Brant hadn't slept the night before, but had simultaneously been to tired to safely tackle the highway. So when the alarm chirped insistently at dawn, B was in no state of get-up-and-go. Determined to get on the road and on with the trip, I coaxed him to sluice his near sleeping body up to the cab, buckle himself in to the back seat, cover up and re-crash. Then I drove through Mississippi before 8:00am.
Between the two of us, we hit (or tapped in some cases) nine states in four days. On a variety of numbered highways we cruised up through Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Georgia, Pennsylvania and finally New York. Now, by no means are we going to claim that we explored or even tasted these states. We're going to catch them in more detail on the trek from north to south, cold to hot, Maine to Florida.
Somewhere in Alabama.
As it was, we juggled work with driving and got through an unabridged Dean Koontz novel on tape. We discovered fire flies. We sampled rest areas. We marveled at the unbelievable green of it all. Where in the west there are great expanses of desert, here there were great expanses of such dense foliage you'd swear you were in a rainforest.
Waking up on the road with a morning stretch.
I said we were juggling work!
On the early afternoon of Independence Day, we rumbled into Selkirk Shores State Park on the eastern edge of Lake Ontario in the many-faced state of New York. The drive into the park was green and green and more green. The lawn on either side of the paved highway was trimmed neatly, and the winding path into the heart of the park was kept well. We made it to the beach and took the wind meter with us to dip our toes in the water of the Great Lakes. The wind was light and the beach was full of folks there for the Fourth. We decided the wind might pick up and the crowds might die off a bit later, so we napped off the driving cramps until dusk showed up in the distance.
Selkirk Shores.
Upon closer inspection, we discovered that the wind hadn't picked up enough for the kites. And there were dead fish everywhere on the beach. The nuclear power plant puffed mightily across the water. Connection? We asked some boys on their way out to fish (for live ones we figured), and they said that the bass had just spawned, and after spawning they died and washed up on the beach. We asked a bunch of people, and got answers in all shapes in sizes.
The other beach-goer.
We got much needed groceries in Water Town, made a great dinner, and slept well, reveling in the cool night air. New York, though still to prove itself for sports, was way better than the gulf states for sleeping. Somehow, we didn't even realize the absence of fireworks until later the next day.
One of the GORGEOUS, but unkiteable, spots.
This morning we rose early and began the quest for a kite-board-able spot along the shores of Lake Ontario. We spent over four hours tucking into nooks and crannies, along tiny neighborhood roads that looked promising on the map. None proved worthy. Finally we headed down to Fair Haven, where we'd heard windsurfers had been spotted in the past. Sure enough, the beach was clear of trees, something that we had learned was not so easy to find in New York thus far. With the meter reading a promising 10mph, we pumped up the brand new 11.0 and launched it. Wetsuit-clad, Brant flew the kite on the beach, board ready, but the wind just wasn't there, so we brought it down and packed it away and decided to give Fair Haven another chance in the morning.
BP, ever hopeful, but not enough wind.
We spent the evening and the sunset on the shores of Lake Ontario with a few other beach patrons enjoying the water and the surroundings. Our compatriots were engaged in a thrilling game of "Throw Rocks Into The Water And I'll Try To Find Them While Spouting Profanity," and we entertained ourselves as spectators. Tomorrow we'll return to our usual programming, and get the "extreme" back into The Extreme Road Trip.
