Road Trip 2017 - Day 1 - Welcome to Canada, Eh?

Day 1
New Boston, NH - Woodstock, ON
Miles Driven: 532
Time in Transit - 12h 30m
View From Hotel - Tim Horton's Donuts


Our oldest child, Alex, is headed to college in Montana. (Note: Montana is far, far away from New Hampshire.) Naturally, our only choice was to plan a huge cross-country road trip to deliver him to school.

Our daughter, Tori, has had a life-long obsession with California and the west coast. "Can we just zip over to California after we drop him off?" she pleaded. "It's only 17 more hours."*

(*It is technically true that you can drive from Bozeman, MT to the closest point in California in just under 17 hours. It is also technically true that California spreads across several hundred bajilliondy square miles and can take up to 256 years to drive across, depending on the traffic around L.A.)

We thoughtlessly agreed to her request and the 2017 Family Road Trip To Deliver Alex To School and Then To Go To California was officially underway.

Alex was very excited about the trip, as shown in this, a photo of him at the last dinner he had at home before leaving.

No, he's not looking at his phone. He's fast asleep at the dinner table.

Kerri and I rented a minivan to serve as our chariot for this trek. Alex was a bit disappointed that we were not willing to splurge for a Lamborghini so he could arrive at school in style, but they didn't have one with heated seats and Kerri and I were simply not willing to compromise.

Not a Lamborghini.

We packed up the van, including the new mountain bike Alex purchased for school, and we all piled in to begin our grueling family ordeal of traveling in propinquity for 21 days.

Alex is settled in and ready for anything with his fancy biking goggles.

We weren't more than an hour from home when Kerri and I overheard Tori ask, "Alex, why are you smelling your bike?"

"Shut up," he answered.

In a brilliant parenting diversion, Kerri suggested that we name the van. After a long, and occasionally heated, discussion, it was decided that she would be christened "Tawanda"–an exotic name that has the added benefit of sounding slightly like "To wander".

Our first stop along the way was a scenic lookout point on Hogback Mountain in Vermont for lunch. We would get very, very good at eating in the back of the van.

The guardrail along the road was covered with graffiti - some clever, some less so.

An incredible coincidence - some of the graffiti on the fence appears to be a character from my Molly Mac books. Just below it, it says "Montana or Bust 2017". You cannot explain that.

We piled back into the car and headed westward. Our journey was taking us very close to Niagara Falls and a small jaunt into Canada wouldn't add any time to our trip, so we decided to hop the boarder and spend the night with our neighbors to the north.

We drove through the endless wastelands of northern New York and arrived in a town called Amherst for dinner. We threaded our way through traffic along the main street looking for a place to eat. Eating is something of a challenge as Tori is a vegetarian and Alex will not eat anything that even looks like it might contain vegetables.

We finally decided on a small Italian place that had outdoor seating. "It's crowded," we said. "It must be good."

This maxim has officially been proved untrue.

Remember this name. Never. EVER. Eat here.

Sorrentino's was home to Tragically Disappointing Meal Number 1 on this trip. Their menu says that they have a "Special Spaghetti Machine" that makes perfect pasta every time.

Really. It says that.

The pasta may have been perfect, but Alex found the sauce excessive, even by his lax culinary standards.

Manicotti soup, anyone? 

I opted for a pizza, which I always enjoy.

Until now.

Despite their claim, it was not the best. It was, possibly, the worst. How can you ruin pizza?

We slogged through our meal, enjoying the exhaust fumes from passing traffic and listening to the soothing sounds of car horns and screamed obscenities involving rich, evocative character studies of other driver's mothers and their bestial proclivities.

We watched in curious wonder as more and more police cars appeared in the area, diverting traffic and setting up cones, barriers, and detour signs.

They blocked off the street where we had parked Tawanda and a slight unease tugged at my guts. Or, it could have been the crappy pizza trying to escape.

We found out that there was a 5k happening in town and that many of the streets were to be closed.

"We have to get out of here!" I gasped. "Where is the check? We need to pay and get out of here before we get trapped here forever!"

Our waitress eventually wandered over with the bill, I slapped some money down and we sprinted to the van, hopped in Dukes of Hazzard style, and roared up the street 100 feet until we were stopped by a police officer who pointed us toward a thin column of cones set up for us to drive through.

Driving through construction cones would become a familiar theme on the trip.

We blasted back on to the highway and headed for the boarder.

"Niagara Falls, here we come!" I sang.

"I think I have sauce poisoning," Alex moaned.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Tori said.

"Hold it until we get to Canada!" I told her. "And, Alex, please don't die in Canada, there's bound to be a lot of tedious paperwork."

We saw the great plume of mist rising above the American side of Niagara Falls and crossed the bridge into Canada.

Welcome to Canada, eh?

We planned on stopping for a few minutes to admire the majesty of the falls before continuing along our merry way.

It was dark. I was tired. There were no signs, okay?

Okay?

We continued to drive. And drive. And drive.

"We seem to be going a long way," Kerri said. "Aren't the falls waaaayyy back there?"

"Maybe it's the scenic route," I suggested.

"Maybe you missed the falls," Tori suggested.

"Zzzzzzzz," Alex snored.

Somehow, I completely missed the falls. The one bright spot in this goof was that Alex was asleep so we all agreed to tell him that we went to the falls and the he really enjoyed it.

Soon, the memory of the falls faded and we needed to stop for the night. We found a Days Inn and pulled in, looking for a room.

As we walked past the crowd of gentlemen smoking around the lobby entrance, I overheard some of the amazing courtesy and kindness that Canadians are known for. One of the guys laughed loudly and said to his friend, "Oh, yeah, he's a f*&kin' idiot, eh?"

I assume he wasn't talking about me missing the falls.

At the front desk, I was greeted by a cheery young lady who told me that the room would be $89/night. "Unless you saw the sign out front..."

She nodded knowingly.

I stared dumbly.

"The sign?" she said, nodding toward the huge lighted sign in the parking lot.

"Ummm, yeah. I sure did see that sign. Heck of a sign you guys have. Yup. Yessir," I agreed.

"Well, then," she smiled. "Your room will be $69/night."

I smiled and craned my neck to read the sign, hoping I wouldn't see "$20 Discount For F*&kin' Idiots, eh?"

I couldn't actually see the sign through the clouds of smoke from the guys outside, but I decided that I was too tired to care. I could read it in the morning after the smoke cleared.

Day 7 - Don't Tell Me What My Favorite Pizza Shop Is.

Today I woke up surrounded by my loving family. I mean, not literally surrounded by them, because that would be weird and scary, but - you know - they were here.

Which was also weird and scary after 6 days of being a childless bachelor. And by weird and scary, I naturally mean, "delightful".

We spend this lovely Sunday morning working hard, because that's why I'm here.

Me, working really, really hard.

After all that work, Tori and I decided that we would take the Waterville Shuttle for a tour of the town. As we made our way to the bus stop, Kerri was hard at work taking pictures from the balcony.

She's taking pictures of the sky so she can write a letter of complaint to the town. Too blue.

Actually, she was taking pictures of Alex, on his never ending quest to become a pink smear on a road somewhere.

Tori and I waited for the shuttle, which tootles all over town like a toy trolley from a cartoon.

We had to wait for almost 3 minutes! I'll be writing my own letter of complaint.

 It's really a cool service provided by the town. As it was free, Tori had a very hard time convincing me not to spend the entire day, endlessly circling the town.

This is the trolley. Not the entire trolley, obviously, but the business end of it.

We were happy to be speeding about the town at mind-bending speeds approaching 12 miles per hour.

 The driver was a great guy and since we were the only riders, he made time to stop and point out lots on interesting things around town. He even pointed me toward some great biking trails.

As all good things do, our ride came to an end. Then, even more sadly, my visit with my family came to an end. It was hard to say goodbye, primarily because I found out that Alex had hidden my pillows.

I decided to postpone The Great Pillow Hunt for later and take advantage of the biking while the weather was delightful.

I made my way along a beautiful gravel path where octogenarians whizzed along at speeds that would have shamed the Waterville Trolley.

I was trying to get to a place called Greely Pond, but found that because of some recent flooding, it was no longer accessible by bike. A gentleman I met on the path directed me to a path that he said, "Climbs up pretty steeply for about a mile and  half, then drops precipitously."

I don't know if you could resist a description like that, but I couldn't.

I sweated and swore my way upward, careful not to block the path of the octogenarians who kept passing me in great, swirling swarms.

As I climbed, I kept myself motivated by thinking about how much fun the ride down would be. "This will be so much fun!" I lied to myself. "This will be totally worth it."

I finally reached the summit of the road at the point where, as foretold, the road dropped precipitously.

Down ahead of me.

Down behind me.

Not wishing to drop dead in the middle of the woods, I opted to head back down the hill, toward town where there was the promise of ice cream and horizontal roads to bike on.

I zipped down the hill, zigging and zagging through the endless parade of people hiking up the hill. The ride down; the one I had been so eagerly anticipating, lasted a good 5 or 6 seconds and was, I'm sad to say, less thrilling than I had anticipated.

Once back in town, I settled in for some grueling work by the pond. this time, I selected a seat in the town square, so I could have a good view of the beach and all the plastic chairs which ere there yesterday.

The work is brutal, but I feel obligated to do my best at all times.

Please note the complete lack of chairs of any kind on the beach. I'm beginning to suspect some sort of demonic possession.

While taking that picture of the beach, I noticed something on the raft.

Can you see it?

Now can you see it?

It appears to be some sort of a message in a bottle. I quickly reasoned that someone must be in grave peril somewhere and cast that bottle into the river upstream in a desperate attempt to get help. It bobbed downstream and somehow popped out of the water to land on this raft.

I can't think of any other plausible explanation.

And, to whoever it is that is in desperate need of help, I'm sorry, but I didn't have my bathing suit. Maybe I'll try to get out there tomorrow.

If it's warm.

Otherwise hang in there, buddy and remember: Stay Put and Stay Dry.

On my ride home, I was struck by just how many gazebos there are in Waterville Valley. I suspect that the original town may have been simply a loose gathering of gazebos.

I have decided that working in each of them is a moral imperative while I am in residence.

This one overlooks the town common.

I have also noticed that buildings in town are quite transient, as if eager to go walking along paths with old people.

This gazebo will be tricky. It's surrounded by golf course and, naturally, golfers, who tend to hit balls around at very high speed. I'll wear my bike helmet while working there.

This one is tucked away behind the golf course.

And I like the dedication.

This one is attached to someone's house and will likely be even more challenging to get into than the one on the golf course.

This one is right outside the ski school and is very close to my residence.

This is as close as I get to a gazebo where I am staying. Working in there was totally unacceptable.

 Tired and hungry from my arduous bike ride, I grabbed a snack (leftover from the reception last night) and some wine for an afternoon snack.

While in town, I picked up something to help me handle those tricky boxes of wine.

1.

2.

3. Presto! Instant snack.

I wanted to head over to the school's gazebo with my snack so I could eat, drink, and draw in the warm afternoon sun. I realized that sauntering across a schoolyard carrying a box of wine with a straw sticking out the top might prove problematic.

In the words of the late great musician, Louis Jordan: "It looked so common. And I know I ain't common. I got class I ain't even used yet."

So I transferred my wine to a coffee mug and settled in to enjoy last rays of sun on the warm afternoon.

Because I epitomize "classy".

 No sooner had I settled in when I spied an even better place to hang out.

The scorekeeper's chair at the tennis courts was empty!

AND IT HAD A WINE TRAY!

The view from on high.

Sadly, there was no room on the tray for a snack, wine, and my sketchbook. Two things had to go.

Soon, the snacks were gone, the wine was gone, my sketchbook was full, and it was time for dinner.

My father had generously bought 4 pizzas yesterday to feed the assembled family. The leftovers beckoned me, but the presumptuousness of the pizza place's slogan bothered me.

Don't tell me what my favorite pizza shop is.

And so, with the lingering taste of pizza on my lips, I spent another delightful evening hard at work on a top secret new project and trying to find my pillows.

Day 5 - Sidewalk Pizza and The Mysterious Barrel

Rey Residency, Day 5.

I am thrilled, I must admit, at how this Residency has given me an opportunity to improve my already formidable photography skills.

The photo above, titled, "Trying To Take A Picture On A Fast-Moving Bicycle" is an an example of the dynamic, avant-garde sort of photography that, as an artist, I am constantly trying to push myself toward.

Plus, it didn't even hurt when I fell off my bike.

One of the requirements of this Residency - and one I was delighted to undertake - is that I need to visit the local elementary school and make a presentation to the entire student body, grades k-8.

All 27 of them.

Waterville Valley School is a small school. This entire school population is smaller than some single classrooms I've visited at other schools.

I have visited the school a couple times in the past. The principal pointed out that I was there 13 years ago, which made me feel very old. Very, very old.

Ancient, in fact.

This is the school.

They had made a delightful bulletin board in the bright, cheery lunchroom.

I visit a lot of schools each year and I always enjoy it. I have a different presentation each year and it's always a bit nerve-wracking trying out new material and sharing new work. The kids were terrific and seemed to really enjoy themselves, but that may be because I was getting them out of math.

Whatever the reason, it was a fun time.

After I finished at the school, I headed home for some lunch and got some work done for the big Open Studio tomorrow. I also cleaned up the place a bit because - hooray! Kerri and Alex are coming up tonight. Victoria opted to go to the county fair, convinced in her 13 year-old mind that rides and food and friends will somehow be more exciting than driving an hour and a half, having dinner and going to bed. Kids are weird like that.

It's been very nice having the time to live and work at my own pace, with nobody else's schedules to consider at all. But it will be great to see them again, too.

After I had neatened up a bit (a fact that Kerri totally missed upon arrival - she and I having very different concepts of "neat"), I went out exploring on my bike.

I stopped briefly at Waterville Academy, where freestyle kids were once again hurling their bodies off a jump in a vain attempt to defy gravity.

While there, I stumbled upon (nearly literally) this piece of temporary installation art, constructed in the middle of a sidewalk.

It looks vaguely pizza-like. It did not taste as good as it looks.

After spitting out the twiggy bits, I headed off to see what I could see.

I found a few fun places just outside of town.

A tasty spot on The Mad River just off route 49.

I really wanted to sit in here, but the very real fear of frostbite on my nether-regions stopped me. That water is COLD.

More water. Because it is a river and that's how river work.

As I was biking back to town, this tiny, unmarked road beckoned to me.

I followed it through the cool, dappled shadows for a hundred yards or so. And then it abruptly ended. Thanks for nothing, mysterious road.

I also saw this sitting right alongside Route 49, just outside town. It looked exactly like some Disney artist's concept of "hillbilly". I kept expecting Goofy to pop out of the barrel. I'm glad he didn't, however. that would have been terrifying.

Coming into town, the speed limit goes from 50 to 30. I decided to play it safe speed-wise.

I was also confronted with this confusing set of directions. Can you read the sign in the background? It says, "No stopping per order of selectmen." Not knowing how to handle this, I slipped away to get some work done.

This is what "Getting some work done" looked like today:

Please note that I elected to sit on the other side of the pond, lest I get in a rut and stagnate.

After working on a few drawings and starting a story with the line, "Salmonella Greely was a horrid little girl." I returned to my place to await the arrival of Kerri and Alex which, as so often happens in life, occurred later than expected.

They did arrive safely and we had a delightful dinner and went to bed.

Victoria doesn't know what she's missing.