Ode to Steph (make up your tune)

Mom and I started off bright and early this morning. By that, I mean it was still very dark when we left at 5 in the morning. Mom was first up in the driving schedule, since I basically cannot function until 8 or 9 am (on a good day). So while Mom drove, I slept in the passenger seat. It was awesome. I woke up around the time we hit Bennington, Vermont, a place I was familiar with only because I had driven through the same way two weeks earlier to visit a friend in Clifton Park, NY.

Bennington is a cute little town, most noticiable for the moose statues scattered along the route to route 7. Obviously, we took pictures.

(The one above is my favorite, which is why it's being posted despite the photo quality)

Mom mentions that I missed the drive into Bennington, which means I didn't get to see Prospect Mountain and Greenwood Lodge, where Mom spent many weekends and vacationed at during her ill-spent youth (Steph contributed to the writing style of this piece).  Mom insists she actually worked there, but we're a little doubtful.  She says confirm with Stuart Scharff, who drove her back and forth from NY, many times.

I went back to sleep after Bennington.  It was still too early.

The next time I woke up, we were just pulling into Troy, New York.  Again, I recognized the place from my trip to Clifton Park.  We headed down 287 S and then connected to the NY Thruway, heading west.  As we pulled onto the Thruway, Martha (our GPS, who speaks very properly and often startles me out of a cat nap) informed us that we were to continue for 272 miles.

Mom and I just kind of looked at each other.  Because, well, that's a lot of miles.  So on we went.

We have now reached a very specific point in this blog post.  The point where if this post was a movie, we would cut to a montage of people looking out windows, watching the world whiz by.  Movies do this for a reason.  The reason?  Driving 272 miles is boring.  It just is.  It stretches beyond the point of "oh, look at this new place" and into the "look,it's another tree, lovely" territory.  But we stopped here and there, getting some coffee, taking a little break to walk, etc.  Places like Chittenango.

I'm particularly fond of the people in the background.  I wish we'd talked.

After Chittenango, we drove on.

We finally decided that we would have lunch in Buffalo, NY.  I was driving at this point; Mom was looking at a fantastic book called "Next Exit" which details all the places off each exit off the interstates in America.  There was only one place to eat in our minds.

The Mighty Taco.  There was no other restaurant for us.  Now, there is a story behind Mighty Taco.

When my dad was an undergrad, he attended SUNY Buffalo. Like most college students, he and his friends ate when the dining halls opened--at 4:30 in the afternoon.  So, by 8 or 8:30, they were all hungry again.  So they went to Mighty Taco.

Which is why we went to Mighty Taco.  (Yes, okay, it's not really a classic story in the sense of a beginning, climax, and end, but it's what you're getting.  I'm sure you'll survive.)  In the end, it was much like Taco Bell, but with much less gastrointestinal distress.  But it was fun to go to a place that had been a part of my dad's youth.

After lunch, Mom started driving again.  And damn, did we drive.  We ended up making the rest of the trip as a straight shot--no breaks.  We left Mighty Taco around 1:30 or so; we arrived at Steph's house at 4:30ish.  Mom drove the entire way.  I'm not sure why.  In the meantime, I beat 19 levels of Angry Birds.  I'm pretty cool.

Once at Steph's, we said many many hellos to her and Beano (Reno) the fluffiest golden retriever ever.  We got a little tour of the new house, which is fantastic, and then took a walk around the neighborhood, as Mom and I were both moaning about finally being free from the car.

Steph served us a fantastic pot roast and has promised us a lovely dessert as well.  It's fantastic to see her once more before I become a California girl (since it will alter my personality instantly) and to have the perfect stopping point.  Puppies, pot roast, Steph, and (of course) wine.  It works well.

As a brief summary of today--good job if you read the whole thing--we drove.  A lot.  To be specific, 636 miles.  It's a start.

B.