On the road again

[Note that the following was actually written on Thursday, Apr. 28; just didn't manage to get it online before now.]

Well me and my little 15-year-old Toyota which, according to the first mechanic I took it to for its annual inspection, needed $700 worth of work done before it would pass inspection (happily, a second opinion garnered me a 'pass,' and all I had to pay was the $12 fee...but, you know, the car probably does need work)...the two of us just returned from another whirlwind trip to upstate New York. Seven and a quarter hours there, on Monday, six and a quarter hours returning, on Wednesday. Wasn't kidding about the whirlwind.

It took me longer going because I decided to vary my route from the usual down-to-Massachusetts-across the state-via-the-Mass Turnpike-around-Albany-then-straight-out-Route-88-to-Oneonta. I needed this trip partly because I needed a break from my routine, and going the same way I always go didn't seem like enough of a break-with-routine. So I went the scenic route, across New Hampshire and Vermont, then around Albany from the north, rather than the south, and out Route 88.

I knew it would take longer, and suspected I would have to exercise a lot of patience, because of all the winding roads that make passing poky drivers impossible, but I didn't count on how tired I would soon feel, and how interminable the stretch from the Vermont border down to Albany would seem. What really made it kind of a waste was that New Hampshire and Vermont on Monday were as much in very early spring mode as Maine -- no leaves on the trees, no flowering trees or shrubs, not much in the way of green grass. And it was overcast, cool, sporadically raining all day. So I wasn't experiencing New England at its best, in the middle of summer lushness, or autumn splendor, or as a glittering winter wonderland. Just a countryside trying to shake off winter, and not quite there yet.

I announced to my little hand-held tape recorder that I always take with me when I travel that New Hampshire and Vermont were not places you should drive through, to get from A to B, but rather places you should visit, when you have plenty of time, can stop whenever you see something that attracts your eye, like some of the antique stores that are practically cheek by jowl along Route 4 in NH, but are much in evidence everywhere

When I finally reached Oneonta I drove past a depressed-looking Budget Inn and Super 8 Motel, and checked into the more presentable Holiday Inn. My room cost me about $60 more than I'd hoped to spend, but whaterya gonna do. The room was fine, very clean, the bed very comfortable, but I noticed after I'd gotten settled in that the little refrigerator, when running, made a very loud hum. I knew I should call the front desk about it, but I suspected their solution would be to have me move to another room, which I really didn't want to have to do. I was tired and hungry, needed to get some dinner so I could get to bed, so I decided I could live with the hum. However, after I'd had that dinner -- about which more in a moment -- had sat propped up in bed to watch my latest police drama enthusiasm (The Chicago Code) and then settled down under the covers to go to sleep, I discovered I couldn't live with the hum, or at least couldn't get to sleep with it. Which meant I would have to unplug it, but it had several perishable snack items in it, necessary for this girl who has to eat every time she turns around.

So, heaving a large sigh, I got up, got the plastic ice bucket, walked down the hall (in my nightgown which I hoped anyone seeing me would think was a lounging outfit) to the vending and ice machine alcove, filled the bucket with ice which I then transferred to my little travel cooler, transferred the food to the cooler, made another trip to the ice machine so I could put my Dr. Pepper and bottled water in it to keep them cold, and finally settled in to sleep. And then a rip-roaring thunder storm arrived...

The dinner in the hotel's "cafe" -- where I went because the young people who had checked me in at the front desk said it was "awesome" -- was unfortunate. I ordered the trout, as I like to have fish when I dine out, because I have it so rarely at home. But when it came (finally), and I started in on it, it was warm only, not hot, and after a few bites I decided it wasn't fully cooked. But once again I hesitated to send it back, because I didn't want the bother, or the delay. But when the waitress -- who had been unavailable anyway, since she'd delivered my dinner to me, as she'd been out at the maitre d's desk, chatting with some fellow -- finally put in another appearance, when she ushered a woman and her daughter to a table (and note that we were the only ones in the place), I did bring the situation to her attention. She insisted on taking it back, assuring me that it wouldn't take long for the chef to produce another one. And sure enough, after a shorter wait than the one that had resulted in my undercooked fish, I got a perfectly cooked fish.

But here's the corker. Even cooked sufficiently it wasn't all that good. The seasoning combination was not a success. I would have to say that garlic does not work well with trout. And the crowning glory to the evening was that I felt compelled to eat as much of the second fish as I could, since I'd asked for it; but since I'd already consumed probably a third of the first fish, as well as a cup of (really quite delicious) corn chowder, and two (really quite delicious) small, warm rolls, I was uncomfortably stuffed when I got up from the table. Ah, well.

I'll tell you about some of the positives of the trip tomorrow.