Pit Stop

Hello World,

Well, here I am, back from camping adventures in Vacation Land, and lived to tell the tale, which is more than half the battle, and I ought to know. In fact, it all began before my vacation even started, when carrying stuff down from the attic, only to find that some furry little varmints had chewed on my camping gear, leaving their telltale paw-prints everywhere. They nibbled on my flip-flops, leaving crumbs of orange plastic all over everything. They ripped into all the zip-loc bags, shredded the paper towels, and chewed a hole in the travel shampoo bottle, so that it leaked shampoo all over the bottom of the tote bag, thanks not. I don't like to complain, because this was the first time they've ever done that in 20 years of storing my camping supplies in the attic, but it was certainly an inauspicious beginning to my annual pilgrimage into the wild.

Many people who knew I was going camping expressed concerns that the record-breaking temperatures and soaring humidity would make for an uncomfortable stint in the woods, but there's worse things than heat and humidity when you're camping, as we found out when we set out on Saturday. The weather here was unremarkable when we left, but as we got closer to our destination, it continued to deteriorate until we arrived at the park in what was essentially a steady downpour at that point. We were determined to make the best of it in any case, and since both campsites were already empty, we checked in early and hunkered down to set up in the rain. That's when we discovered that the rain was not our biggest problem, as apparently the packing crew, who shall remain nameless but look suspiciously like me, had somehow neglected to pack the tent, of all things, which is certainly a first in my camping experiences. We had the bag with the poles, but the tent was in a separate bag, and that was still at home in the garage, where at least it had the advantage of being dry, although I admit that didn't seem like much of an advantage at the time. We set up the tiny spare tent on the extra campsite, and sat in the car to consider our options. Since it was raining anyway, and it wasn't going to cut into our beach time for the day, we decided to let our GPS find us a nearby Wal*Mart and check out their selection of tents, before driving another 150 miles round-trip just to get the errant tent out of the garage. Our friends at Wal*Mart had a wider assortment of tents than I would have expected, and we settled on a nice one that was even bigger than mine, and cost less, so we snapped it up and headed back to the park. It assembled exactly the same as my other tent, with the same shock-cord rods and mesh sides, with a separate fly for privacy. (The tent manufacturers always refer to this - one hopes, ironically - as a "rain fly," although I haven't met one yet that keeps out the rain, so I consider it more of a privacy accessory than a weather-related one.) It was still raining, and no sign of stopping, and we had already done everything at the park that we could under the circumstances, so we left everything like that and drove back to Coram to check into our home-away-from-home for the next two days.

From the time that Bill has been driving out with me on Saturday to help set up, over the years we've stayed at numerous places far and wide, and different in many ways. Some have been chains, like Hilton, Best Western or Comfort Inn, while others have been more independent, like the East Wind catering hotel, which was like visiting another planet, with a price tag to match. Ever since we got caught in the middle of the annual Blues Festival, and couldn't get in or out of town, I've avoided the hotels in Riverhead so we don't have a repeat of that nightmare, and in the opposite direction, Coram is the closest town to find lodging, and unlike scenic Riverhead, it's not considered a tourist destination, so it's easier to get a room in the summer. Route 112 is the main drag there, and sports both a Fairfield Inn and the Comfort Inn where we stayed last year, as well as all the fast food, gas stations, delicatessens, nail salons, pizza parlors, car dealers and drug stores that you could ever want in one place. When we were there last year, I noticed the quaint Gaslight Motor Inn farther up the block and away from all of the hubbub, and I decided to look into it for this year and see if it might suit our purposes. I was dismayed to find that they don't have a website, but when I called, I found that they had the usual amenities - cable TV, free WIFI, refrigerator and microwave - and the price was certainly right at $75 a night, almost half of what we usually spend. So we took the plunge and gave it a try, on the theory that we could probably put up with anything, if we had to, for one night. It turned out to be a place that in its heyday was probably charming and respectable, but at this point, it was hard to tell if it was operating as a front for some illicit enterprise, a safe house for the Federal Witness Protection Program, a brothel, a hideaway for subsidized public housing, or just a seedy suburban "no-tell motel" for the amorous locals to reconnoiter in private. Although it did boast a spacious patio area with picnic tables, a barbecue grill, hanging plants, ornamental shrubs and horseshoe pits, presumably for the entertainment of the mobsters, hookers, drug dealers, witnesses, pimps, welfare recipients, naughty housewives or whoever else the other occupants were, besides tourists like us. I will say that for whatever purposes people were there, it was certainly one of the quietest places we've ever stayed, and we had no quarrel with the services and features that were provided. It was inexpensive enough that we could stay two days without breaking the budget, and it was a nice change of pace, as well as an interesting glimpse into a segment of society that we're not ordinarily exposed to.

Of course, we had stayed on this same street the year before, so we already knew that the Metropolis Diner was the place to go for dinner, and it was just as we remembered it. Unfortunately, our plan for the next night to go back to Bianca Luna for some authentic Italian cuisine was not to be, as we found them closed and boarded up tight, and it must be said that the Greek-inspired Italian specialties at the Metropolis were not an adequate substitute by any means. But back at the park, we had two beautiful days at the beach on Sunday and Monday, and the water was as cool and clear as anyone could have hoped for. In the off-season, there must have been tremendous storm damage in the area, which was still obvious on the boardwalk, where more than half of the facing was missing, and new boards were evident in the railing, banisters, pilings, cross-beams and stairs. The beach lost between 12-18" of sand, which was especially noticeable to us, because every year, I take a picture next to a sunken newel post that is only six inches above the sand, and this year, the same post had been excavated by the forces of nature so that it was more than 18" above the level of the sand. In the campground itself, everything seemed to be pretty much the same as always, except in the most important part, which is my campsite, where a massive oak tree that had stood on the same spot for centuries, was suddenly nothing but a fond memory and enormous stump. In fact, the site looked so weirdly unfamiliar that we almost drove right past it when we first arrived, and it was so disorienting without this historic landmark, that I had trouble visualizing where I was supposed to put the tent, the picnic table, the fire bucket and the camp chairs. That was the end of an era, or several eras, and I can tell you that any trees that come along after this will have some mighty big shoes to fill.

Bill left on Monday afternoon, but not before buying a new cot to replace my old worn-out one that was being held together with baling wire and twine. I also had the same problem with the plastic rain tarp blowing off like last year on the other campsite, so I went to the hardware store and plunked down a small fortune for bungee cords to keep it in place, that wouldn't snap like strings in the first gust of wind. I said to Bill later that between the new tent and cot and other supplies, this would be the year of the cheapest motel we've ever stayed at, and yet we would have managed to spend more money than any other vacation, including the exorbitant catering hotel. It turned out that he left at the right time, because it poured on Tuesday and Wednesday, with the added disadvantage that I was at the beach on Tuesday, and hid out in the ladies room with thunder and lightning crashing all around, while back at the campsite, everything I left on the clothesline was getting drenched, so I had no dry clothes to wear except the emergency clothes I always keep in the car. So it was off to the Laundromat for me, thanks not, so at least I could have some other dry clothes to change into, and I admit that dry towels were a luxury previously under-appreciated in my life up to that point. Friday turned out to be a beautiful day, but the park staff suddenly decided that they wouldn't let me on the beach with my sun shelter, in spite of lugging shelters to the beach for years on end without arousing any comment, so it seemed to me that the week ended up as badly as it had started, and no redeeming it by then. When Bill arrived on Saturday morning to help me pack up, I was just as glad to get out of there, and put it all behind me. We did have a lovely day at the beach first, but later our plans were thwarted when the local gas station and favorite deli, where we intended to stop for fuel and sandwiches on the way home, both closed early in spite of being in the middle of town at the height of the tourist season. So here's a shout-out to our new friends at the Ridge Deli on Route 25, who were not only open at the time, but made us some wonderful sandwiches, and couldn't have been nicer or more eager to please. If only the rest of my vacation had lived up to that standard, alas.

This was the second year in a row that I was on vacation when another one of our cats breathed their last, this time Smokey Joe, our Nubian princess, leaving us with nothing but gray or brown cats in her wake. It's times like this that might make anyone else afraid to go on vacation again, and I can't say that I would blame them, under the circumstances. Fortunately, I'm made of sterner stuff, and in fact, I've already been considering whether I'd have a better chance against the hookers or the mobsters in horseshoes at the witness protection motel next year, so I'd better start practicing.

Elle

A Warm Welcome

Hello World,

Well, it does no good to complain about July in New York, heaven knows, it's not like it could be considered a big surprise at this point, and caught us all off guard, as if we should have all been expecting something different. But this last week has certainly been one for the books, even by New York standards, and really got the attention of even the jaded old-timers, and I don't mean that in a good way, believe me. The temperatures were in triple digits, with drenching humidity that was like being hit in the face with a runaway steam locomotive, and that's not just a lot of Casey Jones, by golly. In spite of the heat and humidity, there were no thunderstorms as there usually would be in these conditions, so after a week of scorching days and torrid nights, the flowers everywhere were drooping, our cats lost their appetites, and all over the house, all of the doors and windows were sticking, so that if it was open, you couldn't close it, and if it was closed, I can tell you, it was going to stay closed and no buts about it. This was no weather for sissies, and I think even Casey Jones would agree there was nothing left after this but fire and brimstone, so at least in the local area, I would warn everyone to be on the lookout for hand-baskets, and devil take the hind-most.

In spite of the challenging conditions, I'm happy to report - perhaps "flabbergasted" might be the better term under the circumstances - that the Flag Brigade once again rose to the occasion on Sunday, and ran up the colors upstairs and downstairs for Independence Day, not only putting the flags out in the morning, but also remembering to take them in again after dinner. With the heat and humidity off the charts as it was, and the poor addled brain cells of the Flag Brigade being what they are, heaven knows, this is not something to be taken for granted, not by any means. And the local environs were much livened up with some welcome patriotic embellishment, to the enjoyment of all, as well as a rousing sight to see, for neighbors and visitors alike. Now, it must be said that Sunday was a beautiful day, with not a cloud in the sky, so there was no possible danger of the flags getting wet from any sort of inclement weather, as on Flag Day last month. Well, except for the fact that all of the plants in the yard were wilting from the heat, so that I had no choice but to get out there and water them with the hose, and somehow ended up watering the flags while I was at it, which was a little bit of collateral damage that I wasn't expecting, owing to their proximity to the plants that needed watering. I admit this was a novelty in our flag-waving experiences that doesn't usually happen, and I can't say that it had all that much to recommend it. Of course, everyone knows that I'm no fan of moveable feasts, and July 4th is certainly not one of them in my opinion, but we were off from work on Monday, July 5th, so the Flag Brigade figured we may as well put out the flags on Monday as well, and what the heck. You know I always say, there's no such thing as too much red, white and blue around here, that's for sure, and it was another lovely day for flying the colors, and long may they wave.

Earlier in the week, I got a frantic call from Administration at our sister institution in Mount Vernon, which began with them shouting about a delivery that they just received of a brand new infant warmer. Inasmuch as it was 100 degrees at the time, and 85 in my office even with the air conditioner and fan on, I found it a little hard to get worked up about this situation. In fact, what I found myself saying was, "By golly, that's just what we need on a day like today - let's fire that thing right up." Frankly, my feeling was that if they needed an infant warmer for any patients at the time, all they would need to do is carry them outside into the parking lot, and they'd be as warm as they could possibly want, and then some. After all, I believe even Casey Jones would agree that there would be nothing left after that except fire and brimstone, and I'm thinking that no one really wants to go down that route if there's any way to avoid it. Say, where did that hand-basket come from?

With July already underway, Saturday was the time for us to get our plaid on, as we headed north for the 87th Annual Round Hill Highland Games at scenic Cranbury Park in Norwalk. We already knew the date, and made the mistake of assuming that everything else would be pretty much the same as the previous year, so we were content to let our GPS guide us to the sprawling corporate office park, where we expected to meet the shuttle bus in the parking lot that would take us to our final destination. To be fair, the GPS did a serviceable job of getting us there, and in plenty of time, the only fly in the ointment was that there was no bus, and no indications that there was going to be any - no signs, no people waiting, no tables set up to sell tickets or programs, nothing but empty parking spaces as far as the eye could see. Fortunately, the GPS was equal to the challenge of finding its way directly to Cranbury Park from there, and sure enough, they let us park right on the grounds for the first time in probably 10 years that we've been going there. I said to Bill that even after 87 years, it always seems to be a new adventure with these games, and we obviously need to be sure and check their web site each time before we go, just to keep up with the changes. There was much that hadn't changed, and there were many of the usual bands and clans on parade, plus individual competitions in highland dancing, bagpipes and drums, plus family activities like races and tug-of-war, and the professional sports of caber toss, hammer throw and sheaf toss. Of course, they also allow amateurs to try their luck at these "heavyweight" games, which is an idea that probably sounds a lot more logical after a few too many beers, and it always surprises me that there aren't more injuries when these deluded novices take the plunge. I suppose this just goes to prove that whoever is the patron saint of watching over inebriated people doing stupid things must be working overtime at the games.

There were plenty of clan tents set up to greet their kin, and more vendor tents than there are sometimes, although it must be said that some favorites from previous years were among the missing. But welcome among the usual food options was the return of CC's Spiral Potatoes, who had been there for one year in the past, and then we didn't see them again, so it was nice to have them back. New for the first time was Bayside West Catering, with fresh squeezed lemonade that was delicious and refreshing, and roasted corn that was an interesting change of pace from the usual fare. One thing that never seems to change is how many bands march onto the field after being introduced, playing Scotland the Brave, and often, three or four of them in a row. It's like going to a Memorial Day parade, and every high school band plays the national anthem, after a while, it just gets to be too much of a good thing. Mind you, this is after centuries of Scottish history, where there is plenty of bagpipe music to choose from, and no reason for every other band to pick the same exact song, until you're just about ready to go stark raving plaid. We took a new approach to it this year, and treated it like the famous drinking game from the old Bob Newhart Show. We didn't have anything to drink, but every time we heard Scotland the Brave, we would say, "Hi Bob!" It didn't cut down on the quantity of the tune during the day, but it did take some of the sting out of it for us.

A returning highlight of the festivities was our favorite Celtic fusion band, Mac Talla M'or, back for a return engagement, and up to their usual standards. You would think that adding more bagpipes to a celebration of Scottish heritage would be like carrying coals to Newcastle, but actually, Mac Talla M'or is more of a refreshing change of pace from the regular marching bands, since it also includes electric guitar, organ and vocals, besides just pipes and drums. We were glad for a chance to see them once again, since we very rarely get out to hear live music, especially not in such an intimate setting, where you're basically sitting right at their feet in the woods. There were two shows, so their devoted fans did not leave disappointed, and for us, it took an event that we already enjoy, and brought it to a whole new level. The highlands, you might call it. Anyway, after a long and eventful day, we packed it in and jumped right in our car, since we didn't have to wait for the shuttle bus and the slow hot ride back to the corporate office park along the highway. From there, it was off to Denny's in Danbury for dinner, and no one had to ask us twice, believe me. Everything was delicious, and we packed it away like we hadn't seen food in a month, and had been living in a cardboard box out on the sidewalk until just that very moment. I think even Casey Jones would agree that the day could not have been improved, even if Bob Newhart himself had shown up, and that's not just a lot of red hot chili pipers, by golly.

Alert readers may be wondering, if July 4th and even the Scottish Games have come and gone, can my vacation be far behind, and the answer is absolutely not. HOORAY!!! In fact, I'll be going on vacation starting on Saturday, and nobody will be hearing from me for a week, since I'm not even taking my laptop with me. It will be a week of fun in the sun for me, at least I hope it will be sunny, because camping in the rain has nothing to recommend it, and I ought to know. I'm not really worried about being too cold, but I figure I may as well pack my infant warmer, just to be on the safe side.

Elle

Catch The Wave

Hello World,

Happy July! Sunday will be Independence Day, and I hope that you have one for the books, and by that I don't mean the kind that shows up in the Police Blotter section of the newspaper, where they round up a bunch of drunken revelers in their underwear, dancing on top of bus shelters and covered with whipped cream. No, I'm thinking of something more in keeping with the patriotic nature of the holiday, where you declare your independence from drudgery, claim the liberty of a hammock, and pursue the happiness of lemonade and watermelon. Or in the immortal words of Benjamin Franklin, "We must all hang together, or most assuredly, we shall all miss the all-you-can-eat holiday buffet at The Olive Garden, so let's get cracking, by jingo!" Hmmm, somehow that last part doesn't sound exactly right, but I happen to be of the opinion that July 4th is one of those holidays that there is no wrong way to celebrate, so get out there and do whatever tickles your fancy, or rather, Yankee Doodle Dandy, and the heck with the Holiday Police.

Speaking of holidays, it was still June - in fact, it was June 27 - when the Sunday paper arrived with its weekly batch of sale circulars for local and national retailers, so that we could all stock up and save, save, save. I couldn't help but notice the one from our friends at Home Depot, where they were slashing prices 50% on what they described as their "End-of-Season Savings" on patio furniture. Mind you, this wasn't even July yet, and at Home Depot, they've already closed the book on patio furniture. I suppose they might be having the same problem I am, where they keep getting Christmas catalogues in the mail, and have actually started to believe that it's time for silver bells and fa-la-la-la-la, so they wasted no time in giving their summer stock the old heave-ho-ho-ho. I guess if I want anything for Thanksgiving, I'd better hurry up and grab it while I can, or that will be the next thing to get the bum's rush out of here, and there won't be a pilgrim, acorn or cornucopia left standing by Labor Day, and that's not just a lot of cranberry sauce, believe me.

In other seasonal news, last weekend we had friends visit from upstate, and even though we all stayed overnight at the same hotel, it did not result in the Governor calling out the National Guard, so we considered this a successful get-together all around. It all began on Saturday, when we met at the lovely and scenic Renaissance Hotel along Route 287 in what they laughingly refer to as White Plains, which has about as much to do with White Plains as Benjamin Franklin has to do with The Olive Garden, which is to say, not much, and plenty of it. The hotel is nestled in a bucolic setting that belies its proximity to the highway, and its expansive and tranquil grounds are a tonic for the frazzled urban dweller who arrives for a stay. Our friends had made the reservations, and there was obviously some mix-up in the rooms, because it was our other friends who ended up in the room next to the elevators, ice maker and vending machines, while our room was all the way at the end of a quiet empty hallway, where about the noisiest thing was the sound of snoring coming out of our room, and I ought to know.

After we checked in, we joined our friends in the pub, where the sweet potato fries are locally famous, and justifiably so, although for anyone in a hurry, I feel obligated to warn you that they apparently have to grow the potatoes before they can serve them to you, so it's not the fastest meal you're ever going to have. The pub features a welter of big-screen TVs in abundance, each showing a different sporting event or news program, and each with its own audience or disinterested observers. There was apparently some hubbub about the World Cup while we were there, although since we don't follow soccer, we were a little bit out of our element, and yelling "face mask!" at inopportune moments in a misguided attempt to fit in, seemed to have the opposite effect altogether. In fact, it perhaps explained why they changed the set nearest us to an inter-league baseball game instead, with the Yankees and Dodgers, but even here, our chants of "Let's go Knicks!" did nothing to endear us to the other patrons. Finally they switched it to CNN, and when we started doing The Wave, it was obvious that the beleaguered bartender had all he could take, and started reaching for the phone. We've stayed there before, so we already know they have the National Guard on speed-dial, and we figured this was as good a time as any for us to be hitting the road for our next destination.

We already knew that the new Pier Restaurant & Tiki Bar had recently opened up at the historic Playland amusement park in Rye, and our friends wanted to try it, so we headed over there and ready for adventure. It turns out that the new restaurant is on the boardwalk near Rye Beach, where Captain Hook's used to be, on the other side of the ice rink and miniature golf, and not technically in the park at all. Unfortunately for the people who only want to go to the restaurant and not the park, you have to pay to park in the Playland lot anyway, even if you don't intend to set foot inside Playland itself the entire time. We wasted a lot of time looking for the place, as it was extremely hard to find, especially for a new attraction, and there were no signs for it, which would have been a helpful addition. It has an island-themed decor, that carries over to the menu choices, as befits its location on the idyllic shores of Long Island Sound. There is a large outdoor dining area right on the water, with thatched umbrellas lending a festive native vibe to the place. They also offer "dock-and-dine" service to people who arrive in their boats, which at least is one way to beat the cost of parking at the Playland lot, if nothing else. We elected to eat inside instead, and found it crowded and noisy, with a menu that was narrow in scope, and unaccommodating for people on special diets, as well as being wildly over-priced, even for the most ordinary appetizers like mozzarella sticks. They also feature live music, although not while we were there, which is just as well, because if the place got any noisier, it would have to be classified as an airport, and they'd have to hire air traffic controllers instead of waiters. In fact, it was so noisy that we couldn't even coordinate doing The Wave, and had to go outside where it was quieter, although they could have been running the Indy 500 outside, and it still would have been quieter, heaven knows.

We already had our "fun bands" for Playland, where you pay one price and you can go on all of the rides as much as you want, so we were all set. We were glad to revisit some old favorites, like the famous Grand Carousel, as well as Zombie Castle, Laff In The Dark, The Old Mill, The Dragon Coaster, and The Whip, which has probably been making people dizzy since the park first opened in 1928, and still in great shape to this day. We happened to find ourselves in the area near the stage when an energetic bunch of youngsters burst on the scene, featuring loud music and flashing lights, a magic show, acrobats, dancers, and even a fire eater, in a wide-ranging revue that was as entertaining as it was unexpected. Although we did a good job of resisting the cotton candy, we succumbed to the soft ice cream (I'll have mine with chocolate sprinkles, thank you) and since it was late and dark, we bid a fond farewell to Playland, and went on our way, tired but happy, back to the hotel.

Fortunately, it wasn't too late for the pool, which stays open at the Renaissance until 11:00 PM for your swimming pleasure, and we hurried over there to splash around and unwind from a long and busy day. Even better was a relaxing soak in their hot tub, and the pool staff was happy to let us stay and enjoy ourselves past the official closing time, although when we started doing The Wave, they threw in the towel and we had to call it a night. The hotel is renowned for its accommodations for special occasions, and there are always plenty of weddings, bar mitzvahs, anniversaries or reunions going on there, often all at once, every time we stay. This time it was our friends who were kept awake all night with the elevators, ice maker and vending machines, as the revelers were up carousing until all hours, while at the end of our deserted hallway, things were blissfully silent, except of course for those noisy people snoring, who looked suspiciously like us. In the morning, we hurried downstairs for their delectable buffet, and everything was
excellent as usual, and there's plenty of time to enjoy their wide variety of offerings, because at the Renaissance, you don't have to check out until 1:00 PM, which would be good news for the people in the pub still waiting around for their sweet potato fries. All in all, the whole experience was so delightful that we gave it a standing ovation, in fact several standing ovations - oh, all right, I admit that what we actually did was The Wave. And I'm pretty sure that the hotel management was just about ready to call out the National Guard when they saw us in our underwear dancing on top of the bus shelter, but luckily they couldn't tell it was us, because we were covered with whipped cream at the time.

Elle