby Airport. Good thing we ate a burger in Philly, because that jive sack of a dozen peanuts wasn't going to see us through to Texas. One really good thing, in my opinion: they've stopped rolling the stupid cart up and down the aisle. The attendant fills a tray with a load of beverages (pre-ordered by us) and walks it down the aisle. Much better.
Jamie picked us up at Passenger Pick-Up very soon after we picked up our bags at Baggage Claim. We rode in her big-ass Ford pickup with the extended cab, just one among many big-ass pickup trucks on the highways and byways of Houston. We're not in Pennsylvania any more, Toto.
Six days in a house with a teenager, a three-year-old, a forty pound puppy and a 72 inch television was quite a change for us. We missed our quiet house with our mostly relaxed kitties. The bestest bestest highlight of the week for me: we all (all but the dog) went out to an excellent Mexican restaurant on Thursday night. I know it was Thursday because Thursday is my evening shift as dispatcher for Tamarack Wildlife Rescue here in Saegertown, PA. The gig is to call the voicemail for messages, and deal with whatever messages there were. Up until that evening, the only message I had ever heard was, "There are no new messages in your mailbox." I was going to do it all by cellular phone, but there were very few spots in the house where I could get a signal. Then we went to the restaurant. I checked messages on the way there at 6:00 EST. No new messages. I checked at 7:00 EST as we were finishing dinner. A woman had called a few minutes after 6:00 EST to say that she had a raccoon in a trap in her ceiling and can somebody help her get it out because it's hissing and growling and stuff. This was my third time taking a shift for Tamarack, and my first time ever dealing with a situation, and I didn't have my notebook with me at the restaurant. The notebook has all the numbers to call for advice or action. It was near 8:00 EST by the time we got back to the house. I called for advice. The advice was: "We don't handle raccoons. Tell her to throw a thick blanket over the trap and pull it out of there. Open the trap outside with a long stick, and the coon will run away." She wasn't very happy with that advice, but understood that we aren't allowed to handle "rabies vector" species. Anyway, my part was fulfilled, there were no more messages, and my shift was over at 9:00 EST. And the Mexican dinner was excellent!
Saturday was preparing for the New Year's Eve cookout and fireworks extravaganza. I vacuumed inside the house and swept the back porch and the driveway. Jamie moved around the outdoor furniture and got firewood for the fire pit. Then she went out to buy more fireworks. Brittany straightened up the garage. Sandra prepped the bacon- wrapped vegetables and scallops for the grill. Olen played golf. The party started as darkness fell, and neighbors poured in from all around. The fireworks scared the piss out of the puppy, providing more clean-up opportunities inside the house because he sure as hell wasn't going outside! It went on until about 2:00am CST, long after I went to bed
Sunday morning I got up, made coffee and was given the unglamorous task of waking Jamie up. She wanted to drive us to the airport, four hours of sleep later. Sandra too wanted to ride along. She was in bed before midnight, so was in a better state of wakefulness. Brooke stayed asleep. Yay. Olen stayed with her.
Ticketing check-in was smooth once again, and security was not bad. Houston Hobby has the nekkid scanners, so I was directed in there as soon as I mentioned my knee replacement. Much quicker and much quieter. Three hours to Baltimore and 45 minutes to Pittsburgh, after an hour and a half layover, medical pre-boarding both legs. Carmen called the Hampton when we landed, and the van came just a few minutes after we went outside with our baggage. An hour after landing, we were in our car arguing with Hermione about the best way home. It was dark, it was raining, and the rain would soon turn to snow.
But Toto, we're not in Texas any more!
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Time And Distance
We went to visit my parents in Blairsville, Georgia last week. Carmen drove, I navigated. As usual. Before setting out, I did some research for her. The Rand McNally Road Atlas told me that the distance from Pittsburgh to Atlanta was 684 miles. I estimated that since Blairsville is 100 miles this side of Atlanta and Meadville is 90 miles this side of Pittsburgh, 684 was a fair guess.
Google Maps told me it was more than 700 miles whichever way I took us. Twelve and a half hours was the time estimate. That doesn't count stopping for gas, lunch or road construction. So I tried to figure out the best way to go based on shortness of distance from Interstate Highway to Blairsville. Two years ago we went by way of I-85 and US 76 in South Carolina. I knew we didn't want to go that way again. It is a long roller coaster ride on narrow roads. Carmen doesn't like roller coasters. Or narrow roads.
My route took us to the west side, I-75 to Cleveland, Tennessee and US 64/74 east to North Carolina, then US 19 south to US 76. There was roller coaster action, but much less than the other way. Just now I adjusted the Google Maps route to the way we actually went. 773 miles. However it came to pass, Carmen got it lodged in her mind that it was a ten hour drive. Not.
We left at 7:00 in the morning. I called from the Slippery Rock rest area to tell my parents that I estimated we'd be there between 7:30 and 8:00. Carmen was not in the car at that time.
We had checked out of the library the complete, unabridged "Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" on fifteen cassettes to listen to on the trip. Carmen has never read the trilogy, but liked the movies. I had been telling her about the details in the Harry Potter books that had been stolen directly from the Lord of the Rings books, so while we listened we made a verbal list of things, some mere suggested ideas and some unabashed steals, that we noticed. It was even more prevalent than I remembered. By the third cassette we had identified about fifteen of them.
We had lunch at a Cracker Barrel in West Virginia. We stopped for gas in West Virginia and a Confederate holdout gas station in Tennessee, and it was approaching dusk as we were suddenly brought to a standstill on I-75. We got out the GPS and fired her up. Hermione told us we'd be arriving at our destination at 8:35. I called with this new information. They said they were holding dinner for us, so don't stop to eat. By the time we busted out of the construction zone our arrival time was after 9:00. We exited on Us 64/74 and for a while it was still fairly flat divided highway. From Ocoee to Ducktown, however, it was a long twenty miles of roller coaster ride. We followed the Ocoee River, and for me it was mostly a beautiful scenic drive. For Carmen it was diminishing visibility and hair raising driving all the way. The interesting thing for me was seeing how this beautiful natural setting had been altered for the Atlanta Summer Olympics in 1996, with parking lots, cleared areas for grandstands, and towers and rigging for cameras etc. Under different circumstances I would have been wanting to investigate. But it was nearly pitch dark before we were on Route 68, Hermione's choice of southbound roads. The ten miles to our old friend Route 76 at Blue Ridge was the last of the anxiety of unfamiliar territory, and we breathed more easily the rest of the way. Our actual arrival time was 9:45. We ate a hasty dinner before collapsing into bed, window AC blasting away the heat.
We had a lovely visit with my mommy and daddy. Meals were eaten on the deck overlooking the Nationat Forest, with bird feeders hanging high in the air for our bird watching pleasure. Goldfinches, tufted titmice, nuthatches, chickadees and an indigo bunting were the stars of that show, with a few bit players for variety. A raccoon ripped its way through the screen Sunday night and ravaged the bags of birdseed on the deck - less unwelcome than the bear that did the same a couple of years ago..
Sunday the womenfolk went to church. The nearest neighbors, Darrel and Mary, are Lutheran, and Darrel is a minister. Carmen was happy to experience a mainstream Protestant service, and my mom was happy to get out of the house without my dad. That evening there was dinner and conversation at Darrel and Mary's house until late (9:30!) that night.
Our original plan was to drive home on Tuesday, but we decided to leave early Monday afternoon instead. Another fifteen hour day on the road we did not want. Darrel told us that the best roads to the Interstate Highway System were the route to Ashville, North Carolina. It also happens to be the most direct route. Carmen checked Hermione right off the bat. She said it was 586 miles to home. We scratched our heads over that one. We made reservations at the Hampton Inn in Charleston, West Virginia.
The US highways to Ashville were indeed the best we'd seen. We were happy to get to I-40, and then the exit to turn north on 240. That is where we came to a dead stop. For an hour and a half we sat there while emergency vehicles and a Hazmat Cleanup rig squeezed by. The people milling around us had heard that a diesel tanker had crashed and spilled its load, and that we were stuck for three and a half hours. We cancelled our reservation and made one at Johnson, Tennessee instead. The afternoon sun was pretty hot, but then it clouded over and a breeze kicked up. By the time we got moving, two hours ahead of the prediction, a massive thunderstorm was upon us. We could have gone another hour or two beyond Johnson, but we decided to call it a day. We lolled about in the air conditioning and watched TV while we ate the leftovers my mother had packed for us for dinner
Tuesday was pretty much uneventful. We listened to four more cassettes and some songs from my MP3 player. Hermione bitched at us whenever we strayed from her path, barking at us to make U-turns until she finally relented. The worst was US 19 from Tesla to Prosperity, West Virginia. It cuts across the triangle formed by I-77 and I-79 to Charleston. We were unwilling to risk a roller coaster ride. Hermione thought differently. We were almost to Charleston before she stopped recalculating.
We were in Pennsylvania, north of Pittsburgh, when I figured out Hermione's dirty secret. Carmen asked me to check the distance from there to our house. I did so. It said thirty one miles. I went back to the regular running commentary. She said it was thirty three miles to the exit. Thirty three to the exit, but thirty one total? AHA! Thirty one as the grow flies! AHA! Carmen got that ten hours number from Hermione's point to point distance, which has nothing to do with taking roads that zig and zag right and left, up and down! AHA!
So we arrived home about 5:00 Tuesday. Carmen didn't go out of town again until Thursday early morning. She'll be back tomorrow.
Google Maps told me it was more than 700 miles whichever way I took us. Twelve and a half hours was the time estimate. That doesn't count stopping for gas, lunch or road construction. So I tried to figure out the best way to go based on shortness of distance from Interstate Highway to Blairsville. Two years ago we went by way of I-85 and US 76 in South Carolina. I knew we didn't want to go that way again. It is a long roller coaster ride on narrow roads. Carmen doesn't like roller coasters. Or narrow roads.
My route took us to the west side, I-75 to Cleveland, Tennessee and US 64/74 east to North Carolina, then US 19 south to US 76. There was roller coaster action, but much less than the other way. Just now I adjusted the Google Maps route to the way we actually went. 773 miles. However it came to pass, Carmen got it lodged in her mind that it was a ten hour drive. Not.
We left at 7:00 in the morning. I called from the Slippery Rock rest area to tell my parents that I estimated we'd be there between 7:30 and 8:00. Carmen was not in the car at that time.
We had checked out of the library the complete, unabridged "Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" on fifteen cassettes to listen to on the trip. Carmen has never read the trilogy, but liked the movies. I had been telling her about the details in the Harry Potter books that had been stolen directly from the Lord of the Rings books, so while we listened we made a verbal list of things, some mere suggested ideas and some unabashed steals, that we noticed. It was even more prevalent than I remembered. By the third cassette we had identified about fifteen of them.
We had lunch at a Cracker Barrel in West Virginia. We stopped for gas in West Virginia and a Confederate holdout gas station in Tennessee, and it was approaching dusk as we were suddenly brought to a standstill on I-75. We got out the GPS and fired her up. Hermione told us we'd be arriving at our destination at 8:35. I called with this new information. They said they were holding dinner for us, so don't stop to eat. By the time we busted out of the construction zone our arrival time was after 9:00. We exited on Us 64/74 and for a while it was still fairly flat divided highway. From Ocoee to Ducktown, however, it was a long twenty miles of roller coaster ride. We followed the Ocoee River, and for me it was mostly a beautiful scenic drive. For Carmen it was diminishing visibility and hair raising driving all the way. The interesting thing for me was seeing how this beautiful natural setting had been altered for the Atlanta Summer Olympics in 1996, with parking lots, cleared areas for grandstands, and towers and rigging for cameras etc. Under different circumstances I would have been wanting to investigate. But it was nearly pitch dark before we were on Route 68, Hermione's choice of southbound roads. The ten miles to our old friend Route 76 at Blue Ridge was the last of the anxiety of unfamiliar territory, and we breathed more easily the rest of the way. Our actual arrival time was 9:45. We ate a hasty dinner before collapsing into bed, window AC blasting away the heat.
We had a lovely visit with my mommy and daddy. Meals were eaten on the deck overlooking the Nationat Forest, with bird feeders hanging high in the air for our bird watching pleasure. Goldfinches, tufted titmice, nuthatches, chickadees and an indigo bunting were the stars of that show, with a few bit players for variety. A raccoon ripped its way through the screen Sunday night and ravaged the bags of birdseed on the deck - less unwelcome than the bear that did the same a couple of years ago..
Sunday the womenfolk went to church. The nearest neighbors, Darrel and Mary, are Lutheran, and Darrel is a minister. Carmen was happy to experience a mainstream Protestant service, and my mom was happy to get out of the house without my dad. That evening there was dinner and conversation at Darrel and Mary's house until late (9:30!) that night.
Our original plan was to drive home on Tuesday, but we decided to leave early Monday afternoon instead. Another fifteen hour day on the road we did not want. Darrel told us that the best roads to the Interstate Highway System were the route to Ashville, North Carolina. It also happens to be the most direct route. Carmen checked Hermione right off the bat. She said it was 586 miles to home. We scratched our heads over that one. We made reservations at the Hampton Inn in Charleston, West Virginia.
The US highways to Ashville were indeed the best we'd seen. We were happy to get to I-40, and then the exit to turn north on 240. That is where we came to a dead stop. For an hour and a half we sat there while emergency vehicles and a Hazmat Cleanup rig squeezed by. The people milling around us had heard that a diesel tanker had crashed and spilled its load, and that we were stuck for three and a half hours. We cancelled our reservation and made one at Johnson, Tennessee instead. The afternoon sun was pretty hot, but then it clouded over and a breeze kicked up. By the time we got moving, two hours ahead of the prediction, a massive thunderstorm was upon us. We could have gone another hour or two beyond Johnson, but we decided to call it a day. We lolled about in the air conditioning and watched TV while we ate the leftovers my mother had packed for us for dinner
Tuesday was pretty much uneventful. We listened to four more cassettes and some songs from my MP3 player. Hermione bitched at us whenever we strayed from her path, barking at us to make U-turns until she finally relented. The worst was US 19 from Tesla to Prosperity, West Virginia. It cuts across the triangle formed by I-77 and I-79 to Charleston. We were unwilling to risk a roller coaster ride. Hermione thought differently. We were almost to Charleston before she stopped recalculating.
We were in Pennsylvania, north of Pittsburgh, when I figured out Hermione's dirty secret. Carmen asked me to check the distance from there to our house. I did so. It said thirty one miles. I went back to the regular running commentary. She said it was thirty three miles to the exit. Thirty three to the exit, but thirty one total? AHA! Thirty one as the grow flies! AHA! Carmen got that ten hours number from Hermione's point to point distance, which has nothing to do with taking roads that zig and zag right and left, up and down! AHA!
So we arrived home about 5:00 Tuesday. Carmen didn't go out of town again until Thursday early morning. She'll be back tomorrow.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Another Ordination
This is my third, the second being Carmen's a year ago. The others were also Andover Newton graduates, the first being Janet Bush three years ago (I think.) We drove from Watertown to Framingham Massachusetts for that one. For this one we drove from Meadville Pennsylvania to Warren, Massachusetts on Friday and then to Northboro Massachusetts on Sunday afternoon.
Construction was the big story through New York. It used to puzzle me that there was so much construction going on at the same time everywhere up here. After a November to April winter, I realized that May to October is all there is for road construction and repair, with a lot of rainy days during that window. Fix roads while the sun shines! There were a lot of lane closures and being shunted over to the opposite lanes and the usual road construction hassles. People don't speed through work zones in New York, because two work zone violations get you a suspended license. But there were no stoppages or backups. Just a lot of guys standing around staring at the road. One was leaning on his elbows on the overpass railing staring at the road below. Road construction looks like a pretty easy gig.
We crossed Lake Chautauqua on Interstate 86, and Carmen was enchanted. We've heard so much about Chautauqua Institute, a mere two hours or less from Meadville, and now she's hankering to go there. The lake and environs are spectacularly beautiful. The Institute is miles away from the bridge, but it's not hard to imagine that the beauty there is even better for lack of an Interstate highway nearby.
So we ate our turkey sandwiches and drank our water and only stopped once for a fluid exchange in Bainbridge, New York. We exited Interstate 90 at the Palmer exit and let Hermione (our GPS) guide us through unfamiliar territory. She got a little confused at one point (or was it us?) but between the three of us we figured it out and made it through.
Exactly nine hours after leaving Meadville, we pulled into the driveway. The weather was warm , so the Ordinand, Misty Dawn and her spouse Jenna had the pool ready for swimming. Carmen swam. I sat in the shade.
Saturday was preparations for the Ordination and running errands. I learned the "Pages" word processing program on Misty's Mac laptop and generated twenty six signs for the pews reserved for various factions (CLERGY, FAMILY, CHOIR, etc) and after picking up a truckload of flowers, we had a late lunch at the Sturbridge Coffee Shop. Yum.
Sunday morning they went to Northboro for the morning church service and final preparations. We stayed and kept the dogs company until about 1:00, when it was time to go. The drive to Northboro took an hour through ridiculous traffic (compared to Meadville) Carmen robed with the ministers, and I explained to many people who I was and how I came to be there. It was a collaborative effort of the Northboro congregation, where Misty served her internship, and the Brookfield congregation, Misty and Jenna's home church. Each group thought I was with the other and tried to make me feel welcome.
The Ordination was very nice, including affirmations from both congregations and music by combined choirs and a collaborative quartet. Carmen did the Ordination prayer and the Laying On Of Hands, and Misty Dawn Shelly became Reverend Misty Dawn Shelly. Nice. Then we, they, Misty's mom and her partner and the Brookfield minister and her husband had a lovely dinner at Ravezzi's restaurant in Sturbridge before going home to collapse and process the day.
Monday morning we drove back. Construction still going on. Once even got exited off the interstate and back on for an overpass repair project. Still, no delays, other than the hour and a half we spent shopping in Erie, where we used to go monthly, but hadn't been to since February. After watching Jenna's 55 inch TV for a weekend, we couldn't face going home to our 19 inch. We bought a 32 inch. It's up and running.
Congratulations again, Reverend Shelly. It was a fun trip, a nice visit and a great Ordination!
Construction was the big story through New York. It used to puzzle me that there was so much construction going on at the same time everywhere up here. After a November to April winter, I realized that May to October is all there is for road construction and repair, with a lot of rainy days during that window. Fix roads while the sun shines! There were a lot of lane closures and being shunted over to the opposite lanes and the usual road construction hassles. People don't speed through work zones in New York, because two work zone violations get you a suspended license. But there were no stoppages or backups. Just a lot of guys standing around staring at the road. One was leaning on his elbows on the overpass railing staring at the road below. Road construction looks like a pretty easy gig.
We crossed Lake Chautauqua on Interstate 86, and Carmen was enchanted. We've heard so much about Chautauqua Institute, a mere two hours or less from Meadville, and now she's hankering to go there. The lake and environs are spectacularly beautiful. The Institute is miles away from the bridge, but it's not hard to imagine that the beauty there is even better for lack of an Interstate highway nearby.
So we ate our turkey sandwiches and drank our water and only stopped once for a fluid exchange in Bainbridge, New York. We exited Interstate 90 at the Palmer exit and let Hermione (our GPS) guide us through unfamiliar territory. She got a little confused at one point (or was it us?) but between the three of us we figured it out and made it through.
Exactly nine hours after leaving Meadville, we pulled into the driveway. The weather was warm , so the Ordinand, Misty Dawn and her spouse Jenna had the pool ready for swimming. Carmen swam. I sat in the shade.
Saturday was preparations for the Ordination and running errands. I learned the "Pages" word processing program on Misty's Mac laptop and generated twenty six signs for the pews reserved for various factions (CLERGY, FAMILY, CHOIR, etc) and after picking up a truckload of flowers, we had a late lunch at the Sturbridge Coffee Shop. Yum.
Sunday morning they went to Northboro for the morning church service and final preparations. We stayed and kept the dogs company until about 1:00, when it was time to go. The drive to Northboro took an hour through ridiculous traffic (compared to Meadville) Carmen robed with the ministers, and I explained to many people who I was and how I came to be there. It was a collaborative effort of the Northboro congregation, where Misty served her internship, and the Brookfield congregation, Misty and Jenna's home church. Each group thought I was with the other and tried to make me feel welcome.
The Ordination was very nice, including affirmations from both congregations and music by combined choirs and a collaborative quartet. Carmen did the Ordination prayer and the Laying On Of Hands, and Misty Dawn Shelly became Reverend Misty Dawn Shelly. Nice. Then we, they, Misty's mom and her partner and the Brookfield minister and her husband had a lovely dinner at Ravezzi's restaurant in Sturbridge before going home to collapse and process the day.
Monday morning we drove back. Construction still going on. Once even got exited off the interstate and back on for an overpass repair project. Still, no delays, other than the hour and a half we spent shopping in Erie, where we used to go monthly, but hadn't been to since February. After watching Jenna's 55 inch TV for a weekend, we couldn't face going home to our 19 inch. We bought a 32 inch. It's up and running.
Congratulations again, Reverend Shelly. It was a fun trip, a nice visit and a great Ordination!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Flicker From The Past
As my avid readers (you both know who you are) know, I was a professional driver from early October 1977 until the beginning of February, 1998. This sounds like a short time, and it is, but in terms of miles traveled and stories accumulated, it was a very long journey.
Now that I am a professional driver again, I can't help comparing the situation now to the situation a quarter century ago. Surprisingly (to me, anyway,) there are way more similarities than differences. The vehicles haven't really changed at all, nor have the roads. There are no longer CB radios, as far as I know. I don't have a clue what the long haulers are doing for company and information these days - a cell phone and a GPS? Probably MP3 players have replaced radios and tape decks. Maybe satellite radio? Don't know.
One thing has really struck me, however. When I was on the road, and for some years since, if a truck passed me, as soon as it was clear to pull over I signalled by flashing my high beams. I learned this behavior by watching other trucks on the road. The "thank you" for this courtesy was for the passing vehicle to flicker its tail lights - off - - on - off - o n n n n - off. This was pretty consistent. There were variations, but I'd say ninety five out of a hundred trucks knew and used this code, sign and counter sign. During my trip north in June of 2005 I reprised this practice and found the number of practitioners greatly diminished. Six years later, in all the driving I've done, I've flashed my high beams to passing trucks and not one has answered the call.
It's kind of a shame, you know. This was a widespread form of communication that required no devices or distractions, a common courtesy that warmed my heart a little every time flash was answered by flicker - an acknowledgement of my worth, a handshake made of photons. I guess it's a sign of the times. Courtesy and gratitude are in short supply, and the increased demands on every still-employed driver carve an ever deeper chasm between souls in need of solace. I guess I just refuse to let go of the old ways.
Now that I am a professional driver again, I can't help comparing the situation now to the situation a quarter century ago. Surprisingly (to me, anyway,) there are way more similarities than differences. The vehicles haven't really changed at all, nor have the roads. There are no longer CB radios, as far as I know. I don't have a clue what the long haulers are doing for company and information these days - a cell phone and a GPS? Probably MP3 players have replaced radios and tape decks. Maybe satellite radio? Don't know.
One thing has really struck me, however. When I was on the road, and for some years since, if a truck passed me, as soon as it was clear to pull over I signalled by flashing my high beams. I learned this behavior by watching other trucks on the road. The "thank you" for this courtesy was for the passing vehicle to flicker its tail lights - off - - on - off - o n n n n - off. This was pretty consistent. There were variations, but I'd say ninety five out of a hundred trucks knew and used this code, sign and counter sign. During my trip north in June of 2005 I reprised this practice and found the number of practitioners greatly diminished. Six years later, in all the driving I've done, I've flashed my high beams to passing trucks and not one has answered the call.
It's kind of a shame, you know. This was a widespread form of communication that required no devices or distractions, a common courtesy that warmed my heart a little every time flash was answered by flicker - an acknowledgement of my worth, a handshake made of photons. I guess it's a sign of the times. Courtesy and gratitude are in short supply, and the increased demands on every still-employed driver carve an ever deeper chasm between souls in need of solace. I guess I just refuse to let go of the old ways.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Book 'Em!
Well, I did it! Every now and again, Blogger reminds me that for a nominal fee, I can get my blog printed and bound into a book. It seemed like the end was far away for a long time, but now I'm in a holding pattern waiting for more adventures on the road. So a few weeks ago, I did it. For only $18.50 each, I had two copies of The Gospel printed, with photographs on the front and back covers. I was going to give one to my parents, but after reading through it, I realized that there were a few minor slightly uncomplimentary references to them. My mother rarely let a bus trip go through without warning me of the dangers of bus travel. Anyway, I thought it better if they were as ignorant of the book as they are of the blog itself. So I have an extra copy if anybody wants it. I often wonder whether anybody ever reads this, so if anybody reads this and wants a printed and bound book of my travel stories, it's free for the asking!.
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