Too Much Driving

As much as I like road trips, I've probably driven my last one.  The route took my odometer up some 1880 miles over a week, traversing five states with two destination stops and two overnight motel rests.  My one-day behind the wheel capacity now seems to be a bit over 400 miles, considerably less than in my 20s when school took me from the East Coast to school in the midwest about twice a year.  If my sleep pattern as a Senior is interrupted in my own bed, the motel beds do not do much better.  

In some ways, long drives have gotten easier over three decades. GPS far outperforms maps and written turn directions. The Interstate Highway System is reasonably complete and sophisticated.  At each interchange there are separate signs for lodging, food, and gas to be found nearby.  At the end of the ramps, signs indicate which direction the driver needs to turn for the chosen service.  Smartphones have made setting up hotel reservations on short notice straightforward.  The gas stations have affiliated convenience stores for coffee and refreshments, sometimes more substantial food.  And all these places are economical, with gasoline costing less than at home and quick overnight motels less expensive than the places I booked for my intended destinations.

As I drove along the Interstates in Virginia's full north-south dimension and the eastern half of Tennessee's east-west dimension, there were places to stop such as state parks, wineries, or mini-historical sites, each providing brief rest to those who need to move on, though perhaps more of a destination to people who live near those places. 

Modern automotive advances also make these journeys easier.  My smartphone will read an audiobook as I drive or I can set Bluetooth to music.  Radios have channel selectors that find local stations.  Cruise control can be used for large sections of highway.  Speed limits have gotten higher.  Virginia made the scenery visible from the highway attractive.  TN and WV did not.

The drive sometimes has its hassles.  I like stopping at universities as the break option, visiting the bookstores, often purchasing a logo coffee mug.  I didn't do well this time, as we visited close to moving day and signs for visitor parking were few.  My long drives are always to some pre-determined attraction, this time Nashville and Great Smoky Mountains National Park.  This always raises an important element in the analysis.  Was the effort of getting there, whether a substantial time on the road or airport irritations, justified by the purpose of the trip?  For the western national parks it always is.  It usually is to visit an international attractions such as Niagara Falls or a unique city like Charleston.  Nashville and the Smokies seemed less so.  A lot of driving for a garish few blocks of loud country music and a park with limited geological uniqueness, to say nothing of the mostly annoying town that supports it. Parking provided by hotels, but something of a ripoff and ordeal when dealing with the municipalities.  I think of Gatlinburg as rural, but parking fees may keep the town afloat. I avoided the expensive flat rate lots.  In Nashville and in Gatlinburg, each city has automated parking validation by card, with a mechanism I delegated to my wife, as it was not obvious to me.  Meters were better.

Travel also brings you to people.  They were invariably pleasant.  Our weekend at the Park coincided with a national convention of Jeep owners, thousands of them, so I got to chat with a few briefly about their interests.  With the Grand Ole Opry I expected people wrapped in the Cross and the Flag.  While it attracted almost no people of darker complexion, and some Gospel elements were built into the music, the experience seemed less sectarian than I expected.  And The Hermitage, plantation of Andrew Jackson, offered much insight into the era and its economics, the estate required much walking.

While I considered driving all the way home from the park, about nine hours, safety concerns prevailed.  I left the final three and a half hours, much through populated areas, for the following morning.  I arrived home at mid-day, unpacked after some rest in my own bed, then picked up a few things I would need to make supper.  I'm tired.  

While I needed different scenery, which is what I got, the strain on me this time might have exceeded the benefits of the two destinations.  And my wife, as passenger with a chance to amuse herself with her cell phone for hours as I drove, did not seem to tolerate the travel very well either. She developed a fever, testing positive for Covid. Likely our last multiday drive.

Not Worth It

Anticipated a few Me Days this summer, including an outing to Hersheypark yesterday.  As a senior, I really don't need stuff.  I value experiences much more, and I am willing to spend a bit to acquire some. Experiences do not always have to be new, though those seem to be the most valued.  

Centerpiece Hersheypark.  Bookends Shady Maple Smorgasbord before, a pint at the Troegs Brewery after.  Great breakfast.  Refreshing pilsner.  And at least going, the Waze GPS took me on a pleasant drive through interesting towns.  I could see that some had inordinate numbers of churches, many quite large.  Other places seemed to have a few major employers and businesses to service them.  A few were dominated by farms along the roadside.  And then there is the massive Milton Hershey School, originally a legacy gift to support fatherless boys, since modernized to contemporary needs.  And the GPS took me to residential Hershey with the houses I might have shopped for had I taken a job with their medical center, the school, or the research division of the chocolate company that paid well enough to acquire that type of upper middle class home.

And then the park itself.  Not a good experience, certainly not worth the $100 or so I spent to be there.  While not the park's fault, or perhaps some of the experience might be, I found the adventure difficult.  Considerable hike from my space under parking lot pole #74 to the tram pickup, all while toting my swimming stuff that I would need for their waterpark.  While I prepaid, my voucher and screenshot did not have a bar code so they sent be to the ticket agent to get a legit ticket.  And then there's walking.  A lot of walking.  My smartwatch is not waterproof so I left it home, thus I had no step counter.  Had I been wearing it, that 8000 step signal of my daily goal would have been reached early.  And while Hershey seems pretty flat in the car, there are a lot of upslopes.

No coasters for me.  My only rides were an antique car with a line that moved slowly for a minimal experience, and the choo choo train which took me four queries to find.  Signage could have been thought better, maps were few and not terribly helpful.  I just do not know the significance of an arrow pointing to The Hollow.

My destination was really the waterpark.  Finding the changing facility was not obvious.  I needed assistance to rent and find a locker.  Lazy River is my preferred start.  Asked four different people how to get there.  They pointed to it but did not specify the entrance.  And they did not call it a Lazy River that anyone would recognize, but the more proprietary Intercoastal.  Line to enter was eight rows deep.  I had set my watch aside.  My turn eventually came, probably about 45 minutes later for two floats in a big transparent tube, which at least noted front-back and R-L, where my limited flexibility could not position me optimally.  Next, the wave pool.  Asked three more people where it was until a security guard told me its proprietary name and understood that I wanted its entrance.  It was not operating.  Went back to a changing room that didn't look like the one I had used and the adjacent lockers had different numbers.  I asked the attendant directions to the other locker room.  He erroneously advised me that there was no other.  Obviously not true.  By then I had a few landmarks like Nathan's Hot Dogs which was nearby.  Green is easy to find.  Then my locker and changing room appeared with it.

By now, I had been on site about 3.5 hours.  Not amused.  Not thrilled.  At least the park signs pointed to the main gate until a key intersection where the arrow no longer appeared.  I thought I might take a break and ride the monorail which gives a vista of the park.  My place in the slow, episodic line was two trains worth.  I left and took my time to the entrance.  I got my forearm stamped on the off-chance I might want to return.  A quick run through one of their many locations to buy tchotchkes.  Not a bad place to get a Hanukkah gift that cannot be duplicated in local stores.  I passed this time.

Not a great place for seniors unless they are escorting grandchildren.  It's probably gratifying to treat the little ones to some rides and some of the water slides and maybe even splurging for snacks more unique than what they have at home, all clustered in one place.  For an older person alone, ticket significantly discounted or people like me would not go at all, it seemed like more of an arcade.  Places to eat, too many places to eat.  Games you can't win.  Caricature artists, photographers, henna kiosks all creating a different version of you than the one you've adapted to.  Coasters too hazardous.  Lines not justified for their end points.  Several non-operative attractions.  And more wandering around generated by staff not really trained to give accurate directions or draw a map on paper and by signage that seemed more proprietary than helpful.  Maybe with intent.  Tired of the upslopes, get some ice cream or a soda.

While getting there was recreational, I needed to extend the recreation a bit from a trying day.  Made it back to my very hot car, set the GPS for Troegs Brewery whose magnificent tour I once enjoyed.  Only five minutes of easy driving from the park.  No tour this time.  Just a short walk from their parking lot, a few smartphone photos of their building, and a half hour or so to indulge my fondness for the variety of craft brews.  Very long list, took my time, selected a pilsner.  Sipped at my leisure.  Quiet time.  More quiet time as my GPS algorithm decided that the two hours to get home would be highway, not scenic.

Trips Downstate

Have not yet left my home state of Delaware , one of America's smallest, on this year's day trips.  Its north-south dimension far exceeds its east-west dimension, but it only takes two hours to drive from the northern border where I live to the beach at the southeastern corner, which is what I did yesterday, a trans-state journey done about once a year for decades.  Between spring break from Osher Institute through summer's end, I ventured over much of Route 1 south four other times with four other destinations.  What differed this year are the routes calculated by a different GPS which directed me to places I've not yet seen.

My tenure in my home state predates the GPS and even it s current main thoroughfare by quite a lot of years.  Delaware has had a north-south road that essentially bisects the state since the early days of the automobile.  A parallel north-south road with slightly different route number came later, providing a second path for people headed to a different set of small towns, starting at about the state's midpoint.  Using maps from the gas stations, of blessed memory, when I wanted to go to my state's beaches I could follow our main traversing road, then south of our capital, veer eastward on another road to the resort towns.  If I wanted to continue on farther south on the eastern seaboard, I could take the parallel road through the rest of the state.  Either way, the road connected, maybe even created, small towns along the route.  From the car window there were farms, a few strip malls, some state facilities.

The GPS and the limited access highway each transformed the trip through my state in its own way.  The highway, with two nominal tolls, made the drive to the beach more direct and considerably faster.  The GPS, with algorithms that differ a bit between brands, or now apps, vary the paths once exiting from the main roads to reach the final destination.

This year I installed a new app to get me where I want to go, including downstate.  I've wanted to go fishing, to visit relatives from Florida who had rented a house for part of the summer in a historical though growing town, the State Fair which takes place at approximately my state's geographic center, and two beaches in two State Parks.  Five trips, predominantly highway or numbered state route until the final few miles.  This year my new GPS changed that final part of each route in a most gratifying way.

My intent this spring  had been to fish at the Indian River Inlet.  Usually other anglers cast their hopes in a small cluster.  I could not find them, nor could I see anyone to ask.  Instead, fishing plan B, the pier at Cape Henlopen State Park.  As it routed me back onto the Coastal Highway, I detoured into Rehoboth from the connecting road at Dewey Beach.  Past Silver Lake, surrounded by lovely homes, and apparently another fishing option that I could not access.  Driving along, I came to the town of Rehoboth where I've not been in some twenty years.  Still free parking in March.  Strolled along the sidewalks, sparsely populated but no longer truly seasonal.  Most stores open allowing a few chats with the salespeople about what had changed since my last visit.  Made it past the bandstand to the Boardwalk.  Beach treats available, Thrashers, Grotto, Candy Kitchen, though none on my agenda that morning.   Back to my parking spot, on to the fishing pier, shared with but a few anglers.  No bites for any of us.

Beach time in June.  Cape Henlopen State Park has a lot of different pathways once exiting Route 1.  GPS suggested one unfamiliar to me.  I stayed with the familiar.  However the following month, I had occasion to visit a relative from Florida, not seen in ten years.  She had rented a house within walking distance of Lewes' marina and downtown, across a drawbridge, scenic and interesting destinations in their own right.  It had been years since my last time there.  Exiting the Coastal Highway has several options.  The GPS took me along what I assume is the shortest.  Off at Nassau Road, past a defunct farmer's stand, onto what was once a rural connecting road that seemed less rural.  New housing developments at highway exit gave way to a set of newer communities with McMansions, though none with entry gates visible from the road.  Past a roundabout, and the traditional Lewes emerges.  Clapboard homes from another era, little commercial activity on New Road.  Then the Marina to the left, town to the right, and forced turn in either direction at the bridge.  The GPS took us to the rented house where I parked on the grass across the street, prepared to find a violation notice under my windshield wiper that did not happen despite the town's dependence on parking revenue in the summer for its solvency the rest of the year.  Schmoozed a bit in their living room, then walking tour of the town with its shops, post office, and a hotel of another era.  Lunch places anything but fast food, trendy menu with waitresses.  More walking afterwards along the marina, cut short by drizzle.

Ordinarily, my route to the State Fair in Harrington, which I attend on alternate years, has been entirely main roads.  Exit 97 after Dover AFB to connect to Route 13, then just follow along about a dozen miles of commercial activity, some old to support the farming heritage of the area, more the expected gas stations with minimarts, strip malls with a supermarket, pharmacies and eating places with signage of national recognition.  This year my new GPS had a preferred alternative.  It took me further south on Route 1, exiting me at Frederica instead.  Route 12 would eventually connect with Route 13 near the fairgrounds but bypass much of the commercial eyesores that now line the main road and the traffic that it generates.

This was a far more pleasant drive.  One Italian restaurant, one school, then farms.  Out of the blue, the ILC Dover complex, a center of research with NASA and industrial applications.  They have to pay the scientists and executives handsomely, which explains some of the rather elegant homes that lined the route nearby, but still largely farm.  I could even see the ears of corn emerging.

Last trip, Fenwick Island.  My GPS wanted to take me along Coastal Highway  the full duration.  However the road sign pointed to Route 113 as the preferred option for getting me to the southermost part of my state.  I drove off, expecting the GPS to eventually give up its demands that I make a U-Turn and adapt to its new reality.  I've driven this way before, two different GPS devices which exit me to the local roads in different ways, assuring that I will get lost among the unfamiliar.  Sometimes I will drive through small towns with their churches and volunteer fire departments, not staying on any road very long.  Occasionally, as the coast nears, the commercial area will generate a half mile of stop and go traffic.  This GPS exited me a little north, at Frankford.  Immediately I fell behind a semi negotiating itself into a tight parking lot that served as a Mountaire Poultry facility.  Then once I could move along, I drove the rest of the way behind a Jeep from British Columbia who in all likelihood did exactly what his GPS told him to do.  It was a Delaware scenery I had not encountered previously, or it did not imprint well if I did.  Chickens.  I know this industry brings revenue to our state.  The State Fair exhibits samples of the animals themselves and booths descibing this element of commercial agriculture.  It is not nearly the same as driving past rows of buildings appearing as elongated chalets. rectangular with A shaped roofs, and what appear to be giant shades covering the long sides.  I could see no animals, no entrances, no workers.  Between the coops were fields of corn.  I imagine the harvest will end up in the feed trays, not in my supermarket sales bin.  Amid the corn fields, and on the right side of the road were vast flat fields covered with some type of low vegetation.  No clue as to what grew there.  

I did not get lost this time.  Route 20 took a diagonal path through the appealing vistal of rural Omar, Roxanna, and Williamsville, none labelled by anything other than an occasional directional sign.  No post offices to announce the town.  An occasional place to eat or a stand to buy produce or the name of the farm at the entrance of what appeared to be a long driveway.  To my surprise, for the first time, my GPS bypassed Selbyville, the last major population cluster before intersecting the final road to Fenwick Island.  As I turned left to my destination, a mall with a supermarket appeared.  Then for the rest of the ride, vacation housing clustered far closer together than in the farm areas, and appearing far newer.  Boats piered on the water, restaurants, a few doctors, places to get ice cream, even minature golf as the final traffic light arrived.  Turn left to Fenwick Island, right to Ocean City.  I went left.  The GPS did not direct me to the park's entrance, rather to its street address.  But having been there before, I knew I had to drive a little further for my afternoon on the sand.

Having lived here over forty years, met virtually every statewide elected official at least once, raised a family, and have people remark on the relative rarity of my license plate when I visit distant cities, there are parts of the state that have eluded me.  I make it to the destinations, Wilmington, my workplaces, the synagogues, the medical facillities where I have both worked and lectured, including downstate.  And the beaches, the parks, and the Fair.  Even earned a promotional beer stein from the Delaware Wine and Ale Trail which took me to as far as Delmar.  What I've done poorly may have been paying attention to the journey.  Highways, or even major state routes with lined with stores, eating places, and gas stations can mislead.  I read about poultry, a factory that makes space suits, and irrigation frames that always seem dormant.  Farms grow green pepper and melons which I eat, but only see at the grocery, never in the field.  At the State Fair I admire livestock in pens.  It took the objectivity of my current GPS to divert me from the main roads, to see where the chickens live, where the crops grow, and to realize that not all top tier PhD holders work for the megacorporations or the university.  I'm much indebted to the GPS for forcing this better appreciation of where I live.

New GPS Route

My first GPS came as a gift from my son.  I didn't know what it was, but within a use or two, it became a driving essential.  I've replaced it once.  With my current car, I subscribed to Toyota's Scout GPS for a year, found it too fallible, and now use a free WAZE app on my car phone.  I still keep paper maps in a pouch slung behind the driver's seat.  Not understanding the algorithm's at all, and to familiar destinations I often know better directions than the path the device takes me, I still usually defer to this anonymous wizardry when I have someplace else to go.

It took me on a different end route to and from the annual State Fair yesterday.  I have been going for years.  It takes place at the most central town of my state, while I live within walking distance of the neighboring state.  Easy driving.  Interstate to the main interchange, enter highway that we take to the beach, past the state capital, shift to the main road that connects the state's northern and southern borders and the Fair is a few minutes south.  WAZE took me on the highways but extended my distance there.  It directed me off at an intersection of a more rural setting, a small road, or series of roads but still with a state highway number, that connects the beach route with the north-south main road.  That north-south road still has utility.  I drive portions of it near my home frequently and is still a road people drive to reach the southern border.  As such, towns once set up along its route, initially to support agriculture on either side.  Some of those farm machinery places, grain storage, and construction outfits still exist there, though more has been repurposed to fast food, gas stations, and mini-malls with pharmacies and groceries.  That's a chunk of driving for people heading to the State Fair, though I would often stop at the DQ just off the interchange to buy one of their Blizzards to sip on my way to the fairgrounds.

Instead, WAZE took me through mostly agricultural territory.  Cornfields maturing with the ears visible as I drove past.  Fields of lower height plants.  Irrigation apparatus.  There was minimal retail activity, one pizza place which also advertised from the road.  And the giant employer, ILC Dover which makes spacesuits and other high-end research intensive products, once run by an old friend, long since passed.  A few hundred cars in their lot, and competitive salaries for its researchers and managers enabling some of the higher end housing visible from the road.  One school, an elementary school, older but of handsome brick.  I got to the north-south road just a mile or two from the State Fair destination, bypassing some ten miles of relative visual blight and traffic lights that my usual route would have generated.

My most pleasant ride to the State Fair.

Sand Chair

Making an effort to get away once a week.  Mostly successful at it.  NY last week.  About two very glorious hours in a sand chair at Cape Henlopen State Park this week.  Pittsburgh next week.  A few other outings as the summer moves along.  

I don't trust my Toyota Scout GPS for mostly good reasons, especially when familiar with the area.  This time it would have gotten me to the State Park, if not the beach itself, a few minutes sooner, but led meter astray afterwards to a winery that could have been more easily approached.  To the park, I followed the signs posted by the state highway department instead, got there uneventfully, changed, and schlepped a substantial striped sand chair and beach bag with light lunch onto the sand.  It being a hot midday, a lot of other people wanted to stake their sites as well, leaving me with a small hike to enough of a clearing to claim my couple of square meters.  Set up chair, eat peanut butter & jelly sandwich, sip water from insulated mug, take out sunglasses, put cell phone in protective pouch.

Check email, but it was my good fortune to find a place where internet doesn't invade.  Photographed waves instead, still and motion.  After a few minutes of supine semi-awareness, it was time to try the surf.  At most beach trips, only a few hardy or adventuresome kids challenge the waves, but it being hot, amateur and master bathers spanned a larger sampling of ages, including a few seniors like me.  Having lost my bifocals in the ocean last year, I approached with great caution.  T-shirt, Flyers cap, left on beach chair.  Glasses, iTouch Slim digital watch, and cell phone into the insulated lunch case, which still had a protein bar for later.  Since high tide approached, my own sand stake lied not far from the water's edge.  I nudged in a few steps at a time.  Given last year's misadventure, I took no risk of getting knocked down again, advancing toward Europe, or really New Jersey, only so far as to let the crest of a breaking wave get waist high for a few minutes.  It felt rather refreshing.

Then some time back into the sand chair to read a couple of e-book chapters, eat the protein bar, enjoy the surf one more time, repositioning my place a little to accommodate the approaching tide, more supine relaxation.  Enough sun, roughly two hours of it, reasonably protected with SPF 50.  Packed my things, folded the chair, got some exercise returning from the water's edge across the width of the sand to the boardwalk walkway to the bathhouse.  Civilian attire back on, then some exercise toting stuff to the middle portions of the parking lot.

I had decided to visit either a winery or brewery on the way home.  The parking lot had internet so I scanned for where.  Had enough of Dogfish Head, a minor detour from the path home.  They had advanced from tasting room proud to show off the creativity of their brewmaster to more of a minipub, charging $8 for a total of 12 oz suds in four 3 oz miniglasses.  I opted instead for a winery that I had not heard of before, Salted Vines.  I thought it was en route until instructed by the Scout GPS to head in the direction opposite home.  And quite a lot farther than I wanted to drive.  I stopped at the beach outlets, another downstate destination, but stayed in the car.  I requested the GPS to find our state's more venerable, enduring winery, Nassau Vineyards, which it did, though not by the simplest path.  Got there.  Usually you stop at the tasting room, pay a fee, and sample.  Some barriers to doing this.  I toured their mini-museum of wine culture, but on returning to pay the tasting fee, the attendant was nowhere to be found.  Another time.  I headed directly home, not stopping at Dogfish Head as a consolation prize either.

I knew the way home, arriving at about the time the GPS predicted.  Left my stuff in the car overnight.  Got out my souvenir beer glass from a prior trip to the Yeungling Brewery, pulled the tab on a Yeungling Black & Tan can, poured a dark brown liquid with just enough foam and bubbles to make me less thirsty, and unwound.

Electronics Failure

My new Camry, new for me though three years old, has electronic doodads that I don't know how to use, though with appreciation to the many people who insisted I become reasonably literate, I can follow the instructions posted on other electronic doodads.  It took some effort to bring the Toyota app from cyberspace to my android phone to the car's screen, not helped at all by an unanswered call to the Toyota dealer's help line, which they invited me to use.  But Entunes seemed to work OK.  I paid $15 for a year of Scout GPS which also worked.  Until a few days ago, when my full screen got replaced by a single Yelp option.  I could not restore it despite doing my best to follow online instructions, theirs and general Google results.  It seems Entune failures are rather common.  The dealer's help line at least returned my call.  While I expected somebody to run me through the programming, that was not to be, so a personal appearance has been scheduled.

Electronically Challenged

It's been a tough time for me with Hi Tech.  My computer got hacked.  My new car has too sophisticated a front screen for me to use properly.  My GPS of 2011 vintage leads me to places that no longer exist without the ability to track the locations that replaced them.  And my cell phone, trouble free for the three years that I've had it, made paying the monthly bill a hassle, then used up my monthly allotment of 10G a week before the next payment.  I don't even know what counts as 10G, or really even what 10G is.  And my bottom rung tablet does not charge as it should.

There are resources, some Geeks, some company representatives, that come to the rescue, some expertly, some the NP extenders for the Geeks who really aren't up to the tasks that get hard.  After a few calls, my computer email has returned to baseline less the years of Sent Folder, which I rarely look at but still miss having.  Toyota cell phone app got downloaded and appears on the screen, only to discover that the GPS program which I need the most, requires a $25 annual subscription.  And I still don't know how to get my cell phone screen, which has a GPS, to appear on my car screen, or even how to mount my cell phone onto the dashboard so I can see its Waze GPS App safely while driving.  After trying to update my Magellan Roadmate GPS map online, I deferred to Customer Support which I expect to be forthcoming.  T-Mobile has one more month of service before I consider other plans that for comparable price annoy me less.  And the tablet can stay in its charger longer.  There's a reason why it cost under $100, and I rarely use it.

Different Route

Among my favorite outings has been Pennsylvania Dutch country, less than an hour away.  Lancaster, Pennsylvania also has the shopping outlets, once a much bigger lure than now, as seen by the ease of parking these past few years.  They have farmers markets, restaurants based on the pig, along with the department store chains and franchise restaurants on the main drag.  But it has always been the rural sections with buggies, kids and women coasting on bicycles that they push along with their left foot as pedals are prohibited by their sects, real farms, some grown quite large, and other out of the way places that keep me coming back as a brief escape from home.

I have two routes there, my usual path from home, Route 41 to 30, the Lincoln Highway, or Route 896 that connects the University of Delaware to the Rockvale Outlets.  Each main route has a number of places where roads less travelled can be accessed.  One takes people to Strasburg, built around the Pennsylvania Railroad Museum and steam engine ride, with most of the town having a rail theme.  One road takes people to Oxford, a larger place than I expected that seems to rise from nowhere.  Whatever cross road you take, it will eventually connect to Route 41 or 896 so getting to Lancaster is pretty much a sure thing, but just in case I can set the GPS.  So yesterday I hit Pizza/Atglen, got off Route 41 where I always wanted to but never did and stayed on Route 372, not quite following the GPS to the pizza destination.  Virtually entirely farms with perhaps and occasional small factory with a bunch of cars in the lot.  A few modern houses that could pass as suburban tract housing.  I always wondered how people in these places make a living when business are few and do not need a lot of workers, and certainly not a lot of highly paid workers, other than the utility companies, hospitals and school districts.  Amish buggies and bicycles but hardly any cars other than mine.  Not even a lot of churches.  Eventually this road found its way to 896, which I followed to the Rockvale outlets, stopped briefly at two stores, and returned in the direction of Strasburg, which advertised itself on the billboards as an historical destination.  GPS indicated a nearby winery just outside my route home, but on arrival it was defunct.  Just headed home.  Pleasant outing as it always is.

Road Trip

Despite being of age I missed out on much of what the 1970's offered its 20-somethings.  Not that there's anything amiss about studying chemistry in college, proceeding to medical school and residency, or getting married, the achievements that shaped me favorably forever.  But some experiences of the times did not happen and do not recapture easily.  Too little prosperity at the time, too much now, or at least too many obligations.

In that era, people used to go on wild spring breaks to Daytona Beach, but it would be unthinkable to spend my father's money that way.  My own kids mostly agree.  I could have done a medical school elective in Alaska or the Nebraska prairie but didn't, opting instead for six weeks of anesthesiology in Philadelphia on a grant that funded my fiance's engagement ring.  And people backpacked in European hostels, did a semester in Israel, or found somebody with a VW Bus redone with a psychedelic exterior to journey coast to coast via roads other than the Interstate.  I never did any of those things, not then, not now.  Made it to Israel as a tourist for my 25th anniversary and to Europe for my 40th, no serious money limitations but no extravagance either.  And the itinerary was a lot more secure and a lot less flexible than for my contemporaries to headed off to whatever they might find as 20-somethings.

One my home from Europe a few months back, the jet's entertainment module offered a feature on those 1970's travels that other people took.  As well as things turned out for me personally, missing out on that borders on a regret.  Now that I am retired, I theoretically could.  In fact, my father, a relative newlywed and newly retired person of about my age did exactly that, taking his time with my stepmother to traverse the country from Florida to Los Angeles over six weeks.  My own life still has fixed obligations, though.  A cat that needs care, but at least in theory could travel.  We take university courses.  My wife participates in musical activities.  Six weeks on the road cannot happen.  Ten days on the road, just myself if need be, could, limited by my own willingness to proceed.  But as a 60-something, and a highly accomplished one, my life has become a series of predetermined destinations to pursue, which no doubt accounts for what has been accomplished.  The GPS is set to take me someplace and I know when I have arrived.  Driving in a direction but without an end point to mark arrival doesn't really register in minds like mine. 

The video on the plane tempted me, though.  I should make an effort to see what roads are there without setting the GPS first.