The Cat is a Traveler! She explores hotel rooms thoroughly, peaks out the windows, and sniffs all the furniture. If she can get under the bed, she does. She listens carefully to noises from the hallway, and faithly reports the delivery of all papers under our door (a copy of the bill for the night's stay) when it arrives (yes, we have arisen early, thanked her, and gone back to sleep). In the car she settles into her carrier, and slumbers peacefully. Day Two: Mama Bear and The Cat listened to more PP&M, some really nice violin music and some Bach. It was also hot and sunny and we found more than a few areas where road/bridge maintenance was happening. I am glad to see the road work: people are working, infrastructure is being maintained. It does, however, slow the journey at times. We had a fabulous dinner at Vinny's in Somersville at day's end courtesy of Boo Boo and Baby Bear (thank you!)
Which route did we take? We went through Hartford on I-84.
Years ago, when we drove to Maine for vacation each year, we would leave the House on the Creek at 5 a.m. planning to stop for the night in the Boston, Massachusetts environs. Papa Bear, Mama Bear shared the driving (though Papa Bear prefered to drive or to be asleep when Mama Bear drove) and we always had two children (Baby Bear and a friend of Baby Bear's) in the back seat. We would drive, stopping for occasional breaks (meals, gasoline), We would arrive in Hartford, Connecticut, in late afternoon, and spend an hour or so stopped. An hour or so stopped in a car with two tired children. An hour or so stopped in a car with two tired children and a broiling sun or a torrential downpour. An hour or so stopped in a car with two tired children, miserable weather, and everyone getting a bit hungry and snacks and new toys/games depleted. An hour or so ... you get the idea. After one such experience, I spent some time looking at maps, and found we could avoid Hartford (and its traffic woes) by heading north on the Taconic Parkway and then taking the Mass Pike to Boston. It was longer distance-wise, but we kept moving, which seemed to make everyone happier, and, amazingly enough, did not consume more time: we arrived in Boston at the same time as we would have arrived traveling (and stopping on the highway) via Hartford. I vowed never to travel via Hartford again. (Never is such a long time ...)
Papa Bear, as I indicated in the post of yesterday, advocated for the Hartford route again this year. His thought was that since we would be there earlier in the day, we would have a different experience. And, to be fair, we kept moving right through Hartford. However, between the Taconic Parkway exit and Hartford, there was considerable road/bridge repair activity, and in some instances we seemed seldom to move more than a mile in a hour (or or such was the experience of Mama Bear, driving the standard transmission car with the misfunctioning air conditioner; Papa Bear may have had a different perception.) Did Mama Bear take the high ground and avoid mentioning the delay? Not on your life!! After all, what is the purpose of cell phones, especially when you are stopped and have a bluetooth headset? The call to Papa Bear, who was laughing as he answered, said, "I have two words. What are they?" Papa Bear responded, "Taconic Parkway." And we both laughed.
The exit from the Mass Pike to 95/US 1 South was amazing: I do not know that I have seen so many roads come together in one place that would require so many people to cross so many lanes in so many different directions (California freeways are better organized than this intersection, in my experience). The combination of locals who knew where they were going and moved with authority to get there and travelers who were trying to determine how to get where they needed to be and therefore moved somewhat tentatively only added to the intensity of the area. I am astonished that there are not hundreds of fender-benders or more serious accidents there each day.
One last comment: years ago when were were canoeing, the beautiful Ms. B and the handsome Mr. S were driving with us to our put-in point one fine hot summer's day. We encountered a flurry of white puffs that briefly surrounded the car briefly. "What was that?" queried Ms. B. "Snow bugs," was the deadpan answer from Mr. S. (Ms. B and Mr. S. later married, despite having differing definitions of left and right while canoeing in the same boat; distinctions about left and right are, as you may be aware, important when sharing a canoe in a river and needing to negotiate small rapids - we typically encountered east coast class I and II with an occasional III rapids.) We all enjoyed the comments that ensued from the snow bugs statement and now, anytime we encounter these seeds/petals/I-do-not-really-know-what-they-are, we call them snow bugs and think of Ms. B and Mr. S. . On this journey of ours to Maine, we have been enveloped by snow bugs as we crossed the Shenandoah River in Virginia, at a place in Pennsylvania, and again in New York (we were in a non-construction zone so the cars were moving). I just love these fleeting yet fun moments when snow bugs surround us and then vanish.
Hope to arrive at the House on the Cove by evening. Planning a dinner-in tonight. Boo Boo and Baby Bear will visit this weekend, being supplies with them. Cool, delightful weather is forecast.
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