To the Far Country

   Welcome to Friday with Joe McDonnell.

    I have driven the 1,750 miles between our home in Wannaska and Boston, where I grew up, many times. When the boys were in college we shuttled a work car east for their summer jobs on the Provincetown boat, then shuttled it back at summer's end.
   We'd leave Wannaska in the morning of Day 1, stopping only for gas, coffee, and restrooms. We carried a goodly supply of jerky, coke, and candy, and would roll into my parent's place in Hull on Boston's Shore around two p.m. the next day, 34 hours after we'd left home. I'd have called my mother once we crossed the Mass. line, and she'd have lunch ready. It was early to bed and good as new the next day.
   In earlier days, when the kids were little, we'd break up the drive to Hull with a stop at Cousin Liz's cottage in Union Pier on Lake Michigan. We'd leave Wannaska in the evening, drive through the night, endure a couple of hours of stop and go traffic around Chicago and arrive at Liz's cool and shady cottage around noon. Liz would pack a lunch and we'd head over to the beach. Next morning we'd hit the road with another lunch packed by Aunt Mary. We'd stop for the night somewhere in Ohio. The boys would dine in on McDonalds and Teresa and I would go out for a quiet dinner. The next evening we'd arrive at my parent's and the boys would re-establish relations with their cousins.
   The Interstate Highway System is a great way to make time, but it's not a pleasant way to travel. For one thing it's monotonous. For another, if there's an accident up ahead, you're locked in place till the tow trucks come and remove the wreckage. Teresa especially hates being boxed in by speeding semis.
   In April, 2018, we decided to spend a month at my parent's house. Sadly they are no longer with us. For the past seven  years my sister and the local family have been renting out the house during the summer.  Hull is a beach town, a long peninsula, twenty miles south of Boston. Renters can go to the beach or take the ferry into the city. Or else just hang around on the front porch watching the boats go by on the bay side of the peninsula.
   My sister had been circulating rumors that it might be time to sell the house. The town was clamping down on short term rentals. Taxes were high and the roof needed replacing. My sister grew up in this house, while I was in college when my parents bought it in 1967, so if she was even thinking about selling, we'd better get out there and make use of the place.
    When Teresa and I decided to spend that month in Hull, we were retired and had time to come and go as we pleased. We decided to use the "avoid highways" option on Google Maps and give ourselves five days for the trip instead of the usual three. The avoid highways option excludes all limited access interstate highways. It does not exclude four lane roads with stop lights and people pulling out in front of you. Nor does it exclude very short lengths of gravel roads, if a mile on gravel can save several miles of going around. Though the voice from the phone telling us what to do sounds human, and though I often talk back to it, it's just a bot, laying out the shortest route possible according to algorithms I don't understand, but which I follow almost implicitly.
   Most of the roads are nice two-laners on which you can travel 60 mph. But as you're cruising along, the phone will order a turn onto 287th street, a narrow, twisting road, running perhaps through a residential neighborhood. This will go on for two or three miles until you pop out onto another two-laner and get back up to speed. The algorithm has just done its thing.
    Google Maps is not perfect. Sometimes it tells you to make a dumb move that even I can see is wrong. Then we just barge ahead and the map recalculates. I  do appreciate how the map can take us down a route we could never have planned on our own. For one thing, I don't have detailed enough maps, and for another, it would take a tremendous amount of time to plan it all out.  It does infantilize me, but it also give us time to enjoy the passing scene.
   Last April we followed the map down to Milwaukee to visit our friend Ana and her family. We stuck mostly to the back roads, but I have found that when we near the home of friends or family, I'm ok with hopping on the Interstate to get there quicker. We took the freeway next day to Liz and Mary's in Chicago. Chicago is not a place you want to fool around. We took the freeway out of Chicago the next day, and learned you need to drive east at least fifty miles on the Interstate to escape Chicago's gravitational pull.
   Things started to get interesting around central Ohio. It was surprising how one town could be attractive and full of well maintained old houses and buildings, while the next town might be derelict and forlorn. The trek across the Alleghany Mountains looked daunting, but the road east of Warren, Pa. through the national forest was beautiful.  We followed the Alleghany River which had been dammed into a capacious reservoir and playground. Further on, we joined Highway 6 through several old river ports, Coudersport being the prettiest. Of course all these towns slowed our progress. Several times Teresa asked, "Are you ok with this?" "Yes, this is great! I love it," I replied. "Me too," she said.
   It was great rolling through this countryside of swelling buds, then drive slowly through the old towns, observing the houses and buildings, preserved or decrepit. Observing the people going about their business. I'm painting a romantic picture because that feels good. But we also drove by hospitals and prisons where life inside could be desperate. And Google took us around the slums mostly. The people there are locked down in a permanent traffic jam.
   Backroads Pennsylvania is beautiful as is New York State and Massachusetts. Google always welcomes you to a new state. We like that. But as we drove through western Massachusetts, the road dipped down into Connecticut. This seemed wrong so I pulled into a parking lot. We were stopped right on the state line, and every time I moved the phone I was welcomed to Massachusetts, then welcomed back to Connecticut. It got annoying.
   After a pleasant month in my parents house, we drove home, this time across southern Ontario and Michigan 's Upper Peninsula. When Christmas rolled around, we decided to drive out again. Our oldest son would be away for part of our visit so we opted to stay at his house rather than try to heat my parents' big  house. The backroads drive went well. My sister Mary-Jo flew to Chicago and rode with us to Hull. She's a history buff and noticed we'd be going close to Rutherford B. Hayes' home in Fremont, Ohio. The one bad thing about driving the backroads is you see all kinds of interesting stuff but don't have time to stop. But we did pull into the Hayes place "for just a minute."
   Hayes presidential library is also there. Hayes was a general in the Civil War and governor of Ohio. The election of 1876 was the most hotly disputed in U.S. history, making Bush v. Gore look like a game of croquet. Tilden lost, which is why you've never heard of him.
   We told the ticket seller we didn't have time to tour the mansion. He said we should at least walk around the grounds and visit the graves of Hayes and his wife Lucy. His war horse was also buried nearby. On our way back, we went onto the porch of the mansion and the guide came out and told us a few stories. But we had to go.
   The high point of the trip for Mary-Jo occurred that evening at a Red Lobster. She would never go to a Red Lobster at home because Massachusetts is a major lobster catching state. Besides, there are no Red Lobsters in Massachusetts. During supper, the waitress mistook Mary-Jo for our daughter. Ha ha. Very funny.  I was in high school when she was born. I taught her to walk in fact.
   Our youngest son Ned was married to Victoria Holland this past June 8. We drove out because it's great to have your own vehicle once there. Also, we'd be able to run up to the airport to pick up friends arriving from the Midwest.
   After a couple of years of talk, the family has gotten serious about selling our parent's house. The five siblings went through the place at Christmas and divided up the more valuable artifacts. Sebtiment has value. Later, the cousins picked out things they may have wanted. During the recent wedding, some of the out of town guests were able to stay at the house, and there were several after-parties there associated with the celebration. When everyone was gone, my brother Mark did a great job getting the house ready for the photographers, and on June 15, the house went on the market.
   Once the house sells, we'll have thirty days to vacate. Time for at least one more bash in the old manse. We may have to drive out.

House For Sale