Grant called with the good news that he had an offer to start work with 24/7 WallStreet.com on October 1st. After all of the shouting and back-slapping across the wireless phone waves had died down a bit, he asked if we were still good with the plan to help him move? We were.
He began to immediately pare down his belonging to a minimum so as to fit into Dad's 4Runner for the move to the Upper Eastside of Manhattan. In anticipation of his departure on Monday, September 25; he had prepared the paperwork to transfer his Toyota Camry back into our names (won't need, won't want & can't afford a car in NYC), and made an appointment with an oral surgeon to pull out 2 wisdom teeth first thing Monday morning just before we leave town. His mother accompanied him to the tooth-yanking shop and then she ran some errands while Grant was under anesthesia to pick up pain medications, gauze and other stuff one typically needs in their travels to New York while oozing blood from empty tooth sockets. I stayed back at his place to prepare for the drive. Once they both had signed the vehicle transfer papers before a notary public, he and his mother joined me in our cross country drive to New York, New York! One last spit of blood into the Missouri soil and his soft assurance to his mother under semi-glazed eyeballs that he was feeling fine and ready to go, I pulled onto I-70 East and drove toward his new destiny.
With all 6 cylinders fired up in earnest by mid-morning, we would make it about half-way to The City, necessitating a stop in the heartland. I'd planned our end-of-Day #1 layover for outer edge of Columbus, Ohio. While Grant was prepping the back reaches of his jaw after yesterday morning's trauma, and Sue was getting all pretty, I went down to the dining room with my trusty Cholula bottle (travel size). Breakfast comes with the room, but ranging this far from Texas, one should not assume what the term "breakfast" truly includes to a Buckeye. Therefore, not that I don't trust people from Ohio, heck, my doppelganger James Garfield, was from Ohio; but just maybe them folks don't know no better and I sure can't trust 'em to have a good bottle of that satiny heat that comes from the Cholula Hot Sauce bottle on the breakfast table to make hotel eggs taste almost worthy. I'd just sauced up my helping of eggs, when a man came to my table and reached for my Cholula! I looked up with what must have been a face that expressed something like;
"Why howdy pilgrim, I want to know what kind of a man tries to touch another man's Cholula? Are there no common manners in these parts or are you spoiling for a tussle?
His quick look into my stern face brought him quickly to the recognition of his usurping ways, as he said, "Oh. Is this your bottle of hot sauce?"
"Yes sir. I don't leave home without my Cholula - especially when I'm this far from Texas."
"Sorry, I thought... say, do you mind if I use a bit of your hot sauce?"
Now with our shared affection for flavor and the need of starting the day off with a face full of happy taste buds, I kindly lent this traveling salesman from Cleveland, my personal bottle of morning merry-making for his hotel eggs. He was mighty appreciative, and I was happy to oblige.
I found it surprising how few towns were visible from Interstate 80 as we traversed east across Pennsylvania for most of the day, getting ever closer to New York. The exits seemed few, especially for what I would have considered a populous state, and those few exits offered no glimpses as to fueling stations or the types of businesses or towns set off into the wooded landscape. I recalled my Dad speaking with a member of Scottish Black Watch Pipe and Drum Corps while touring the US and performing in California, when one of the soldiers was asked about his impressions, he offered that their trip across Pennsylvania had "too many bloody trees". Now I see his point. Around mid-day, around the middle of Pennsylvania is was apparent that we would have to come off I-80 and drive some ways through those bloody trees and find a town and maybe some local fare. I chose DuBose [doo-bwa? doo-bows? or something entirely different?], PA for a lunch stop. We didn't find much once we got into town that looked too enticing, so we turned back toward the interstate where we'd seen a restaurant place with several parked pickups and cars at the northern edge of DuBose. We'll give it a whirl.
The cuisine was average at best, but the accumulation of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, Sasquatch and an Amish Buggy with a break pedal at the edge of the parking lot was curious. I was not sure of the connection, if any, but upon parting for an evening arrival in New York, I thought; If having just seen an Amish buggy, Sasquatch and a T-Rex doesn't prepare me for New York and its traffic and sights, nothing will. Let's ride!
He began to immediately pare down his belonging to a minimum so as to fit into Dad's 4Runner for the move to the Upper Eastside of Manhattan. In anticipation of his departure on Monday, September 25; he had prepared the paperwork to transfer his Toyota Camry back into our names (won't need, won't want & can't afford a car in NYC), and made an appointment with an oral surgeon to pull out 2 wisdom teeth first thing Monday morning just before we leave town. His mother accompanied him to the tooth-yanking shop and then she ran some errands while Grant was under anesthesia to pick up pain medications, gauze and other stuff one typically needs in their travels to New York while oozing blood from empty tooth sockets. I stayed back at his place to prepare for the drive. Once they both had signed the vehicle transfer papers before a notary public, he and his mother joined me in our cross country drive to New York, New York! One last spit of blood into the Missouri soil and his soft assurance to his mother under semi-glazed eyeballs that he was feeling fine and ready to go, I pulled onto I-70 East and drove toward his new destiny.
With all 6 cylinders fired up in earnest by mid-morning, we would make it about half-way to The City, necessitating a stop in the heartland. I'd planned our end-of-Day #1 layover for outer edge of Columbus, Ohio. While Grant was prepping the back reaches of his jaw after yesterday morning's trauma, and Sue was getting all pretty, I went down to the dining room with my trusty Cholula bottle (travel size). Breakfast comes with the room, but ranging this far from Texas, one should not assume what the term "breakfast" truly includes to a Buckeye. Therefore, not that I don't trust people from Ohio, heck, my doppelganger James Garfield, was from Ohio; but just maybe them folks don't know no better and I sure can't trust 'em to have a good bottle of that satiny heat that comes from the Cholula Hot Sauce bottle on the breakfast table to make hotel eggs taste almost worthy. I'd just sauced up my helping of eggs, when a man came to my table and reached for my Cholula! I looked up with what must have been a face that expressed something like;
"Why howdy pilgrim, I want to know what kind of a man tries to touch another man's Cholula? Are there no common manners in these parts or are you spoiling for a tussle?
His quick look into my stern face brought him quickly to the recognition of his usurping ways, as he said, "Oh. Is this your bottle of hot sauce?"
"Yes sir. I don't leave home without my Cholula - especially when I'm this far from Texas."
"Sorry, I thought... say, do you mind if I use a bit of your hot sauce?"
Now with our shared affection for flavor and the need of starting the day off with a face full of happy taste buds, I kindly lent this traveling salesman from Cleveland, my personal bottle of morning merry-making for his hotel eggs. He was mighty appreciative, and I was happy to oblige.
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| We grab a bite in DuBose, Pennsylvania where we share our lunch with large chickens and a T-Rex |
The cuisine was average at best, but the accumulation of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, Sasquatch and an Amish Buggy with a break pedal at the edge of the parking lot was curious. I was not sure of the connection, if any, but upon parting for an evening arrival in New York, I thought; If having just seen an Amish buggy, Sasquatch and a T-Rex doesn't prepare me for New York and its traffic and sights, nothing will. Let's ride!
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| An odd assortment off I-80 in Pennsylvanian Maybe this will prepare me for what I will find in New York City |
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| A French Kiss in DuBose? Or Bad advice: Looking a gift T-Rex in the mouth (i.e. You should never...) |
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