 |
| 2019 |
It's the middle of February and I'm feeling the pull of the road.
Last week's wrestling drive to New Jersey didn't quite satisfy me. Simply the snow that was falling at that hour took a lot of that joy away.
It all got me thinking about February in the 1980s when we'd pile into the silver Chevy Impala and begin the drive to Florida to visit my grandparents.
For those expecting Waffle House on those trips, you'd actually be wrong. In fact, leaving Mahopac early in the morning meant grabbing breakfast most likely at the Olympic Diner over on US 6. While my father always preferred the Crompond Diner in Yorktown, the Olympic was open 24/7. The Crompond opened at 6 a.m. and my dad -- generally -- wanted to be further down the road by then.
Can you see now where I got the love of driving early from?
Our place of choice on the road was always Howard Johnson's (RIP). I knew the locations, basically, of each one and if there was an attached hotel/motor lodge.
As the next meal time would approach, Dad would consult the computer (my brain) for the location of the nearest HOJO's.
As we might be on the road around 5 a.m., that lined us up to be in the Richmond, VA area at lunch. Thus, I knew the exit for VA Route 10 would yield a Howard Johnson's on the right side just off the ramp.
Of course, back then, I was also juggling handing my father toll money, either for the NJ Turnpike, Baltimore Harbor Tunnel, or the Richmond-Petersburg Turnpike.
By dinner time, if we were on our game, we'd hit Florence, SC at Exit 164. Again, a right turn would produce a comfy HOJO's where we'd spend the night. Dinner and breakfast would both be consumed there.
In the morning, I'd experience the most delightful bliss. After my father consumed the Big Breakfast and myriad cups of coffee, we'd climb back in the Impala. My mother and sister would take the back seat, perhaps ready to sleep some more as it was pitch black outside, and I'd have my maps ready to go up front (not needed, of course). I was also in charge of the (AM) radio.
Yes, even up to our last trip in 1986, we only had an AM radio. That is until I started carrying my Panasonic AM/FM boom box. Then we had FM and cassettes, so long as we had batteries.
But, most wonderful of all, it was mostly some trucks and us heading south on I-95. I can still remember asking my dad -- sometime in the early 80s -- why trucks would flash their lights at us as they finished passing. At the same time, why was he passing them?
"It was courtesy," he explained, a language that truck drivers (which he was one of) knew. "I'm telling them they have room to pull in front of us and they're thanking me."
I never forgot and still do it to this day. Don't get me wrong -- I'm sure you do it also -- but I always felt like it was a little top of the steering wheel to the old man.
The job of being his co-pilot was one I treasured with my tasks of radio changing and HOJO's finding and toll paying and other duties as assigned. One of those was always waiting for the exit at Jacksonville, FL when he'd try to remember if that was the right way to go. Thus, I'd chime in.
"Yes, we take 295 around to 10," I'd say, even if "he knew."
The drive to and from Florida is one that I'd absolutely love to do though I know it would be much different than when my dad was alive. For one thing, he insisted on a sit-down meal every time. That's not my style at all. I'm pretty content to grab a sandwich at Wawa or Sheetz. Breakfast, needless to say, would likely be at...come on, sing along!
Waffle House.
Either way, I just like to keep moving.
But style differences wouldn't be the only thing to change. Traffic pinch points are different. The grind of certain spots -- looking at you, northern Virginia -- is worse than ever.
We would rarely consider a different route unless we were trying to change things up back in the 70s and 80s. My brain now is constantly spinning with how to get around the mess known as Washington, D.C.
Lodging is also different. Howard Johnson's just aren't what they were. For one thing, their beds fit my dad's physical concerns best given his constant pain due to arthritis.
Now, it would depend on where we were stopping.
I always loved packing the car and bringing a jacket just for the morning in New York. By the afternoon, whether due to warmer temperatures or just plain stubbornness, the jacket would be in the trunk. It was no longer necessary.
That day is coming. That early morning departure is one the way.
A road trip is good for my soul.
I look forward to it.
Thanks for letting me babble.
No comments:
Post a Comment