6:02 PM |
Leaving Cumberland was a heartbreak. Here's what I had for the second course of my breakfast:
I am now going steady with my innkeeper. I am about to propose. As do all my hosts, Pamela was happy to share some stories in return for mine. She has been divorced since 2003, but is not yet divorced. She has a long-distance honey in Ireland. Pammy (forgive me, I feel like she's mine) also has a hard time finding men who are her intellectual equal. She let me share my heartbreak over almost-real imaginary boyfriend.
Also, the bell that I heard was from an order of monks who had their historic monastery torn down, but who still live at the residence. They are tonsured and wear brown robes with rope belts. Franciscan?
But on to Maryland. As I left Cumberland, I saw that it was snowing. I should have stayed in the best B&B ever, but I was mesmerized by the beckoning of my road trip. Hit I- something. I should know this, but what the heck, I get there (where?) just fine. The weather was just spectacular in an odd kind of way. The trees were coated in ice, it was snowing, and the sun shone particularly brightly and yellow-y from between patches of mist and fog and who knows what. It was also windy. The altitude was high, and the road windey (I guess that's how you say it, not windy as that means something else altogether, although true in these particular circumstances).
Woody's lights appear to work just fine. His windshield wipers have a mind of their own. Daryl put silicone on the windshield and that alone rebuffed most of the rain. When it was somewhat worse I patted around and under the dash to find the switch for the wipers. I neglected to note in advance where it was (I had pledge not to drive in the rain and at night), and didn't want to yank off one of the Bakelite knobs, having broken off the triangular windows handle already, not to mention pull the choke or hood lock by mistake. Finally I held my breath and gave the scalloped knob at the base of the radio antenna in the middle of the dash a twist. Success! However, the speed at which they went or didn't went (okay, didn't go) was completely determined by the car. At times, it seemed like Woody was prescient. The wipers went fast when needed, and stuck when the rain let up.
The common sign in this stretch contains two animal silhouettes, a buck and a bear. Deer I get. Bears I don't. The sign reads:
I think they mean it will run into the road and kill you, but it could mean just take a look.
There was a beautiful white barn with rather modern quilt blocks (I think), painted on the side. Hit Stewartt County. The sign has a mountain on it, as well as a sailboat. Great. More twisties. Also one of those digital signs on the side of the road that said HEAVY FOG AHEAD. I figured that, as I couldn't see the trucks 50 feet ahead of me.
There was also an 8% grade. It was steep. I checked out exactly what this means. Wikipedia gives you all the math behind this definition. It has diagrams and Greek letters. I finally did the calculations (I hope I'm correct), and the 8% means 422 feet of decline over 1 mile. This is a lot.
I am now going steady with my innkeeper. I am about to propose. As do all my hosts, Pamela was happy to share some stories in return for mine. She has been divorced since 2003, but is not yet divorced. She has a long-distance honey in Ireland. Pammy (forgive me, I feel like she's mine) also has a hard time finding men who are her intellectual equal. She let me share my heartbreak over almost-real imaginary boyfriend.
Also, the bell that I heard was from an order of monks who had their historic monastery torn down, but who still live at the residence. They are tonsured and wear brown robes with rope belts. Franciscan?
But on to Maryland. As I left Cumberland, I saw that it was snowing. I should have stayed in the best B&B ever, but I was mesmerized by the beckoning of my road trip. Hit I- something. I should know this, but what the heck, I get there (where?) just fine. The weather was just spectacular in an odd kind of way. The trees were coated in ice, it was snowing, and the sun shone particularly brightly and yellow-y from between patches of mist and fog and who knows what. It was also windy. The altitude was high, and the road windey (I guess that's how you say it, not windy as that means something else altogether, although true in these particular circumstances).
Woody's lights appear to work just fine. His windshield wipers have a mind of their own. Daryl put silicone on the windshield and that alone rebuffed most of the rain. When it was somewhat worse I patted around and under the dash to find the switch for the wipers. I neglected to note in advance where it was (I had pledge not to drive in the rain and at night), and didn't want to yank off one of the Bakelite knobs, having broken off the triangular windows handle already, not to mention pull the choke or hood lock by mistake. Finally I held my breath and gave the scalloped knob at the base of the radio antenna in the middle of the dash a twist. Success! However, the speed at which they went or didn't went (okay, didn't go) was completely determined by the car. At times, it seemed like Woody was prescient. The wipers went fast when needed, and stuck when the rain let up.
The common sign in this stretch contains two animal silhouettes, a buck and a bear. Deer I get. Bears I don't. The sign reads:
Maryland Wildlife
Watch for it!
I think they mean it will run into the road and kill you, but it could mean just take a look.
There was a beautiful white barn with rather modern quilt blocks (I think), painted on the side. Hit Stewartt County. The sign has a mountain on it, as well as a sailboat. Great. More twisties. Also one of those digital signs on the side of the road that said HEAVY FOG AHEAD. I figured that, as I couldn't see the trucks 50 feet ahead of me.
There was also an 8% grade. It was steep. I checked out exactly what this means. Wikipedia gives you all the math behind this definition. It has diagrams and Greek letters. I finally did the calculations (I hope I'm correct), and the 8% means 422 feet of decline over 1 mile. This is a lot.