Horses & Eggs

Earlier this month I drove up to Vermont for my Cousin Janet's wedding. First of all, now that the event is history, I can tell you that Cousin Janet is actually my friend since 6th grade, Suzanne. Since "Aunt Magenta" was a model of non-meddling decorum, it is safe to end the masquerade.

I explored different methods of getting from Virginia to Vermont, but my heart was set on a road trip. Traveling by air was barely a consideration. I used to enjoy air travel, but now I'd rather have a spinal tap. I could have saved a lot of money by going up by rail, but I would have arrived in Albany (the nearest train station) at an ungodly hour. Also, I would have endured a lengthy layover in New York, and what's the fun in that if you are trapped in Penn Station by luggage?

I've made car trips to New England before, so I knew that I wanted to take an inland route rather than the I-95/New Jersey Turnpike corridor. From Richmond, I took I-95 as far as Fredericksburg, and then angled up through Warrenton to link up with Route 15, which would take me up to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. This would allow me to bypass most of the Northern Virginia/D.C. traffic, which I wanted to avoid at all costs.

Northern Virginia is a soulless hellhole of six-lane arteries which overlay a network of ancient pig trails. Every neighborhood looks the same, differing only in age. Traffic is fierce, no one is where they want to be at any given moment, and courtesy flies out the car window as soon as keys are inserted into ignitions. I hate driving in Northern Virginia, in case you can't tell.

Imagine my dismay and disgust when I was greeted by a sign reading "Entering Fairfax." Fairfax is the epicenter of the very area I most wanted to avoid. I knew that my mistake would cost me dearly in terms of time. The only thing I could do was extricate myself as quickly as possible, before my soul got sucked out of my nostrils. No time for regrets.

Soon enough, I was back on Route 15 where I belonged. I left Leesburg behind, and crossed over the Potomac River to Point of Rocks, Maryland. Seeing the sign for Maryland reminded me of how excited I would get when I was little, and we would travel as a family to visit my grandmother in Iowa. I wanted to see the sign at each new state, and hated it when I missed one because I was napping.

The road took me through Frederick, and then into the Catoctin Mountains. I waved at Camp David, and gassed up at Thurmont. From there, it was a short drive to the sign welcoming me to Pennsylvania. The road bypassed Gettysburg, which I had planned on driving through to see if a certain diner was still operating, but my detour through Fairfax kept me at the wheel. At the Susquehanna River, I had a grand view of Pennsylvania's green-domed Capitol across the water, and linked up with I-81.

I'm not a fan of Interstate highways, but now I could make good time. Or so I thought. Note to the PA Highway Department: it may not be necessary to narrow the traffic to a single lane for fifteen mile stretches when the workers are only laboring on an expanse of one hundred feet. Just sayin'. This happened more than once.

Pennsylvania gave way to New York state reluctantly, and Binghamton came shortly after the welcome sign to the Empire State. Here, I needed to be sure that I veered off on I-88 toward Albany, so I quickly got on a lengthy call with Sheldon so I could miss the junction. Noticing that I was wayward once again, I got off the Interstate at Whitney Point to check the map. I didn't want to backtrack; there's little joy in that, so I found a two-lane highway that would take me to I-88. This was a happy accident, because it was a beautiful country road, and I went through a charming village called Greene.

Along the way to the right road, I heard a fascinating interview with Oliver Sacks on the radio. Oliver Sacks has written many books, but we may best recognize him for Awakenings, which inspired a movie of the same name starring Robert De Niro. His book, Musicophilia, which concerns the relationship of music to the human brain, was discussed.

I passed by a farm with a sign at the end of its lane which read "Horses & Eggs." I made a mental note of the location, because it's hard to get horses and eggs without making two stops. Small towns, diners and antique shops, and signs like "Horses & Eggs" are why I like the roads less traveled. These make the journey an event to enjoy rather than endure. I felt a simple connection to the unseen people in the houses I passed. We're all on the road together.

It was well dark by the time I reached Bennington, Vermont. I'll be back to tell you about Suzanne's elegant wedding.