While out jogging one day, a brilliant idea popped into my mind. For my Dad's birthday on October 6th, why not fly him out to Massachusetts and then drive back across the country together stopping along the way wherever the spirit moves us. And so,"Papapalooza: The Cross Country Birthday Tour," was born.
I had all summer to think about it. It made me giddy; like I was a school girl all over again. You see, I'm an only child and my father and I are (and were) very close. He gave me my first job and I worked for him through high school and college. We used to commute together, eat breakfast together every Saturday morning and butt heads about all manner of business decisions.
We share a love of cars; fast cars, exotic cars. We both own a Prius. He actually owns three! What better way to celebrate a birthday than a trip in what else? A car.
He accepted my offer and the plan was set. I was nervous. I was giddy. I was giggly. In short, I was the thirteen year old me:
And now the day has arrived: Saturday September 20th, 2014.
We had a leisurely breakfast at my aunt and uncle's house: eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. A hardy breakfast to prepare the body for the road ahead. At precisely 10:08am, we departed. Between the 2 of us we have three GPS units - not to mention my iphone. We will NOT be getting lost. We agreed to mute the commanding voice of my Garmin; affectionately known as Judy Garmin so she would not interfere with the engaging conversations we were about to have.
My first hurdle was entering the Mass Pike; U.S. Highway 90. I was born on the west coast and no self-respecting driver should ever have to put up with paying tolls; EVER! I have toll-pay-booth-aphobia. Will I have the right amount? Will I drop change on the roadway below? Will I be that person who holds up the entire line? My hands shake when a toll booth comes into view.
I adapted quickly and we made good time. Because sparkling conversation isn't always enough, I checked out 5 audio books from the local library. I believe there is over 100 hours of book listening to be had but of course not at the expense of the sparkling conversation. We began with the biography of Ben Franklin written by Walter Isaacson. Since we were very nearly starting from Boston ourselves, what better way to bond then with a history lesson about one of our Founding Fathers.
While Ben's life unfolded, we cruised through the beginning of Fall colors in western Massachusetts. Soon, we crossed over into New York and some $25 plus in tolls later we made it into Pennsylvania.
Along the way, we were surrounded by a group of Harley riders sporting leather jackets with the name, "Phantom Riders," proudly displayed on their backs. They looked more like retired doctors and lawyers to me. The loud noise of the bikes certainly nullified the description of a phantom of any kind.
The Service Areas (not Rest Areas) along the 90 freeway are remarkably similar in size, shape and color. For some time I thought we were driving in a circle. It was a bit, "twilighty." We stopped for coffee at one, gas at another and I swear I saw the same smiling faces. Just the title, "Service Area," brings sleazy thoughts into my mind: Hi, I'm here to get serviced please. I instinctively reach for the hand sanitizer.
As it neared dusk, we arrived in North East, Pennsylvania. Yes, North East is the name of the town. Where do you live? North East. Yes, but where? North East. But where? And then it just spirals into a who's on first exchange with high levels of aggravation.
We checked into our hotel on the second floor. If I stand on a ladder, hang out the window and cock my head just so, I can see one of the Great Lakes. I'm too lazy to look up which one. Suffice to say it's blue and wet and large.
We ate dinner at a restaurant located adjacent to the hotel. Our waitress exuded oodles and oodles of southern charm. I felt she was much too far above the Mason-Dixon line. I'm not sure exactly where the Mason-Dixon line is but I have no doubt she should be below it. The restaurant included a bar, a pool room and something that looked like a fireplace but lacked any opening in which to burn wood. My Dad's Chef Salad looked nice and my Taco Salad was decent. As we exited, the waitress asked us if we wanted ice water to go. I can think of a lot of things to put into a, "go," box but ice water is not one of them.
And so ends our first day; tucked into our queen size beds, furiously typing on our lap tops and checking out the Oregon St/Washington St football game. We left Ben back in the car making his way through his early twenties.
I'm not that thirteen year old girl anymore but sometimes it's fun to pretend to be her:
The adventure continues..... Please join me again tomorrow as we travel to Dearborn Michigan for a tour of the Henry Ford Auto Museum. A girl, her Dad, and all those cars.......
