Brockton Rob

 

HEY! Exit 55. That's a great name for something!

BROCKTON, Ma -- The spirit of Rocky Marciano is wafting over me.

Or maybe it's Steve "Bye Bye" Balboni.

Or Al Davis.

Those are three of the famous names from fabulous Brockton, Mass where I am staying tonight and tomorrow.

This only puts me a short drive from Yankees Hater Central.

No -- not Citi Field. That's the OTHER Yankees Haterland.

I mean Boston.

AJ and Victoria are getting (officially) married tomorrow roughly a half-hour away from my hotel. Well, they sort of already are but tomorrow is their long-awaited group hug.

For reasons unknown to me, they requested my presence. So I'm here representing not only me but Susan, Shawn, and Sean.

I'm pleased but wow that was an eventful ride. Greenwich to Brockton shouldn't take 4.5 hours.

Best laid plans, of course (because I'm me). I decided I'd go call Brunswick's football game (the Bruins won 20-15) then drive to Brockton. Three hours, according to every app that I checked.

Except that the apps -- initially -- didn't consider that Connecticut traffic might be the Hellmouth. The delays started not long after I turned onto the northbound Merritt Parkway and never really let up. The doesn't mean I didn't have pockets of some pleasant driving but it was minimal.

The traffic sucked -- that's the word -- the life out of me from Greenwich to Stamford to Norwalk to Fairfield until I finally departed to get to Interstate 95.

Then began the comical collection of stops that I made. In Milford, CT (around the 90-minute mark) I strolled into a Joseph A. Bank store to see if they had any white button-down shirts. It's a men's store. A no-brainer, right?

You can guess the answer. 

Around this time I felt I needed food but a cup of coffee would suffice at Dunkin Donuts (sorry, I'm still calling it that) and embarrassed myself by waiting to order at the pickup window in the store.

Yeah. We were off to a stellar start.

So I drove on with my coffee in hand. I knew even if I wanted to dabble in the so-called pizza capital (New Haven) I'd have to place a takeout order. The headaches weren't worth it. I figured I was better off stopping and eating at nearby Ikea instead. In hindsight that would have been the best call.

I carried on along the shoreline, crossing into Rhode Island as darkness approached (my phone says it was 6:17 p.m.).

I figured food would need to be of the fast variety. Again, in hindsight, maybe I should have found a Buffalo Wild Wings or somewhere else to hang out.

Wendy's? OK, sure. Chicken sandwich and a restroom break? Er. No. The dining room was closed and, as such, no bathroom access. By that point, the line to the drive-thru window was ridiculous.

A Chick-fil-A up the road that I drove out of the way to? Yeah...I'd still be waiting for my food.

The same went for a second Chick-fil-A after I crossed into Massachusetts.

Oh, and there was the near rear-ending of the car that stopped short in front of me on 95 in Providence.

I just gave up. I hoped I would figure food out at the hotel and, thankfully, I had some pretzels I bought earlier in the day in New York.

Interstate 95 gave way to I-495 which I exited to take Mass Route 24.

As I left Route 24 to come to the hotel I spied...wait for it...Chick-fil-A near the hotel. And Buffalo Wild Wings and a few other options.

Which, by the way, the hotel appears to be a repurposed Motel 6. Thankfully they left the light on for me and cleaned everything else. I have no complaints.

Plus there's free coffee and breakfast tomorrow and, if I care, an I-Hop is across the street. But does that mean I'm cheating on Waffle House?

Damn you, Northeast!

Sean and Rascal are back in New York holding down the fort.

I'm stretched out in the room with a Narragansett.

When in Rome.

Or Brockton.