Slow Ride

I got it into my head that I’d take a fast trip up to Hoosick Falls to see my best girl Helen, her daughters Madison and Juliana (just missed Crysta -- she’s driving up from Austin and won’t arrive until Monday. RATS!), husband John, Raven, Mister Grey and, their ancient Wookie, Juda.

Now that they’re up here, a three and a half hour drive away, versus Dallas, Texas and now that I have the reliable Wonder Car, Bix, it’s hard to resist these impulses.

So, I mostly don’t.
Thing is, I’m not a great driver. We know this. I don’t drive after dark and not in snow, if that can be at all avoided. An hour long drive is about 55 minutes too long. AND I’m sick to death of driving the Mass Pike. You know, that brightly lit, wide, safe, fast way to get to Hoosick Falls?

The turnpike to NY 22 to the house on Main Street is, MAX, three and a half hours. BUT it’s a boring-ish three and a half. OK, OK, there are beautiful stretches -- mostly in Western Mass and 22 has flat out gorgeous spans.

Obviously I wasn’t inclined to go with my best, smartest instincts and, oopsie, missed the 'Pike entrance.

Ahhh, now we’re cookin’ -- once past Concord on Route 2 the road’s beautiful. It curls and winds --  each little town bringing so much history to mind. Then, before I know it, it’s time to catch 91 North. I’ll skirt past Brattleboro and head west on Vermont 9 through the Green Mountain National Forest  and Molly Stark State Park.

Absolutely, divinely beautiful.

All things being equal -- Brattleboro to Hoosick Falls should take about an hour and 15 minutes. I was golden. Right? I’d be to Hoosick Falls well before dark!

There was lovely mist -- lacy fingers of white brume were corkscrewing through the thick forest on either side of the road. Before I was even half way through the mountains though, those delicate coils had mutated into an horrendously fat, dense, opaque fog.

Note to self: before next trip, learn how to work Bix’s high beams.

All I could see, seriously, was the white line along the right side of the road. That was it. I slowed to a crawl and kept driving. Why didn’t I pull over? Maybe find a hotel and continue on in the clear, sunny morning?

Did I mention? I couldn’t see anything but that white line and, if there were lay-bys, they were hidden in the white soupy air.

Scary as all hell is what this was. OK, it was exhilarating too.

I finally arrived at the wonderful Brown home, well after the light of day was gone and aching from the tension that’d gripped my spine throughout the last bit of my journey.

Madison and Julianna mauled me with hugs, Helen baked me a maple bourbon pecan pie (YUM!!!) and John brought me a shaker of lemon drops  . And there was a warm fire burning in the hearth.

What could be better?

Oh, they sent out for Chinese food for dinner and, remarkably given how small the town is, the food was awesome! If you’re up that way -- get yourself some take out at Great Wall.

So, I’d learned a lesson and took the Mass Pike home. Right? Nope. I just couldn’t resist the astounding beauty of the road through the Green Mountains. There was the slightest suggestion of snow. A flake or two drifting by but that was it. No enveloping fog this time.
Slow Ride -- Foghat