We left our hotel around 6:30am, as I felt that the more driving we got done early the better... Pouring rain. Our spirits were kind of low and we ate left-over cheese from the day before that we had put in our ice-bucket during the night, and some trail mix. Such food did nothing to raise our spirits. A couple of hours in we pulled into a rest-stop and ran a couple of laps in the rain. This helped to shake off the grim feeling, but within 15 minutes we were back to cranky. Rain. Construction. Rain. Construction. There was a particularly frightening moment with a semi-truck.
Our goal was to reach the Paul Dunbar house in Dayton for a bit of culture and a leg stretch (maybe a Junior Ranger patch -- we're sick) before continuing on to Pittsburgh.
An hour out of Dayton we stopped at a Cracker Barrel for lunch (no matter how many times I stop there and feel wretched afterwards I still get sucked in by the old-timey signs, the easy-to-access bathrooms, and the candy sticks). We kind of had fun looking around at all the crap in the store, eating nasty food, and playing that wooden peg game that they have on the tables (we found out that all three of us were "ignoramuses" -- spelled in some dumb way that I can't remember).
Back in the car, and somehow I missed the exit for the Dunbar house. I pulled into a parking lot, looked at my map and called The Dad. I had lost an hour because of time-zones, it was still flippin' raining, and anything good that I had gained at the Cracker Barrel was swiftly being squashed out by everything bad that I had gained at the Cracker BarreI. I was cranky. The kids said that they didn't care one way or another about the Dunbar house, so I made the decision to just keep on going. For reservation purposes I had to commit at that time as to whether or not I would stop in Zanesville, OH (two hours from where I was), or go on to Pittsburgh (another four horrible hours). I was already way behind schedule, but decided to push on to Pittsburgh. Boy, was I mad at myself as I passed Zanesville. By that time we had been on the road for eleven hours -- pouring rain the entire time. I felt like all of my nerve-endings were on the outside of my body spluttering and hissing. I explained to the kids that driving in the rain was hard because you can't see as well -- especially when the huge freakin' trucks keep splashing up freakin' water on the freakin' windshield. Further, all of the driving that I had been doing for the past few days had been in cities that I did not know. Driving is one thing, driving in unknown territory is altogether different. They kept asking me why I kept saying, "Crap" if they weren't allowed to say it.
We listened to the book on tape (CD) of The Wizard of Oz. How I hated the woman's voice that was reading it. It was crap.
Then, right after passing Zanesville the rain stopped. I felt so light and optimistic. Suddenly I could see how beautiful the foliage was as the sun was setting. With some of the stress gone I felt less tired. The rain had been brutal, but not having the rain made those last two hours more doable than I would have imagined. We rolled into our hotel in Pittsburgh, looked out our window at a cool bridge, ordered room service -- including a pot of herbal tea -- and watched some really bad TV on the Disney Channel.
"Come on. Get up."
I was hoping for another 6:30 departure, but it wasn't going to happen. The Dad had emailed me directions to the Mr. Rogers memorial, and we finally got out of the hotel and across the bridge closer to 8:00. We got there easily, the memorial was sweet, and there was NO rain. We got back in the car feeling like things were going to go pretty well. We drove past the Andy Warhol museum just for kicks, and headed towards our last Pittsburgh stop -- the incline.
Oh, Mama. The bridge that I needed was blocked off for construction. I took the detour bridge, but when I got to the other side found that I was very far off from where I needed to be, and when I put the street name in my phone map it dropped me off on the street, but not far enough over and it was one way. Circling around. Up hills, down hills, over bridges, back over bridges (I've often said that I think Pittsburgh is so lovely because of all the water and bridges... but my goodness it's a sinking feeling when you realize that you are headed towards another bridge and there's no getting off). That's the thing, there are a lot of exits and entrances and "this lane only"s and signs saying you can't turn, and very little margin for error. You get on trajectories there and you have to ride them out until you can find some sort of exit/opportunity to turn around. I will say that I saw neighborhoods of Pittsburgh that I doubt many tourists have seen. One of them seemed like it was abandoned, and I felt a little chill when the Once-ler peeked out of a window.
I finally figured it out and we made it to the incline. I think that there are at least two inclines that go up and down the hill -- it's actually part of their public transportation -- which is clearly awesome.
At the top of the hill we found a little coffee shop and the kids got hot cocoas and sticky buns. I heard the owner of the shop talking about a truck that lost its brakes the day before and slammed into a school bus. Ugh. A police officer parked his car in front and came in and we got to watch his dog guard his car. We asked and found out the dog's name is Sonic -- which put that lame: "The S is for Super and the U is for... Super Sonic..." song/chant/cheer thing in my head.
Back down the incline, into the car, a fairly smooth entrance onto the right freeway and away we went. Pennsylvania is a beautiful, beautiful state. The thick trees (all golden or red or orange), the green hills with gorgeous red barns. It does raise your spirits to see it even when you're checking your mirrors constantly for trucks that seem to be rushing forward to crush you.
Our last stop on the route was Hawk Mountain. It is the world's first refuge for birds of prey. The country roads that lead to it are such that inspire poets. The refuge itself is dense and beautiful. We watched the bird feeders for a couple of minutes, and in the visitors center learned a bit about the conservationist, Rosalie Edge.
"One lady who made a huge difference. Have we learned about anybody else like that?"
"Mother Jones."
Happy sigh.
We went to the amphitheater for a hawk demonstration. An interesting fact -- birds of prey are not birds of prey simply because they eat meat, but because they eat meat with their talons.
I wish I could say that getting back into the city was seamless. It was not. I missed the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel and ended up who knows where, found the truck route that could lead me back to the tunnel, and missed that exit (don't ask), so finally had to do a big fat turn-around who knows where. I was trembly and kind of teary by the time we got home. Our little apartment has never felt so safe.
In the book Gone With the Wind Scarlett O'Hara kills that Yankee soldier and always referred to that experience when she was faced with something hard ("I killed a man. I can do this..."). Often I've thought about the importance of doing hard things, so that you have something to bolster you when faced with something else hard. I kind of store such experiences up like nuts. "I drove by myself with two young children from Chicago to St. Louis, and from St. Louis to New York City" doesn't have the same ring as, "I killed a man," but it'll do.
On my wall I have photos of my great great aunt. I have a large one of her as a beautiful young child, and another of her as a beautiful woman at her brother's (my great-grandparents') wedding. When I met her as a kid she was saggy-mouthed, stooped over, and wearing one of those paper shower-caps that very old women used to wear (not quite a hair-net, but I think similar in purpose). And man was she a witch. It certainly added depth to those beautiful pictures when I received them as an adult. That scene from Dead Poet's Society when Robin Williams has the young men look at the old pictures in the trophy case perhaps resonated with me because of this experience. Remember -- he reminds them that when those pictures were taken the young men in the photos felt just as young and full of life as they did -- and now they are all dead. Carpe Diem.
Or maybe I have it backwards. Maybe those pictures immediately whispered Carpe Diem because I had already seen the movie -- and seen my great great aunt. I don't know. The point is, that my kids have grown up hearing stories about their papa and his brother when they were kids. Their favorite is the one when my grandma was gone, so my grandpa sent the two boys down to the burger place to get three identical meals for dinner. Riding home on their bikes my uncle dropped one of the meals and without a moment's hesitation told my dad that his meal was ruined.
But that uncle isn't a boy anymore. Time has passed, and a part of me not only wanted the kids to meet their great uncle, but also learn that young boys and girls grow up to be old men and women -- so Carpe Diem. Of course, my uncle isn't really old yet, and it wasn't that well-formed in my mind, but it was there and I thought that if everything else on the trip sucked, and if the drive was horrible, at least that lesson could be learned.
But a different lesson happened. My uncle walks and smiles like my grandpa that passed away. He has his hands and many of his mannerisms -- way more than my dad does. The similarities kept surprising me. And making me feel really happy, because I thought those things were gone.
So among all the other fabulous things that we learned -- about raptors and westward expansion and artists and unions and fishing -- we also learned something else... To Carpe Diem is important -- we should definitely seize the day and make the most of our lives -- but that is an incomplete understanding. The other part to it is feeling comfortable in just being. While there should be motivation to live fully, there needn't be a great urgency to be frantic -- because it's never really over. We will live on in future smiles and hands -- our children, our nieces and nephews, our students who pick up mannerisms...
Family -- however you define it -- is perhaps the most simple and deep thing that there is.
A picture that sums up the trip for me:
Yes. That is a rainbow in the background.
And yes, we would have missed it if we had gotten up "on time."
Lesson introduced: we plan, but we also accept.
