Leaving New England, and as we passed through what New York had left and exchanged $10 / pack cigarettes for the Pennsylvania Wilds, heading back to Pittsburgh via the PA Grand Canyon and all of it’s splendor, it certainly feels like we’re finishing one trip to embark on another. The next stretch, through Ohio and on through Michigan to find ourselves some peace of the back road, would surely prove stoplight after strip mall.
A mama finds herself hot and bothered by an oft-cranky youngster. Win abides.
A Lady Bus sits, displaying proudly her trash, at the edge of Slovak Lake, dyed with algae blue as bass fisherman hook their stocked prize. New York’s Route 8 will be one of our last in the Empire State.
A hippie baby, named for the freshly fallen snow, throws up a simultaneous peace sign / finger suck.
The gravel circle that is our wing of Canyon Country RV Park, situated a short hike away from the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon (where Tristan and I had previously been asked less than nicely to leave from for presenting a non-valid Good Sam discount email instead of the official card).
Random cheap motels north of Pittsburgh, where a good Sheetz will supply you with decent iced coffees in the morning, even if the motel’s sheets don’t get washed.
Ah, the good times in the Steel City of Bridges. I love her Three Rivers, her South and her Shady sides, and I mostly of all adored a day with Ryan and Tristan. While batting cages proved faster and more difficult than the driving range (where I finally succeeded to near the realization that we might one day okay a game of actual golf where I didn’t feel like a true outofbounder). Ah, brotherly love.
In Ohio’s Amish Country we park a ridge below the RVyard that is all open sunfield packed with the big boys and their full hookups. A gloriously old and kind couple parked beside us (picture, as always, unavailable) came over to regale their traveling hey days, when they drove a VW Bug from Ohio to Tijuana, Mexico, how they loved to traverse the West but with age and dwindling time they’ve been more Ohio-bound. Grandma called her husband the babies grampa, quickly correcting herself but as they left he wished us safe travel and told the baby he loved him. A few hours later he returned to offer some dryer than the park could provide wood. He told me more tales of travel, we talked about the Amish and our similar German roots (he spoke German fluently) and he told me of living through the Great Depression.
And here we sit, after a weekend of living graciously wonderfully with Lady’s mom and her sister and brother (a weekend of grand Michigander debauchery, complete with tales of teenage past), in the finally cool breeze of afternoon “Up North” Michigan, hoping a baby will find himself some sleep and we might peruse whatever future is in store for our night. I’m excited for some UP, some two lanes through nowhere nothingness, some finally back to wylder nation.