Lobster Teriyaki and Other Feats of Culture - Day 2

I generally like getting the worst of something out of the way first. With vacations you rarely have a say in the matter, but sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, Murphy takes a summer break too and things end up going your way! Now, several weeks after the fact, I can say definitively that with that first travel day the worst of the vacation was over. It was pretty smooth sailing from there on out. Makes for a great vacation, but on reflection, probably not for a great story. Kinda takes the drama and foreshadowing out of it. If the Agatha Christie or Tom Clancy estates are looking for literary heirs, I expect I need not apply. But continuing on...

 In disorienting contrast with our preconceived assumptions, when we got up the next morning the hotel was not flooded with teenagers. There was not even a whiff of teen spirit on the air. They all must have been wispy night apparitions which vanished into the airy regions at the first appearance of "dawn's rosy blooms." Or rather, they were all now huddled on their fold-out cots, sleeping off their partying. But at any rate the hotel which had seemed creepy and a little ominous last night had transformed into Family Town. The place was a-buzz with moms, pops, and sets of 2.3 kids. We were definitely right in the core demographic - except for one criterion. None of the families spoke English. It was as though all of Quebec had bedded down at the "Howard Zhonsonz." (Perhaps they had been misinformed as to its Michelin rating.) As we ate breakfast in the crowded mini-dining room our kids just stared at all the other kids, fascinated that they could move their mouths and have only music come out.

After breakfast, Whiskey Pete was kind enough to give us a shuttle ride back to the airport. 9am had arrived and the value of my rental car had plummeted the necessary $2000, so we loaded up and hit the road. Eight or nine hours behind schedule, but rested (sorta) and fed (sorta) and ready to give things another go.

We had barely hit the road when we unhit it. On driving by an exit not a half a dozen miles from where we'd joined the turnpike Stacy gave a loud squeal and dragged Hiroko's attention to something off the starboard bow. "Look! A such-and-such store! They have wonderful whatever-you-call its! Steve, turn off here! I have to see their thing-a-ma-bobs!" Knowing I was outnumbered and that I was flirting with at least four hours of potential complaining ahead of me, I swerved to the off ramp and brought us gracefully down to the surface streets. "You can wait in the car with the kids if you want," she so generously offered. "We'll only be a second."

As Stacy and Hiroko went bounding giddily into the store I knew in my heart of hearts that a "second" would stretch monsterously into something much more akin to a half hour. Rather than listen to 30 minutes of "He touched me!" from the back seat - and I don't mean the Gospel song, I decided to make the most of the time and buy myself some cool-daddy points. There had been a Dunkin' Donuts on the other side of the off ramp. "Donuts around the horn! And hot chocolate too if you confess me to be the Best-Dad-Ever."

Several sticky minutes later we were back at the storefront and only had to wait another 10 minutes or so for the second to expire. I was slightly pleased to see that when Stacy and Hiroko returned they were empty handed. Evidently the doo-hickies they looked at were too big to pack into suitcase, so they would have to track them down when they got back in LA/Detroit. All in all, I reflected, the stop was a win-win for me. Happy wife. Sugared up kids thinking me a rockstar. And no capital outlay beyond a handful of donuts and a cup of joe! Score!

Mt. Katahdin - it's there... somewhere...  behind the clouds I guess.

The remainder of the drive to the north country was smooth, but less than memorable. I know a lunch at a Wendy's snuck in there somewhere, but it was so uninspired I only vaguely recall it. We did get to give Hiroko her first view of Maine's Mount Katahdin from an interstate scenic overlook, but other than that, the rest of the interminable drive to Patten and the flurry of suitcases that followed can be, well... overlooked.