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.

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!

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.

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!.

Where The Sidewalk Ends

There is a law in Meadville that sidewalks need to be shoveled in a reasonable time after a snowfall. Of course, when a snowfall goes on for weeks, the spirit of the law (making sidewalks walkable) is lost. I hear that the law was changed to recapture the spirit, but as a person who walks to work every day, I can tell you that the spirit is still lost on many sections of the Meadville footpaths.

Accentuating the positive, I'll say that the award for best sidewalk, consistently, Monday through Friday goes to the Crawford County Historical Society on Chestnut Street. There may be snow and ice on either end, but the section that is their responsibility is clear, and if possible, dry from edge to edge and end to end including the strip leading up to the front door. I don't know if it's volunteers, employees or people contracted for the sole purpose of sidewalk clearing, but whoever it is does a bang up job.

The other end of the spectrum, of course, is really bad, so bad that if I can, I jump the plow ridge into the street to walk. These are, for the most part, rental properties occupied by Allegheny College students who have no thought in their heads for the walking public. It's the owner's responsibility anyway, I suppose, but what I know is that the snow is over a foot deep in some places, and the worst sections are where high-speed plows have sloshed icy chunks over the ridge, making the footpath a dangerous obstacle course of big icy chunks across the entire width.

I have slipped and fallen twice since I started walking over the wintry walkways of Meadville. So far I've picked myself up and brushed myself off with no damage. The good news is - the snow will probably stop by June.

Lake Effect

We've had it described to us by numerous people on numerous occasions since we first expressed interest in moving to the Lake Erie area. Moisture from the lake is absorbed into the atmosphere above, turned into snow, and dumped on the surrounding countryside. Meadville, they told us, is pretty much at the far side if the lake effect belt. Sometimes we get it, sometimes we don't. The day before yesterday we witnessed this phenomenon first hand.

The Reverend Carmen was covering for the Youngstown, Ohio minister while he was on vacation, and it happened that a Youngstown member needed a memorial service performed during that time. So Saturday, with dense snow falling all around us, we set out on snowy roads for Youngstown. Rev. Carmen kept asking if we were crazy to be doing this in such obviously awful weather, but onward we trekked.

About thirty miles south on Interstate 79, we suddenly ran out of the snow. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, the roads were dry. We got to Youngstown on the most beautiful day we'd seen in weeks.

She did the service, we ate an early supper, and then lit out back to Meadville. Right around the same part of I-79, we slammed back into snow, worse than the morning's offering, blinding almost white-out snow, and it was impossible to see the lines on the road. To make matters worse, it was getting dark. We'd been making a shopping list on the way, but it was abandoned with our effort to stay on the highway. At last we came to the Meadville exit, but alas, no-one had exited there in a while. There were no tracks to follow, nothing but a guard rail to indicate where the exit might be.

We reached 322 safely and steered for home. There would be no stops along the way. We got here and she tried to back in - to no avail. She trudged through deep snow, leaving the car at the end of the driveway while I trotted out my new snow blower. I snew blew and shoveled, backed the car in and shut the garage - SAFE!

The next morning I had to snow blow again to get out for church. There was a pretty good crowd there, even with the snow still pouring down. Here in Lake Effectville, you don't let snow stop you. If you do, you'll be pretty much stopped from the end of November until the end of April.

Re CALC Ulating!

My new job with the local Meadville PA Sherwin Williams store is titled "Part Time Sales Associate." The short term is "Delivery Boy." I did not know this when I signed on, but it became clear during my second week when the assistant manager, Vinnie, outlined a long list of things I needed to know about this job - including outfitting the delivery van with whatever personal stuff (gloves, boots, maps) might come in handy during my many deliveries. As it sunk in that this was really what the job is all about, a little spark of joy fired up for "The Gospel Of Rand McNally." I've been waiting for months for a Gospel-worthy trip to come along, and last week one did.

In addition to deliveries, I also do trips to other stores to pick up product we are short on when a customer needs it and can't wait for the next regular Wednesday delivery. I've gone to Franklin, about twenty five miles away, Erie, about thirty five miles, and last week I was told to come in early, dress comfortably, MapQuest a route, bring my GPS and whatever else I might need, and drive to Solon, Ohio, a southern suburb of Cleveland about ninety miles away. I bought road snacks the night before, packed my Rand McNally Road Atlas (of course!) and everything else into my backpack and made it to work well before 11:00.

Before starting out I programmed my destination into Hermione, our GPS. She has a British accent and thinks she knows everything. Hence the name. I had a pretty good idea how I wanted to go, but it's always interesting to hear Hermione's version of things. Sometimes she has a really good idea. Mostly, though, she is fixated on Interstate Highways and will try everything in her arsenal to steer me toward them.

Stage one of the trip: get out of Meadville. In this case, the way to go was to head west on US 322. Hermione was very much in favor of that plan. When I passed right by Interstate 79, she didn't object at all, which came as a shock to me. Then she surprised me again by telling me to turn right on State Road 98. Thinking maybe she knew something, and not having an opportunity to check my map, I turned. Almost immediately I remembered that I had been on this stretch of road before, from one delivery northwest of Meadville to another due south. Hmmm. So I found myself on the map and decided to ride with Her for a while longer. When I came to 198, she directed me to turn left, which I was planning to do anyway. She could have sent me right, to I-79 up there. She didn't. Hmmmm.

So we continued west, on into Ohio, and there she tipped her hand. At State Road 7 she told me to turn right, which would take me directly to Interstate 90 to Cleveland. Aha! So I turned left. "Re - Calc - Ulating!" she hissed. I know this side of her pretty well by now. First she tries to talk me into a U-turn to bring me back into her clutches. Then she directs me onto side roads that will soon bring me back around to her way of thinking. I was going to US 6, where I would turn west again. I knew she wouldn't like it, but I didn't care. If worse comes to worst, I can mute her snippy little self. What I can't do is change her Estimated Time of Arrival, which she adds to every time she recalculates.

As I worked my way west and south, in addition to Hermione's disappointment in me, I also had to watch out for Amish horse and buggy units. I passed three or four going my way, and a few going the other way. It's that part of the country. It wasn't pouring down snow for the first time in weeks, so it was a good day for horse and buggying around.

I turned south on State Road 11, a limited access washboard that I endured for twenty miles or so (actually it was five - it only seemed like twenty) until I exited onto US 322, the highway I started out on way back in Meadville. As I headed west again, Hermione finally got back on board with my initial plan - 322 to State Road 44 to US 422 to Solon. We got along famously for a good while, and when we got to Solon, she guided me smoothly to my destination. Five minutes to use the rest room, load the paint and do the paperwork, and we were back on the road again.

I don't know if she was tired of arguing with me or what, but she took me right back to Pennsylvania the way I wanted to go. We had a slight disagreement at State Road 7, which would have taken me around the north side of the lake. I stayed on 322 around the south side, and made it back to the store well before four.