We're getting pretty good at this! We pulled out in Little Red at 10:20 a.m. with all the laundry done, all the ironing finished, all the dishes put away and all the bills paid. The mailman came just in time. Andy had vacuumed out Little Red, so it was a "low stress" morning to load the car, collect some beverages and hit the road. From tradition, I hummed "On the Road Again." It felt good.
Overhead the sky was a cloudless blue as we sailed around Danbury on Route 84 and headed west.
"Rain by late evening," the radio had predicted, but not here, not now. We were gypsies on the move.Not wishing to be recognized so he could take the true pulse of America, John Steinbeck carried no identification. we, on the other hand, prepared for any eventuality: oil in the trunk, band aids in the glove compartment, quarters for laundry in the dashboard slot, and hand sanitizer in the console. Prepared, we crossed the Hudson and headed toward Pennsylvania. Afternoon temperatures sky rocketed and a layer of white clouds washed above us.
Still chugging along after nearly 18 years, my Little Red Saturn looks nearly new. "Don't jinx it!" says Andy. |
Our first night at Rhodeway Inn in Carlisle gave us the opportunity to visit Dickinson College, a stately grey Pennsylvania limestone campus, that extended for blocks through the heart of the city. My college guide said, 55% female, $55,000 a year now, and just a little fewer than 2,400 students, all living on campus.
"No drought here," noticed Andy, as we tooled past corn fields, farms and well-kept rambling ranch houses with spacious lawns.
In the city row houses, with meticulously manicured window boxes and neatly painted trim, lined the streets. "What a lovely town in middle America," we agreed.
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