Road Trip Pt 2 -Schwimmwagen!

Long Island, NY: At the conclusion of Part 1 of the Road Trip, I was facing a return trip to NY for 2 days of work on Long Island.  Traffic stacked up as I got closer to the Big Apple.  Then the sky opened up and  down came a torrential  rain. Traffic slowed to 20 miles an hour, then 10 and then we were at a complete standstill. Inching forward, I saw a 3 foot geyser of water shooting up and out of a manhole onto the freeway.  Old Faithful, Long Island edition, was turning the freeway into a river.  Every driver was locked in a Darwinian struggle to survive by forcing their way into the high point on the freeway, the center lane.  With my Minnesota plates, the natives took pity on me and politely waved me in...NOT!  As I sat stuck in the rising river, I started to sweat.  My car was less than a month old.  I hadn't made my first payment and if the water got up into the engine block, it would become a $20,000 brick.  I cursed the rain. I cursed the gypsy who'd cursed me. I cursed my decision to buy a Toyota Camry instead of the World War II Schwimmwagen. Wasn't this exactly the situation the salesman warned me about? And wouldn't the M42 machine gun have helped open up a spot in the center lane?  When I finally forced my way in, sans machine gun, it was hydroplaning and white knuckle driving for the next two hours. Welcome to Long Island and enjoy your workcation!

Long Island is no trouble to navigate with a Schwimmwagen!

Long Island Railroad:  My family had some much needed down time on Long Island and we were told the best way to get into Manhattan was by train. After grabbing seats on the train, my wife, son and daughter sat in quiet contemplation. Quiet got off at the next stop and in its place came loads of 20somethings, swigging alcoholic beverages in brown paper sacks. Alcohol on a train?  I assumed it was prohibited but in a strange twist of fate, drinking on this date was mandatory!  The group across from us was loud even by NYC standards. Not all learning takes place in a classroom and my teenage kids got loads of it during the 90 minute ride.  Every story was peppered with the words "naked," "drunk" and "vomited,"...sometimes all three back to back! We'd apparently booked the same car as the cast of "Jersey Shore." Once the train reached standing room only, the drunken cacophony was off the charts loud.  A bottle of Champagne was "popped" and a passenger screamed "I've been shot!" I wished I'd been shot as a ride in an ambulance with sirens going would have been much, much quieter.  

I once worked as a trained investigator but my powers of observation  failed me on this day. Not my wife.  She looked on her iPhone and in short order, flashed it at me showing that today was the NYC Gay Pride parade. We were riding the Pride train!  Of course, how did I miss that!  For those of you not in the know (i.e. me) the NYC Pride parade is the largest in the nation and nearly all of the revelers were taking the train.  The parade marked the first anniversary of same-sex marriage in NY, so there was much to celebrate.  As we exited in Manhattan, there were many shouts of "Happy Pride!" although I couldn't hear them on account of having gone deaf during the ride.  I only wish I'd known beforehand so I could have dressed appropriately and brought my own alcohol.

Long Island Ferry:  After 2 harrowing days of work, I walked onto a main road and waited for my family to pick me up.  It was 4:00 and I'd booked a 5:00 ferry to get us off Long Island.  Brilliant plan, right?  Except I didn't account for the cruel gypsy who had it in for me. The first sign of our impending debacle was a call from my daughter saying they were at my work address and couldn't see me.  Well, it wasn't like I'd turned invisible.  I was the only idiot standing on the shoulder of  four-laner in rush hour.  Our refurbished GPS, El Diablo, had dialed up a random location again...arggg!  I walked a block to a residential address and told my daughter to punch it into the GPS.  Then I waited. And waited.  And waited.  Finally, the family car showed up and off we go to Port Jefferson for the ferry.  According to MapQuest, we were fine because the drive takes 20 minutes and we had 40 minutes till the ferry left. MapQuest didn't take into account that the traffic lights on Long Island aren't timed. We rolled from one red light to another until the clock showed 4:58.

Hallelujah!  We could see the Ferry but not which parking lot to load from.  We took a left which naturally was the wrong way.  I asked a native girl how to get to the Ferry but she'd been struck with an affliction that made her speak like she had a mouthful of marbles. Desperate, we circled around.  My helpful suggestions to my wife were not going over well as we made another U-turn. Out loud, I speculated that the Ferry was only for Mentalists who can close their eyes and divine their way out of the maze.  Or perhaps you have to take a Ferry to get to the Ferry? My wife found these clever observations "not helpful," except that she said it nn the manner of a salty sea sailor who, by the way, could actually find and operate a Ferry.  I shut up and lo and behold, we stumbled on a line of cars loading onto the Ferry.  We were the very last car to board!  A nice young man waved us to the left, changed his mind and then waved us to the center lane.  My wife hesitated and the young man made the mistake of saying "Come on, come on!" with vigorous arm waving.  That was all it took for my wife  (aka Mount Pinatubo) to erupt.  She stopped the car, rolled down her window and yelled "Excuse me!!!  I've never done THIS before!"  My kids groaned with embarrassment and I feared she'd get us booted.  This being New York, it was just another exchange between denizens and no blood meant no foul.  The fact that'd we'd made it on to the Ferry AND our car did not roll into the ocean meant that finally, the gypsy curse was broken.

At this point, I was not in a New York state of mind.    

The last 4 days of our trip passed without a major incident. Boston was a gem of a city, our collective favorite. To all of you Boston gamers, keep a spot warm for me because I might be back to live there one day!  With a few hours to sightsee, we took a tour of the USS Constituion and then walked Bunker Hill.  Then off to Rochester, NY and a brutal two day drive home.  On the way back, my son said it had been the best family vacation ever and my daughter said it had been the worst.  Technically, they both were right.

14 days, 9 cities, 7 colleges.  Despite the Fates conspiring against us, we survived.  What is the saying?  Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.  We were like titanium at the finish line.  Hell bent for home, nothing could stop us from returning to our city, our friends and family, our dog, and most importantly, our own beds.  Lost in the telling were hours of family time.  Stuck in a car for 9, 10 or more hours at a stretch,  we had the privilege of hours-long adult conversations with our teenage son and daughter.  I'll always treasure our crazy road trip and the time we spent together as a family.

The Happy Family.  We survived!

In the Pan

I'm fairly methodical in my painting habits.  I usually finish one project before moving to the next.  I work like this because of a genetic disorder that causes me to obsess unnecessarily over order and disorder.  My clothes are organized by season, style and color so why not use those same techniques with my painting?

Right now, I'm getting a little wild and crazy. I've got 200+ figures cluttering my workspace in various states of done.  24 Numidian lights just need shields to be finished and then they're ready to be based.  But nooo, I had to go off and start painting loads of Janissary musketmen for a Maurice army.  Ancients and gunpower era side by side on the painting table-this madness has got to stop!

Next week, I'll post  the second and final installment of the College Roadtrip.  Then it's back to the projects!

A broiler pan from our stove doubles as a painting queue.  Don't tell the Mrs! 

Wild wild horses, we'll ride them some day.

Hey, its not like we can paint ourselves.  Get cracking!

Road trip + gypsy curse!

I've mentioned that my son wants to be a composer.  Here in America, our music conservatories are on the East Coast and we live in the Midwest.  Since my son is 17 and off to college next year, it was time for a college road trip to scout out his top choices.  Our first challenge was his list of 7 colleges to visit. I was thinking of a number between 1 and 3 but my son had different ideas.  Clever boy, he formed a cabal with my  wife which I could not crack, dent or negotiate with.  Cabal 1- Dad 0!  In a portent of things to come, there was a meltdown at work that required an impromptu and immediate visit to Long Island, NY.  Since I going to be in the area anyway, we rearranged a few of my son's college visits so I could squeeze 2 work days into our family road trip vacation. Yea work!

A reasonable reproduction of my family just before launch.

I believe good planning, organization and a GPS will see you through a big trip like this and why not?  It's worked for me every other family vacation we've taken.  I don't believes in ghosts, voodoo or bad mojo. Nevertheless, I began to suspect that we were operating under a gypsy curse due to daily misfires, mistakes, challenges and even debacles. Want proof? 

Baltimore, MD:  The hotel in Baltimore was nice, being right across from a baseball park.  Unfortunately, there was a motorcycle rally nearby. The Harley Davidson crowd believes that the louder their glass pack muffler, the less likely it is that a car will drive over them.  These overage and oversized rough riders were roaring up and down the avenue in front of our hotel all night long.  I lost 5 years of my hearing and a full night's sleep on that stop.

Philadelphia, PA:  We drove into downtown during rush hour.  In Philadelphia, the downtown streets are extremely narrow on account of the thinness of its citizens.  Apparently a lifetime of eating Philly cheese steak subs with cheez whiz has caused the good citizens to waste away to next to nothing, much like their roads. Despite a brand-new talking GPS, I could not find our hotel. As it turns out, it was a brownstone walk-up with no parking, pullout, doorman or anything at all that might signal that yes, this is a hotel!  I had to unload the luggage from the trunk of my car in bumper-to-bumper traffic, blocking up the right lane entirely while the locals gave me a brotherly "Hello!" honk on the car horn.

Once we got to our room, we opened the door to see...a single bed for our family of four.  I called dibs but the wailing and gnashing of teeth from the rest of the crew was such that my wife went down to the lobby to explore our options.  No, we could not have a cot or pullout due to a supposed "fire code."  Yes, they had one room left and if we didn't pay for it quickly, some other schlep was going to buy it out from under us and we'd have to sleep in the streets. Ca-$$$-Ching! Sold to the weary family from out of town! When my son and I went down to our room, we named it "The Mole Hole." The room was a long hallway, thin (like the local citizens) and dark.  All it lacked was worms!

May I bring your bags up to your room?

New York, NY: The closer you get to New York City, the worse the traffic gets. In a huge stack of cars crossing the George Washington Bridge, I glanced nervously at my GPS.  A decision point-GPS said to take a left but the signs said to take a right?  Did I see that right?  I had seconds to decide.  In a panic, I threw the decision to my wife by belting out "Which way, honey?!!"  She fretted and mumbled so I stuck with the GPS, which naturally was a huge mistake.  I found myself on a series of descending ramps taking me to Manhattan at rush hour.  

I'm normally a calm, cool, and collected gent.  I rarely swear.  The verbal dam burst as the reality of my mistake sank in.  I was driving into the heart of the carpocalypse known as Manhattan.  At rush hour.  F bombs peppered the air as I cursed my GPS and then the satellite which couldn't send a signal to the GPS as it kept repeating "Recalculating!  Recalculating!  Recalculating!" without it doing anything of the sort.  After 10 harrowing minutes, it finally threw me onto a side street and back up to the George Washington Bridge, one slow-moving block at a time. Cruel gypsy!  The swear jar would be filled to the brim after this one.  

I'm the blue car in the middle.  No, not that one...

New Haven, CT:  New Haven showed some promise as an interesting spot on the map but then the curse kicked in.  I picked a restaurant that served something we don't have a lot of in Minnesota-soul food.  The neighborhood was a tough one and the restaurant didn't have air conditioning on a night that was 90 degrees.   We didn't let that dissuade us. We sat and talked and talked and talked. After an hour of talking, I saw an employee stroll in with a bag of groceries that I'm certain contained the ingredients for our dinners. Dinner took so long to serve that we were rushed to find and visit the Lighthouse my daughter was looking forward to. I tried to punch it into GPS but being a lighthouse, it didn't have a street address.  Desperate and trying to beat the sunset, we drove in the direction of the Atlantic Ocean but of course, we couldn't find it. I mean, its only a lighthouse.  On the beach. How easy are those to find?  We did find ourselves in a terrible neighborhood with competing dealers on street corners.  I was wondering if I was being a little paranoid when one of my kids said "Mom, you have got to get us out of here.  What are you THINKING???" Yes, it was that scary.  Even so, I was tempted to roll down my window and ask "Mr. Dealer, sir, do you have anything for gypsy curses?  No?  How about stressful vacations?"  Sometimes your best adventure awaits you on the path not taken.  

As I was dragging our luggage down to the lobby the next morning, I saw a huge road construction machine working the street in front of the hotel.  I remember my Spidey senses tingling and a thought like "Uh, oh, this can't be good."  My wife pulled in with our car and the machine proceeded to dig a 3 foot trench in the road we needed to exit on.  Really, I would not have been surprised if Gandalf himself had popped out of the trench in a hardhat, an orange blazer, and a "STOP" sign in hand, shouting "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!!" Ho-hum, another day, another obstacle.  7 days down, 7 to go and that cruel gypsy was not finished with us yet.  To be continued...