It’s Good to be the King!! (New Yawk: Part II)

The Massage:

So, after the overwhelming palates of wines, I knew it was time to head to my room. Now, I had more surprises yet that awaited me. The first was when I entered my room. In the few hours I had been gone, they had changed out the towels from the shower, straightened up the room, emptied the trash and left me a nice note with some small cookies and crackers from their bakery.

At first, I was a little taken aback and my Midwest “spidey” sense kicked in…. Someone had entered my room whilst I was gone!! But, the note explained that this is a “service provided by our onboard staff”… wow. Okay. I'm hip, man.

About ten minutes later (I was just about to turn on the television) I heard a knock at my door. What the?? I opened the door and there stood a minute, impeccably dressed (and beautiful) Asian woman. Behind her was a gurney of sorts. Her smile was radiant!

“Hello. My name is Sasha. I would like to know if you would like a massage tonight?”

In my best nearly-redneck-Midwestern-fake-Southern drawl I said, “You’re shittin’ me…”

She laughed and explained that this was a legitimate service offered by the hotel, free to it’s guests. Free? Huh? Wha?

“Yes, sir Mr Glaudell (she also pronounced my name perfectly!), we believe the our weary travelers seek peace and some serenity here, and we offer a sample of our services free of charge. Would you be interested?”

I said I would. She came into my room, pulling the massage table behind her. Then she informed me that I would need to undress. For modesty reasons she produced a soft terry towel with “casa blanca hotel” embroidered on it. I went into the bathroom to strip down. While hidden from site, I explained that I was very shy of my body. I told her I had several…um… personal issues regarding….my weight and my less than attractive back.

Sasha said, “Sir! I am a professional! ALL bodies and ALL backs are beautiful to me.”

Perhaps it was the wine, or maybe just the way she said it… I shrugged and said okay. I lay on the table. She rubbed a generous supply of warm and teak-wood smelling oils on her hands…and then on my back.

For the next 40 minutes, she proceeded to rub NEARLY every part of my body. I was completely at ease… as it was not sexual…but it was sensual.. it was loving…but not personal. Very strange.

In an effort to keep things lite, at some point I told her, “This is the best sex I’ve never had!” She laughed and said, “Mr. Glaudell. You are a funny man.” I told her that with no looks, talent or money, all I have left is wit. Again she laughed, and even the sound of her laughter was relaxing.

Finally, she told me she was done, and asked me if I needed any help getting off from the table. I told her no. She warned me that sometimes people have difficulty after a long session. Well, she was not kidding. I nearly fell on my knees after exiting said table.

You could have just poured me from the table into the bed (with the luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets, that felt nearly like silk, but not quite), like a pad of melted butter into a pan. I was just that limber and relaxed. In my whole life, I’ve never felt like that!

I did not know if it was proper or not (still trying to get a handle on the whole “tipping” thing), but I gave her a ten dollar tip. She bowed and thanked me and packed up her things onto the table.

I was already in bed, and nearly asleep already when she asked if she should turn out the light as she exited. I said, “Yes, thank you.”

And that was all I could remember until the next morning.

To borrow a much over-used phrase from a famous movie, “I am KING of da WORLD!”

New Yawk City, Baby!!!

Friday, Saturday, Sunday Morning:

What can you say about New York City that hasn’t been said, sung, written, or photographed already? I know it’s a sin to impart intimate objects with human qualities, but I’m tellin’ ya… if ever there was a city that was alive… it is New York. Okay, other landmark cities I’ve been in have their own personalities; Los Angeles (big, concrete roads, beautiful people); Las Vegas (Lights, sex, money); Atlanta (funk, blues, soul, traffic); Chicago (Finance, Midwest values, Wind and Water). But New York literally seemed alive to me. There was so much energy everywhere. Nothing slowed down. Everything had a hum or a beat to it. You could put your hands on the sidewalks and they hummed and thrummed with their own rhythm, and it never ever stopped.

I entered the doorway to the Casablanca Hotel, located on West 43rd street, literally eight whole steps away from that iconic picture of Times Square, with the signs, and the triangular building parting the traffic. I couldn’t stop from looking up!


The Hotel concierge at the desk was a tall, black man dressed in (and I’m not joking here) a tuxedo. He smiled and asked me, “How may I help you today, sir?” His demeanor was fatherly, in that he portrayed the perfect fit for an upscale Manhattan Hotel. I registered and from that moment on, he addressed me as “Mr. Glaudell”. He pronounced my name perfectly. Wow.

I took the elevator to the 3rd floor where my room was located. Room 306, just two doors down from the elevator. When I entered, I imagined myself as “Rick” from the movie Casablanca… tired, weary and cynical as hell. I sluffed off my clothes and for the next half hour enjoyed one of the most luxurious showers I’ve ever had.

Refreshed and changed, I headed to “Rick’s Café” located one floor down. I heard talking, laughing and generous piano music coming from below me. I took the stairs down, and entered the café, and was greeted by a beautiful young lady standing by the front of serving area. She held a glass of champagne to me and asked if I would like a glass. Yes, I said… all the while awash in luxury and her beautiful smile.

I sampled the foods laid out along the front counter. Brie cheeses. Cookies. Crackers. Little sausages. Finger sandwiches. Caviar. And wine. Your choice of any type of wine you want. As much as you want.

Since the room was full of people, I opted for a corner over by the piano. The piano player was adept at his craft. Moving from one “favorite Pop” to another with ease. When he took a short break, I asked him, “Well. Here we are at the Casablanca Hotel. Do you play it?”

“Play what?” he asked. “Oh….”

Well, of course…and for the next few minutes, time and space…reality and film noir collide as he plays “As time goes by”. I imagine myself as “Richard Blane, American.. age 35. Cannot return to his country…for reasons a little vague.” I’m waiting for Ilsa and her husband whom I hate, yet admire to show up. Sam is at the piano, and I’ve had just a little too much to drink.

Well, after a good hour immersing myself in an old Black and White movie, I decided I should probably venture forth onto the mean streets of ol’ New York City.

I exited the elevator and the same doorman that greeted me, wished me a “fair night out on the streets.” Wow. Okay.. so I stepped out and headed out to Broadway.. and Times Square.

The street itself has been segregated in the middle by what can only be described as an huge outdoor seating area. Traffic surging around the middle, where chairs and tables sat. There were streams of people coming to and fro on the street, yet the middle was also populated with what seemed like hundreds of people.

I opted for turning up Broadway, headed north… 43rd.. 47th.. I was going to try and find the George Gershwin Theater.. that’s where the play “Wicked” was playing, and where I had tickets for the very next evening.

The walk up and down the crowded and busy street was like wandering through wonderland. Every kind of department, specialty store, restaurant, clothier, club, theater, nightclub you could ever imagined right in front of your eyes. Names everyone has heard, The Brown Derby, Sacks of 5th Avenue, Macy’s (the REAL one…where they have the thanksgiving parade.. and where “miracle on 34th street” took place!), The Paramount Theater (more on that later), The Ed Sullivan Theater… It was like having the world at your fingertips. All you had to do was enter..

Street vendors everywhere!! And purses! Oh my gosh, Ladies!!! Thousands upon thousands of purses for sale on tables on nearly every corner… Magazine stands… Hot Dog-Peanuts-Sandwich vendors…Rickshaw taxis (I still say that’s the wave of the future!)… sidewalk saviors squawking about the end of the world and repent now… tour bus ticket hawkers….sandwich board salesmen selling tickets to the newest comedy club… there’s lady liberty in full blue dress signing autographs… people walking 10 dogs at a time, all on tangled leashes… yellow taxis everywhere…tour buses dodging in and out of stops at the speed of light…

Funny thing was, I never ever felt in danger at any time… there were truly cops everywhere… most of them were directing lost citizens… pointing here and there. And it was amazingly clean (well, except for the smells coming up from the grated sewers at some of the cross streets) and safe. And even contrary to what some people have said about New York people in general.. I found the experience to be unbelievably pleasant.
I went as far up Broadway as I could manage… stopped into an Irish Pub named “McGuinnies” (no, not like the beer)… and had a wheelhouse. I stopped into the M&M’s store to look around… wow. That’s a lot of chocolate! I turned back just a block up from the Ed Sullivan Theater (wishing David Letterman would tape his shows on the weekend!) and headed back.

I noticed on one spot a few blocks from my hotel, there was a center section, which looked like bleachers and lines of people waiting to enter. I didn’t know it until later, but these were the “last minute” Broadway Play tickets… If a show does not sell out… they raffle off the tickets to the people in the bleachers…first come, first serve. Up until just recently it was cash only.. but now they do accept credit cards. It is possible (I was told) to get some good seats at a marquee Broadway play for pennies on the dollar…

I’m thinking I was really hungry (I had passed in and out of about 30 restaurants during my evening stroll), so I settled on a little restaurant (recommended to me by the father-like desk clerk at the hotel) called “The Brooklyn Diner”…located just one door down from the hotel. I decided to take his advice. I paid about 35 dollars for a burger, fries and 3 beers. Okay, well the burger WAS excellent.. but 35 bucks?? Oh, well. When in Rome, I told myself!

I headed back to the hotel, full and satisfied. I did stop back to Rick’s Café in the hotel… to listen a little more to the piano player and have some more wine. It was nearly 11 p.m. and the piano player had left, but the wine was still being served…

I sat down next to the bronze elephant (one of two) that graced the room… drank my wine and thought to myself…

“Ah. It Is Good To Be The King!” And that is exactly how I felt!

7th Leg of the journey: New York City!!!

212 Miles
Left Boston: 11:00 am
Arrived NYC: (Lower Manhattan) 4:25pm


I left Boston not really feeling good about stuff. It had been a very long night. And of the entire road in front of me, this part scared me the most. I had been warned about the drivers in New York City. Its do or die there… eat or be eaten… Stand or fall. No place for wimps. Not for the faint of heart.

Part of the problem was timing. Checkout at the Milner Hotel was 11:00 am, and check in at the hotel in New York was not until 4:00 pm. It was only a three-hour trip from Boston to New York.

I decided to take my chances anyway. I figured the earlier I made into the city, the less I would have to worry about Rush Hour on a Friday afternoon in the worlds 6th largest city. I did stop a couple of times for rest and nourishment. The traffic on the highway was not too terrible, although I did have one unfortunate tussle with a lane of “cash only” traffic on the Massachusetts Turnpike. Why? Why? Why? Would they ever put a toll booth on the top of a bridge, where all the pay for cash traffic has to suddenly veer right (under construction) and then a sharp left….to get to the “cash only” (one lane) booth? Again, several fingers and gestures flew my way, as I had to brake into the line waiting to pay the toll.

I thought to myself… this is what the highway to hell must be like!

It wasn’t Hell. It was New York City! And, this time I let the GPS do the talking. Once across the Queensboro bridge (Stands for “Boro of Queens”) I was pretty much a slave to the GPS.

It didn’t help that because the U.N. was in session with all the world’s dignitaries (and Not-so dignitaries: I’m thinking of Kadfi’s rant at the U.N.), many of the roads were blocked off and there was NO detours to anywhere. “Up-dating Route…” was what my GPS kept telling me.

I wound my way around and down the slim island of Manhattan, until I was only three blocks away from Broadway. It’s was actually quite easy, as on the South tip of the island, the blocks are all numbers (North/ South) or easy to remember names (East/ West). The motel parking was right next-door at a place called “Meyer’s Parking” and I found the place easily and I was soon toting my luggage into the Casablana Hotel.

The Casablanca Hotel: Well, the pictures did not do the place justice I’ll say that. At the enterance way there was a well-suited young man that asked me, “Will we be staying at the Casablanca Hotel today?”

Here is the Web site for the Hotel: http://www.casablancahotel.com/

6th Leg of the Journey: Boston, Massachusetts

Left Portland, Maine: 1 p.m. Thursday
Arrive: 6 pm (after lots of turn-arounds!)
128.7 miles
30.00 Gas @ 2.65/ gal
31.7 MPG

I checked out of the Portland by the bay (reluctantly) at noon, and went again to the DogFish for a lunchtime Soup and Salad. Clam Chowder was the order of the day, as I enjoyed my meal while people watching outside the huge bay windows.

I got in my car, and made the trek to Boston in no particular hurry. Perhaps I should have been.

First, I had the wrong printed out directions for the wrong hotel. Over the course of the past year or so, I had changed my mind on several hotels, either because of cost or location. I had finally decided on the older, cheaper and better-located “Milner Hotel” right in the heart of the city.

The printed directions I had were for an earlier choice of hotels just outside the city. I had realized my mistake as I arrived at the wrong hotel. Flustered but not un-done, I decided to use my handy dandy laptop to lookup exactly where the heck I was supposed to be.

My laptop is the one I use for work, which is pretty useless considering the battery no longer holds a charge. Foreseeing such a problem, before I had left on my journey I went to the local Farm and Fleet store and purchased a DC to AC power inverter. This handy do-jiggy plugs into your cigarette lighter, and can power small electrical appliances, such as…um.. … a laptop! Yeah me! I was prepared!

After booting the computer, and getting a wireless source, I found the correct hotel and address, fed that into my handy GPS unit….and back on the road I went. When I arrived at the correct destination, there was NO hotel. Lots of old fashioned store fronts in brick and brownstone, but no grand hotel. I had to re-boot the laptop and again to gain the hotel phone number, which I did.

“78 Charles Street? Yes, that’s where we are located,” Said the pretty voice on the end of the phone. A pause. “OH!! THAT Charles Street! Oh, heavens no, we are on the OTHER Charles street across town! You’re looking for Charles Street South.” I must have rolled my eyes across the wire, or she could hear my irritation when I ask how I could find the other Charles Street across town.

The directions she gave me were useless, as I found out the grand old city of Boston is rife with one-way streets and roundabouts. Ah, we pause our story here to tell the story of the roundabout.

You know, near where I live, they have installed what is called a “roundabout” to supposedly increase safety and decrease traffic congestion. Now, I’ve heard it’s a sound and scientific principle, but frankly…. I don’t believe it for a second. The idea is that traffic goes around to the right, as other connecting roads join in and go to the right until you find the right “exit” out of the whirlpool. This way, traffic never really stops but slows down and everyone gets on to their correct connection, as it were. That’s the theory, anyway.

Now, add eight or ten connections and three lanes of traffic and instead of a roundabout you have what my friends back in high school loving called a “circle jerk”… I entered said roundabout and was not seen again for days. I just kept circling around and around, as there was just no way to break into the traffic mess that was all around me. I think I counted six times around the bend I went. Finally, some guy in a BMW must have felt sorry for the Wisconsin hick that was lost, and let me get ahead of him… and finally out of the tempest I came, back on the road to the lost hotel.

It took all I had to find the location of the hotel; maps, GPS, phone, Laptop and my own sometimes not-so common sense of direction. After circling the general area (and one more time through the roundabout AGAIN!), I parked my car a few blocks from where I believed the hotel should be located. I walked two blocks down and one over, and WHALLA!!! There she be!

The Milner Hotel was wedged between a parking ramp and some small shops in what I would characterize as an alleyway. The outside of the hotel was actually beautiful, with a carved stone front, and flower boxes outside the windows…it had the look of a very old, but grand hotel.

I parked my car in front (only a 10 minute limit and tow-away zone!!), and registered. I stood behind a very nicely dressed business lady who was having an argument with the front desk clerk. She was complaining her room was too small. She said she didn’t even have a place to put her computer. She asked if she could get a bigger room and the desk clerk lady (I’m assuming the one that gave me the bad directions) said there were no bigger rooms than hers. Angry, the woman skulked off.

I just thought she was being overly dramatic. I would find out she was not. My room was on the ground floor…room 104. Remember what I had written earlier about rooms on the ground floor?

Well, of course there was no place to park. Parking was “generously” provided across the street and part of the Park Plaza Hotel parking ramp. Parking was only 25 dollars per night. I’m beginning to see a pattern here… So, after parking the car, I checked into what can only be described as a closet…

After a quick shower and a catnap, I headed out on foot to discover Boston proper. The city itself was booming with people. I did make my way to the Boston Commons area, and there was the world-renowned pub, “Cheers”. The front looked just like the television show. Inside didn’t look anything like it. Actually, the inside was very touristy and expensive. After have one of their “house ales”, I decided I would find a better place to have dinner, as Cheers was a total disappointment. No Norm…No Coach. No Woody. No Dianne. No Dr. Crane.

Inside it looked just like a TGIFridays. Uhg. Spare me!

It was recommended by Natalie, the nice desk clerk to find a restaurant called “The Rock Bottom Brewery” just a couple of blocks off from the hotel. I found it, and had a great burger and fries. I found out they supposedly brewed the “best of Boston beers”, so I asked the waiter what he would recommend. He suggested I tried the “Rocktoberfest Lager”… I must say, it was even better than the “Wheelhouse” I had the night before. The meal and the three pints of local brew were pretty cheap and worth every penny.

I walked around a bit more, and headed back to the hotel. I was nervous about my impending road trip into New York City the next day…and I wanted to make sure I had a good night’s rest.

Didn’t happen.

When I entered my room…er….closet, the air conditioner (which was precariously hung above the window, above the bed) had been on all this time (On and OFF were it's only mode of operation), and the room was very chilly. I shut off the control for the air and made my way into the tiny bed in the corner of the room (which was pretty much every corner)…

I slept a whole hour before people talking loudly outside my window awaked me. With the air conditioner off, I realized I could hear pennies drop outside on the sidewalk. For the next several hours, I suffered another night of unending traffic, party-goers and one small argument between two drunken men fighting for the right to take some lady home.

Right around 3 a.m. I turned the air back on and made do with as many covers as I could manage. I awoke early in the morning to find that I could nearly see my breath in my room…my nose was cold and I had to pull my coat onto the bed to help in the cold. At least I couldn’t hear the street noises anymore….

5th Leg part 2....er...duex..

5th Leg: Part Duex…er…Two.

The Holiday Inn Portland By the Bay was, by far, the most luxurious of the Hotels so far. I was on the 9th floor of this amazing Hotel. The view from the window was breathtaking! I could see the Atlantic Ocean for the first time… as I just stared out of the window for nearly an hour, as darkness fell upon the water.

I had made arrangements months in advance to eat at a supposedly “Authentic Irish” restaurant name RiRa right on the waterfront. It was just a little further than could be walked easily. The nice lady at the front desk directed me to the shuttle and the drivers stationed at the door awaiting; Eric and Eric. I laughed and say, “Perfect! My middle name is Eric!”

Eric dropped me off about 18 blocks along with waterfront, and gave me a number to call him back when it was time to return. Wow.. now that’s some service. I walked into the RiRa Restaurant.

It was a very beautiful place, I will grant you that. I took the “upper loft” seating overlooking the water (of course). I will say it may have advertised itself as such, but for an “Authentic” Irish restaurant, it was pretty Americanized. There was a 50-inch Big Screen television that several of the patrons were watching the Boston Red Sox game.

The bar keep was a pretty agreeable guy. I asked him what a good Irish beer that’s a little softer than a Guiness. He suggested the special (of course), a lighter Irish “Lager” called “Wheelhouse”. I agreed to try it, and indeed….it was perfect. Just enough of that hops taste…but not so weighed down as a full Pulstas. I ordered the Fillet Minong along with a good helping of “Irish Potatoes”. It was a wonderful mean, though I hardly think it could be termed “authentic”. Fifty dollars lighter, I left RiRa full and just a little tipsy.

Irish “Wheelhouse” has about 8 percent Alcohol by volume! Not to mention my “desert” which was a big shot of Jameson Whiskey. Doggone ya, Dena!!! It was YOU that introduced me to the Jameson... Good Irish Whiskey! And only like 10 dollars per shot! Grrr...

I called my faithful driver Kato… er… Eric, and in five minutes he arrived at RiRa to pick me up. He said he had one other pickup to make before we went back to the hotel. He picked up a nice elderly couple who (unless I miss the big clues) were Jewish and together forever.

They were at another restaurant on the waterfront, and were a chatty couple of folks for sure. They asked me where I was from and I said Wisconsin. They started talking about how great the snowmobile races were up Eagle River.

It was nice to chat with them. Seems like most of the people I chatted with were at least in their 60’s. Is this my elderly-bonding moment? Dude!

Eric informed me if I want to go to a cool local pub that was not so commercialized, it would be the “DogFish” just 2 blocks up from the hotel. Tonight they had open mic night and it was always packed.

Still a little tipsy from the pub, I decided I would wander up the street to the DogFish. Wow, what a place! It was packed, and okay… I did indeed sign up for open mic, and was handed an ancient guitar and told to sing into the microphone.

I gave them two songs; “Yesterday” (Which received moderate, and polite applause) and then my own “Midlife Crisis Song”…which I had people singing right along. At the end of the song the house exploded with applause! It was pretty cool that people really responded well to that song, and they requested an encore. I then sang my version of “Margaretaville” which also got raves!

It was great! I felt like I had really whacked it out of the park with the three songs. They gave me more free drinks, and by nearly closing time, I decided I should get back to the motel. I walked the two very LONG blocks back and collapsed, happy, onto the very comfortable bed.

It’s no surprised that I slept in late the next day, as I awoke to a sunny and breezy day. The sun glinting off the bay, and I lazed around the room until nearly noon that day.

5th leg of the Journey… Welcome Back to America!!

Started out 8:30 a.m.
Arrived: 4:20 p.m.
295.7 Miles
32.6 mpg
Gas: 25.00

As I was saying my trip back to America started out on a bad note. It was rainy, it was dark, it was dreary. It was Canada! (haha).

The way out of town from “Mount Royal” (thanks Gail, for that! I laughed about that a lot), was a maze of confusion. Honestly, with all my maps, GPS and guidance, I was still lost. Luck was on my side, however. I somehow just “happened” into the right highway exit…. And ended up on the right highway out of town. What a stroke of luck!!!

I was really laughing at myself how I managed to land like a cat on my intended targer. Whew!

I find it interesting that the closer I got to the US border, the clearer the weather. When I finally reached the Border station at a little town in Vermont, it was finally sunny and cool. The name of the place was appropriately called “Rock Island”.

The Border guard was much more agreeable on the way in, than the frosty lady in Michigan… He asked me for my Passport, and how long I was in Canada. He opened the tailgate to my car, to check for contraband. Then he handed me back my passport and said, “I hope you have a pleasant trip and thank you.” Wow. What a difference a Country makes.

Well, just over the border was a small Midwestern-ish town named “Derby” where I stopped for a good long time at a McD’s for a real US breakfast. I spent a good hour, reading my book and feeling better about finally coming back to my home in America.

Well, I girded myself for the quick race across three states and hoped that my next destination might be a little easier on my nerves. Well, it was a yes. And it was a no. The scenery in Vermont and New Hampshire were amazing. The colors on the trees are just now turning. Reds, yellows and lush, dark greens… along with sloping hillsides made fresh from the days of rain. So many post card pictures in the making!

Well, I decided that I had enough of crowded interstates with people either passing me like I was standing still or the bumper to bumper dance we’ve all become accustomed to on big highways. So I thought I would take a few side roads from Eastern Vermont and through New Hampshire.

Every time I think of New Hampshire, I think of that old black and white move I have called “The Devil and Daniel Webster”… Where only good NEW HAMPshire farm men grow good NEW HAMPshire wheat, Mary! It’s easy to imagine the first farmers and settlers that came here were devout believers in hard work, freedom, church and families. Not much has changed in 250 years, which I can tell by some of the old, old farmlands…

I entered New Hampshire without much fanfare, as I was traveling on a old country road that led me past “The Presidential Mountain Range”. I didn’t even know about it… but steeped in the low hanging clouds you could see Mount Washington, Adams and Eisenhower. It took me a while to recognize where I’ve heard of these mountains recently. This is the mountain range where several people, hiking have been murdered and left for dead. The beauty and the loneliness of the mountains in the distance, only gave me a chill as I remembered this.

I stopped in a tiny little burg just at the base of the mountains called Gorham for some gas and a soda… stopped at the “Faith Gas Station and grocery store” on the main drag. The very pretty young lady behind the counter (you paid for your groceries and gas at the same place), asked me for the “Pre-pay” amount. I told her ten dollars. Perhaps it was just that I was tired, but it seemed to me that she used both her hands to give me my change, and gave me a smile that could like up the mountainside. Wow.

As I headed out, I was opening the door for an elderly man that was carrying some supplies home. He thank me, and notice my car. He said, “oh, that’s a pretty classy looking car you got there. What is that called?”

We struck up a friendly conversation about cars and such… and I noticed he had one bad eye. He was probably 80 if not more so, but he was very friendly. He asked me where I was from. I told him, Wisconsin… land of cows and beer and Packers. He laughed and said, “Have you ever been to a little place up north called Antigo?”

Could have knocked me over with a feather. I said, yes… I had just been there weeks earlier. I told him that my folks used to take me fishing every summer on a little place called “Pickeral Lake”….and I’ll be danged if he didn’t know of the place! Well, we stood and talked for a good half an hour about the old north woods and fishing for “Pike” (the actual name for Pickerals’). Funny thing about angles, sometimes they look like old men.

Well, I headed East, into Maine… and then finally South toward the coast. Now, the stretches of roads in Maine where beautiful… EXCEPT.. it was obvious they were doing some major renovations on the winding highways there. And, they don’t fool around brother. Not like here, where they may close one side of the road.. no no no.. they literally take the road away, blast parts of the hills and you are traveling on dirt, mud, sand, rutted roads….bumper to bumper… at 3mph for stretches of 20 miles or more.

If my suspension is not wrecked before…it certainly is now.

The way into Portland was not as bad as I thought it would be, as I obviously snuck in from the rear, avoiding any of the really busy toll roads.

I found my motel easily and quickly, with little or no troubles at all. I was right downtown in old town Portland, Maine… and I had finally managed to take my car and myself from Coast to Coast.

Here, finally was the Atlantic Ocean! Ahoy!!!

4th Leg Across the Country of Lesser France....

Honestly, How I was to know? I mean, I’ve heard people say it… and even warned me about it…but, now I know how Canada is really French. Hey, I figured…it’s like America…where we accommodate everyone. (yeah, little laugh there)

Other languages can be difficult for anyone, I’m sure. But French is especially difficult. How about 3.4 km Sud - du - Ste-Angelina-monninor / Rue St. Ellen vers Delasuus / Bol. Rue Ashland ??? Go ahead and find THAT animal on the map, I dare you!

I did finally figure out the whole KM thing about 200 miles (er) Kilometers from Niagara Falls… It was a quick lesson in mathematics and equation solving. I couldn’t believe that petrol (gas) was ONLY 68 cents (Canadian) per Gallon….er…liter. Four liters is just a little bit more than 1 gallon. OH…hell!

Well, then I seemed to remember my stupid car was made in Canada….there has to be some digital way of figuring this out. Well, after fooling around on some of those display prompts on my speedometer… I reset my oil usage meter three times… I finally figured out I could use “other” for measurement! Wow.. my speedometer ran up from 60 to over 100 kph!! And suddenly, I could measure distance to go, liters left in the tank, everything. Technology to the Rescue!!! Yeah!!!

It still didn’t help me out with the road signs, though.

I was thinking I was going to find my hotel sometime around 4p.m. It turned cloudy and rainy and dark suddenly. And driving around in dark, rainy weather in Montreal…where I’m sure there is more construction on the roads than there really are roads. After some 20 (and I’m not joking here) detours around my destination.. I finally found the Lord Berri Motel located on Rue Berri Street (there are approx four of those with different spellings by the way) by 8:00 pm.

The only way I could find the place, was to use my (up until now) psychotic GPS unit. However, I must admit…. The thing performed perfectly, leading me deftly around what I would discover was the Montreal University (no wonder it was so confusing here!)… My room actually faced the “Main University Library”. I know this because I’m sure several of the shocked students got to see me in my birthday suit (there were no shades or drapes on the windows), as I got out of the shower.

Well, I asked about parking and the very well-coffered (Is that REALLY a Rolex you’re wearing?) desk manager informed me, “we’re all filled up on parking tonight.” Okay, then Jeeves ol boy, where do you suggest I park? Up your ass? (I didn’t say it…but I kind of wanted to)… He told me there is “additional parking” next to the hotel…however they charge 35 dollars (Canadian) per day… and the day starts at Midnight. So for the princely sum of 70 dollars I can park my car in a questionable part of the city on an above ground lot until check out time the next day at noon?

Wow…what a scam. But, at this point, what else could I do?

I must say that the parking attendant was very cool though. He laughed when I told him the story (Of course, I don’t think he spoke much English, so maybe he was just laughing at the funny way I pronounce stuff), and only charged me 25 dollars (American), for the whole night.

The hotel room? Well, I felt like I was suddenly stuffed into one of those strange Fellini French Films… all in black and white.. and young people… stick figure girls in short short tight black skirts, long black flowing hair, tiny breasts, and wearing a beret… the men all tall, tanned French men with zero abs, curly black hair and not a clue how to treat another human beings…aka: The woman they were romancing…. inhabiting the whole place… I was very tired, but I was determined to see a little of the city before I conked out.

I walked down the street, and I did find a small jazz club that a lot of people were walking towards. Up some questionable wooden stairs to a small, dingy and badly lit club… the music was really something… drums.. (just a snare, bass drum, one tom, and a lot of high hat)… stand up bass and piano… It was a little richy for my taste. Music a little over my head (beret?)… but again.. it was like watching some 1960’s film.. I nearly expected to see Maynard Krebs (if you were born before Gilligan’s Island, you’ll know who he is) in the corner with his bongos.

I found out that as long as I didn’t speak much, mumbled a lot to myself (I do that anyway), and paid for everything in Canadian money, no one would take a second look at me… I stayed for the better part of an hour… drank some very foul (yet, somehow tasty) French wine… and headed back to the motel room.

And what the heck is the idea that you eat your room service food, and then leave the remainders outside the door on the floor? Is that a French thing… or is that just a human pig thing? Doesn’t anyone think about rats or bugs?

Well, I got very little sleep that night. The noise from the air conditioner (if you could call it that… I would call it the out of tune, not-quite calliope), was not good.. if you shut it off the dingy room smelled of sweat and urine, and the next door neighbors were either having sex…or watching tv… couldn’t tell which, and the French wine was now burbling in my stomach.

I was up and out of there by eight the next morning.. the day started out as rainy and cool…and overcast skies.

I think that Montreal was way outside of my comfort zone. It’s one thing with the Canadian money, and the way the people absolutely HATED us American’s.. but, the language barrier, the non-accommodating traffic signs and the absolute foreign-nation of the place made me VERY happy when I finally crossed over the next day into America.

All this got me thinking of something though: Perhaps there’s a reason we are hated in other countries. You know, it’s not just the eight years of G.W. pushing everyone around like some yehaw cowboy. It’s the way we Americans perceive things too.

I saw a very funny commercial the other day on television with Wanda Sykes. She was playing like she was “the President” in a press conference. One of the reporters asked her is she could prove that she was of “Authentic American Heritage”, she replies; “Of course I’m American! I only speak one language and I REFUSE to learn the metric system!”

I saw plenty of evidence in only my two short days in another country of what has been termed “the ugly American”.. Maybe like everything else we seem to do lately, we’ve gone to extremes on how we treat others in other Countries.

I think I’m going to try and learn another language, or maybe more. It’s really a global world we live in, and by moaning and bitching that we…oh…have to push “English” on the ATM… we belittle ourselves. I’m willing to bet our ancestors did not have a great idea how to speak the native tongue either.

Well.. onward to the Coast!!!

3rd Leg of the Journey...

Well, I spoke too soon about my hotel room in Port Huron. Oh, my… gosh!! I figured it was Sunday night…right? What would be the odds anyone else would even be at this motel? Well, after changing rooms once because on no wireless access…and a green tinted television… I landed in room 112… right below… apparently… the frat party’s all night beer pong and orgy party. Young college kids having a house party right above my head!

It started sometime around 10p.m. local time.. bam! Slam… bang bang.. laugh. Laugh.. scream… bang some more.. thump thump thump! This continued unabated until 3 a.m. I turned on the wall air unit, but it still did not help. Finally, around 3:15 a.m. I went to the front desk and was very polite but very firm about the noise above me. The front desk lady understood, and shifted me to room 217. I did find sleep sometime around 3:30 am.. only to be awaked by the gentle pitter patter of some worker with a “saws all” one floor below me!

Man!!

I did get back to sleep and awake later than I figured I would.


The day was rainy a dreary, but at least I did get a few hours sleep.

Soon I was packed up and only 6 miles later, I was facing the US/Canadian border. Over the bridge… (1.50 for a toll), and wait in line to show a border official my Passport that I had so proudly attained months before, and just for this moment.

It’s true… the border guard lady was one tough and assuming bitch.
I guess the thing that really surprised me is when she asked me, “Why would you decide to come to Canada on a Monday and Tuesday?”
Wow… by the time she was done with me…I did feel like I had done something forbidden.. wrong.. It was pleasure. It was pleasure! I think it was? No. No… I swear I’ve never stolen anything but cigarettes and that was in 9th grade, and I swear it wasn’t for me.. it was for a friend that said he would pay me 10 dollars and a box of rubbers.. honest. PLEASE DON’T ARREST ME!!!

Bye. Bye. Is what she said (unsmiling) and handed my passport back to me. Whew!

The roads in Canada are pretty nice. One thing I noticed was the complete lack of roadside billboard type signs. No like in Arizona, where they have a sign advertising “Willy Billie Bob’s Chicken BBQ house and pancake house” every 100 yards.

Okay, a quick primer in metrics (something us Americans REFUSE to learn, I guess)… 100 km/h is about 62 miles per hour. The kilometer is just a little short of our mile. Maybe my GPS unit was not great on directions, but it did really help me learn a short lesson on digital mileage.

I arrived in Niagara Falls shortly before 4pm, and was surprised that I could find the hotel very quickly. The nice lady checked me in… I was surprised to find I was on the 10th (top) floor of the hotel!

Wow… pretty nice. It’s an older hotel, for sure.. but it’s pretty well kept.

A walk down the street to the falls. Pretty darn kitschy.. Not quite Las Vegas, but more so than Wisconsin Dells. Actually, very much like Wisconsin Dells. Ruby Tuesday; Hard Rock Café; Ripley’s Believe it or not; The horror museum; TGIFriday’s… it was a touristy paradise.

I spent 31 dollars (American) for a Philly Sandwich and a salad. I spent 13 dollars for a six-pack of “imported American Beer”. I guess I should have listened to Gail…

But, the one thing that no matter how much they try to “tourist up”, they still cannot take away the beauty and majesty of the falls. I think of it a little like the Wisconsin Dells boat trips. Sure. Sure…as some people think, they are kind of lame… (After all, the falls is just a big waterfall or two. The Grand Canyon just a big hole in the ground, etc etc)… But seeing the falls…. And feeling the constant humid spray from those falls reminds you the awesome power of nature.

What was even better was the falls at night. The lights on the falls gave the place an eerie, painting like feel. It was beautiful!

Tomorrow, I have a very long day of driving.. the next to longest of the whole trip… 8 to 9 hours of driving to arrive at the most northern point I’ve every been, Montreal.

I must say that I can see the American side of the falls from where I was at, and I sort of long for my own Country already…. I told myself that up until this point, it would be possible to turn back and scuttle back home in just a day or two. After this, this is no turning back.

The second Leg of the journey…

Start from Ludington: 11:00 a.m.
260.4 miles
431.7 miles total (so far)
Arrived at Port Huron: 4:50 p.m.

Michigan is a land of confusion.. there are so many personalities of this state. First, it’s mostly known for Detroit, old world… 50’s and 60’s automobiles. Flint Michigan. Grand Funk Railroad. Bob Seger. Three chord, old school rock n’ roll. Motown. Tough as nails. Rust. Pig Iron and Steel.

But, there is so much more to Michigan than you think you do. For one, the state is nearly surrounded by water, the great lakes. It’s a rusty anchor, with Lake Michigan to its West, Lake Superior to its North Lake Huron on its Eastern flank, and even a little Lake Erie on the South East tip. I can see why this state was one of the great manufacturing states, so many ports of call.

But, there’s more: Fishermen. Divers. Merchant ships. And Sportsmen. And then there’s the Midwest charm of the place. They still love their long-suffering Lions (Who have not, as of this date, won a football game since near the end of the 2007 season), and who more than this state can boast the undeniable title of “Underdog”.

Then there are the big trees, and long forgotten dirt roads once used for the logging companies that made their businesses here. Hunting. Wow, I’ve seen so many hunting stores and places with guns that could easily shoot down a hundred deer without so much as a spurt. So much that just a place that’s dirt poor and not easily getting used to it. 15 percent unemployment (officially), but I see evidence it’s a lot worse than that.

I started off later than I usually do, as I lounged around the motel room. I took my time. Decided I was not going to eat until I got to Port Sanilac, facing big Lake Huron. Looked like a good place to stop.

Other cool stuff: I got to listen to “Tommy” (The Who) in its entirety. Listened to some great polka music. Heard the Packers Lost the game… arrrg. Oh, ate dinner at a nice little dive called “CJ’s” in Port Huron. Yes, I’m sure there is a CJ’s in nearly every small town in America. Great burger.. and the waitresses were hot. What else could you ask for?

The accident: Yes, there was an accident. No, it was not serious. No, I did not get hurt. No, the police did not get involved. Stupid, actually… I hurt my pride (and my front bumper) more than anything. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! Still looking for a good place to purchase a refrigerator magnet, I stopped at what I thought was a nice spot on the corner of the highway, “Scott’s Quick Stop”.

I entered and was shocked to see it was also a gun sales store. And what guns! Jeesh! I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure I saw a couple AK47’s hanging on the wall with price tags on them. I still have to wonder, exactly what kind of animal would you be hunting with an AK47? Well, no magnets, so I bought an expensive diet coke and headed back out to the car. I drank the coke and took a small brake leaning against my car.

I got into the car, and was attempting to turn left onto the roadway from the parking lot. I turned left at the first open opportunity, and suddenly a highway sign pole was in front of me. I ran it over and heard an awful sound a screeching metal against plastic (my bumper) . The sign fell over with a thud on the roadway. I immediately stopped the car and backed up.

I could see several witnesses to the accident, as I weighed my options… do I just leave and pretend I didn’t do it? Dicey at best. No. I decided I would do the honest thing and go into the store and ask to call the police.

I talked to a very nice dispatch lady, and she asked for my cell phone number. I got back out to the car to get a call by the Michigan State Trooper. He asked me all the information, and then he said some extraordinary; there was not enough state troopers available to handle this non-emergency, so there was nothing he could do. He asked if over 1000 dollars damage was done to my car, I answer (truthfully) no. It just knocked out the fog light I (just weeks ago) proudly put back into it’s plastic holder.

The Trooper repeated the fact they were short handed (it was a Sunday Afternoon in sunny and mild weather), and told me that since this was nothing to worry about, I could just leave. Greatly relieved, I thanked him, shaking my head, and headed on my journey.

Maybe I just “had my glitch” for the trip. I was pretty much ready to run back home.

Sometime after that, I was in the small town of Port Sanilac. There were no real good places to dine, so I decided to wait until after I got to the Hotel room. It was a nice walk, however, along the beach on Lake Huron. Beautiful, is all I can say. The marina was a protected sleeve from the breakwater of the big lake. I watched several people pull their boats out of the slip and enjoyed the fresh and clear air.

It took me a lot longer to get to the motel room than I thought. But once I got here, I noticed no wireless internet (at least not in my room), and the television had a real annoying green tint (and no way to adjust the screen color). I asked the nice lady if I could switch rooms (I suspected, correctly, the reason I couldn’t get any Internet was my room was too far from the office). She was very helpful, and now here I am.

I’m glad the accident was nothing more than just a blow to my confidence. But, again… sometimes I think it’s just the Angels with me again, reminding me to PAY ATTENTION!!!

I still don’t know how that stupid pole got in front of my car.

Tomorrow, I had better be a little sharper. I head into the Canadian border tomorrow. I’m looking forward to seeing Niagara Falls again. It’s been two days of perfect weather, but it looks like it may rain on my parade. No matter, I plan on getting mighty wet when I visit the falls for the second time in my life. (the first time, she was wet.. LOL)…

I’m going to see about riding the Maid of the Mist too. Back to you… F*ckers!! (From the movie “Bruce Almighty”)…

First leg of the Journey..

Saturday September 19, 2009:

171.3 miles. Left Baraboo 10:12 am. Gas: 1.49.9/ gal. Total: 37.78
Squishy penny. Pictures. Post card.

Thoughts: I was pretty grumpy. I don’t know why. Perhaps because I was awakened at 3:30 am on my phone (scaring the crap out of me…Is it my son in a horrible accident?) … and again by someone pounding on my window at 4:30 am. Drunken diatribes delivered just before my departure was not a great way to start.

I had so many reservations at first, I kept thinking I would just skip the whole thing. I mean, really?? Why does it matter? It was just a waste of time and money. And who cares?? The one thing nearly everyone could NOT understand was the fact I was traveling alone… sans solo… alto nada… So, really who cares?

But, as I was traveling along (at hypersonic speeds by the way, as I was…of course.. running late) the beautiful greenery and farm fields of Wisconsin were whizzing by, I couldn’t help but feel better. Little by little, my problems subsided and my worries (founded and un-so) diminished into the bright blue skyline.

I’ve figured out that my GPS is mentally retarded. (I know, I know…not PC…okay.. let’s jus say my GPS is insane!!).. I had a clue of this a month ago, as I took a trip up north to Wausau, where I followed it’s so-called “route guidance” to 110 miles out of the way. Again today, exactly the same. I kept scratching my head…why would it require 4 and ½ hours to reach Manitowoc? Well, the stupid thing would have you reach the port city via Oshkosh and AROUND lake Winnebago. Huh?

Like I said, crazy. Just more evidence that though technology is nice, it is never the whole answer to anyone’s problems!

I arrived at the Car Ferry port at 1:15 pm. I was so concerned about getting on time, I missed the turn in twice. Still, no problem. They led my car to the on ramp, where they took my car into the cavern of the boat. I took out my faithful Lands End shoulder bag with all my necessities; Library book, water bottle, wallet, camera and (very important) hooded sweatshirt.

I remembered the last time I took the car ferry with my son some 7 years ago, the warm sunny day gave way to windy and very chilly conditions on deck. And that was in August. I was certainly right about the sweatshirt. Though the day was clear and sunny, the waves were tall and the wind was raw.

It was a sweet ride, and I was surprised the boat was not nearly as crowded as I remember. (both a good and bad thing)… The front top deck, is populated by chairs and lounger chairs. I was shocked there were plenty for all, as I made my first home on the deck in the midday sun. I noticed there were more “elderly” people (you mean, like me?) than young. But, the guy with the Homburg Hat, pipe and brown corduroy suit was in a group with like-minded 60-somethings on what was no doubt a group adventure (Funny note, as I was picking up my car, I noticed this same man was driving….what else?? A 1996 silver Chevy HHR. I look into my future?).

Looking out about half way, you cannot see land on either side. No fishing or sailing boats either. Pretty close, I imagine to what it must feel like on the ocean. The wind whipped and the sun was bright… the constant motion of the boat was like rocking an old man to sleep. It was a short nap. However, perhaps I should not have been facing the sun… as I awoke with a definite burn to my face! Good lord, the last thing anyone needs to see is me…the chubby lobster!!!

On a temporal note: I really felt that this is the place I belong. I’ve said it so many times before… I was born in the wrong place and in the wrong time. I looked out on the waves, and I just felt like I was home. How can you explain it? A life somehow short-circuited? I was drowned in the blues and rock and roll and guitars and awash in “groupies” and alcohol… but I should have been a shipman.. first mate… a scubby.. not a townie. A mid-tech or a watchman… instead of a computer geek. A sailor… not a landlubber!

I know, it’s romanticizing it all… like a real-life movie of Titanic.. People that make their living from the sea make a hard and short life. Still, there was no doubt about the call the waves of Lake Michigan sounded to my soul. I wonder, if the sirens call be even stronger once I reach the ocean?

In just over four hours, the sweet ride on the water was over. I reached the motel here in Ludington feeling exhausted. It was almost like I was at the wheel of the boat the entire time. Odd. But my face is sun and wind burnt, my Baraboo worries are long behind me, my soul salved and my future seems again bright.

Tomorrow: Eastward… into the armpit of the America.. not far where they USED to make T-birds and bumper of steel and chrome. Now, it’s rusted and falling apart.. A testament to people that have never learned to change with the times. Buggy whips for all, I say!

Still, like any great rock and roll song, there’s still heat under the hood of that Chevy… and just like Bob Seger could tell you much better than I.. rock and roll never forgets! Eastward ho!

Yours’: The accidental tourist.

Time Time Time...

Greetings... Well, again...it has been awhile.

Starting tonight.. this blog will also be my "Travel Log Blog" for those of you who wants to follow along with the bouncing ball...

Make sure your seats and tray tables are in the UPright position (ummm... yup).. Seat belts securely fastened; Exit signs are plainly marked.

First, some back ground. About 2 years ago, I took off on a travel adventure to the Great West. It was an amazing adventure. So much so, I decided that visa vi The Bucket List... to make travel a component of my life. I was scared shitless, to be honest. What little travel I have done (to Chicago, for example) was for the most part with someone... and travel alone seemed...well, lonely, desolate, sad. In a way, travel by myself made me feel even more alone or blue than I had before.

The trip West changed all that. Of course, it was wonderful that I met up with some of my bestest friends here and there along the way...which really helped. But...I've said it before...there was a WOW around every corner.

Even though I was alone, I didn't feel alone. I felt...adventurous and free. I hope to feel that as well this time. Honestly, I'm again scared shitless...

But, there's a part of me that wants to take on the Big Apple myself. And I want to know that somewhere out there might be a better life. And if there is, perhaps growing older isn't so bad after all.

I hope you enjoy this blog. Please forgive any mature stuff....but this is the un-adulterated Dale. I suggest you turn your head. This might hurt alittle....

"While we waste time on locals, comin' through the door...

Big Apple dreamin' on a wooden floor...

New York we're coming to see what you're made of,

are you as tough as you sound?"

(Alice Cooper)

Farmer John

http://life.gaiam.com/gaiam/p/TheRealDirtonFarmerJohn.html

Just got done watching a feature on one of the off-digital channels. The feature is called "The Real Dirt on Farmer John." It is a feature about a movie about a Wisconsin Farmer by the name of John Peterson. His farm handed down to him from his hard-working father (whom bought the some 220 acres of land from poor sharecroppers during the depression).

It follows the life of John Peterson...from little boy helping his dad on the farm, after his father dies too soon, and through the turbulant 1960's (John became a "hippie farmer" going to Beloit college and turning his farm into a commune of sorts), during the terrible years of the 1980's where he lost everything...including most of his farm land.

It's a very tender portrait of a man caught in changing times... trying his best to eek out his life and his love for the land of his family. Very touching and amazing!

I found myself crying at how the "old timers" had tears in their eyes as they talk about the loss of the family farms and the "laying of the concrete in the ground..." the way the urban sprawl has taken away all the farmland they used to own.

One lady says it well: "They don't seem to really care about where their food is going to come from."

I highly suggest seeing it.... here is the site again:

http://life.gaiam.com/gaiam/p/TheRealDirtonFarmerJohn.html

But, baby it's COLD outside....

Yeah, so it's like 20 something below zero. Nothing works like it should at these temperatures. The car blew a fuse or two...no back lights at all. Finally found the trouble under the hood and fixed it myself (of course).

My son is crazy. He accidentally calls me last night (thinking I was someone named "Justin" or something like that)... and they are on their way to go out snowboarding! SNOWBORDING?? Ah, to be young and bullet proof again! I remember doing stupid crap like that too. Of course, that's why now my hands get so cold so easily... I had pretty severe frostbite on my hands when I was a youngster out tobogganing with my friends.

No school today or tomorrow in the Dells. This is more than okay with me, as I could get a whole lot of things accomplished....as long as the old "grey ghost" will start.

One thing that has not gotten cold is my awful affliction of horny-ness. Must be all this working out I've been doing lately.. but man!!! I'm sure it will all go away soon. Lots of cold showers, and songwriting is really helping.

Heart Like a wheel...Heart like a Stone... I've always been a Loner Alone..

So, there it goes.. Another relationship thingy. Gone!

I guess the problem has to be me. I think I drive them to it... that must be it!! I mean, every single relationship (with few exceptions) turn out almost exactly the same. Fiery deaths are they all!

Drunken and violent and awful.. They move on. I long for the shadow of my younger days. Good times...riding the farris wheel.. eating awful cheeseburgers... Driving to some destination... making love under the stars.

When does it become like the song Jack and Dianne? Oh yeah life goes onLong after the thrill of livin is gone

... Sometimes it feels so much like that. Here I am...Cheered by the fact I get my taxes back soon...and get to pay off one of my stupid loans?? THIS IS LIFE? What happened to Suzy Q in the back seat of the car?? Cruisin' and Boozn' (Nope... that's against the law, man!)... Watching that girl slowly...slowly lick that ice cream cone all the way down... ummm..yeah. The "Maybe Baby" thing. Seka. Hot Child in the City.

Only faded shadows of the boy I used to be. That's me now. I thought of myself as a great lover. A good man. A rock Star. Humphrey Bogart. Shane. Jack. Angus. All of them. But, none of them..exactly.

Now, I've quit the facebook thing...just because I realized (with a few exceptions) the only people I'm "friends" with.. are my ex-girlfriends!

I guess growing up and old has it's advantages. But tonight, it the deep dark coldness of another Wisconsin Below Zero night.. it's hard to see what they are.

How ABBA (And Bruce Springsteen) once saved my life...

(Picture of me standing on that exact point.. Pickeral Point Resort...Cir. 1972... where I turned my life around... a couple of times!)

A story that needs to be told..somewhere... in case I forget it all.

It was quite some years ago... maybe what? Ten years past now? And she has moved on.. and I have also moved on. But a story of love, hate, loss, jealousy, desperate feelings and suicidal thoughts.

Her and I had been battling each other for months..... years, more likely. We had broken up, re-united...broken up... reunited... and was on that downward, awful spiral again to the end of the relationship. Oh, there were outside influences...outside voices... outside pressures.

My mother was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer...and was declining in health. I took refuge in this new technology thing called the Internet. She took refuge in her friends and in her work. I took my pain into my playing of music... and was rewarded with many "groupie" women that wanted me (or...at least so I thought)... She was cold, and hard and at times treated my son and me as second class citizens in our own home. I was accusing, and awful.

It was all so awful. What started out as sort of a "storybook romance" hit upon the realities of real life... children and ex-husbands, and jealousy, and other outside voices, and family histories, and all the things that make up the human drama.

She took her children and left on day...the last day we were together... got in her car and backed out of the driveway...quickly.... I was left standing in the (apropos) pouring rain, crying and asking her to come back. She did not.

The days and weeks after my mothers' death were not easy ones, indeed. And the absence of HER was palatable. I had heard she had taken up with a "new guy"... I was instructed to clear out my belongings from what had been our house (apt).

I staying on my now deceased mother's couch, as I was the only one to dispose of her home and belongings; her many bills and settle accounts.

On one hot and unbearably humid Labor Day Weekend, my band was to play at the Hillsboro Annual Fireman's Festival. It was an annual fair held in the little Hamlet of Hillsboro, WI. At the end of the night... (still pretty inebriated, by the way)... I packed up my equipment, and headed back to my mother's trailer house (where I was staying...out of the way of HER and her new man).

I unpacked some of my band stuff, and loaded the car (a company car I was using at the time) with all the clothing I could find and headed north. I drove all night long, until I found a spot to pass out for a few hours before the dawn. Upon awaking, I continued North to Wausau and north of that... to a place called Pickeral lake area, just North East of Antigo, WI. Big fishing and recreational area.

I had no plan as I was driving north... but a plan started to hatch in my head. I was going to end the pain. I was going to kill myself. I formulated a plan that I would find a hardware store (abundant in the North Woods), purchase a shotgun, rent a cheap hotel room, and within... blow my brains out.

Bruce Springsteen's Tunnel of Love CD was playing all the while this plan was hatching. Every single song, every single note, every single anguished song were written as if in my very soul. Tunnel of Love. One Step up (Two Steps Back) . Brilliant Disguise. Valentine's Day. When you're alone (you're alone). Spare Parts (and broken hearts). All that Heaven Will Allow.... All of the songs held a magical quality that seem to speak to the very darkness in my heart.

I drove along planning my ultimate demise, all the while screaming the words along to the songs playing full blast on the CD player in the company car.

At first, I thought I would just drive North until I crossed over to the UP in Michigan, and the further north to Canada... ditching the car and getting lost in some small place in Canada. I decided I would just end it all... in a place where a few summers before HER and I held a very tender moment together, at a nice little spot called "Pickeral Point" resort.

A few summers before, we (HER and I) had visited the area...and I had taken her in my arms...and we kissed a very passionate kiss just as the orange ball of the sun was setting on the lake... Fireworks! wow. But now, I was driving to end it all at (or near) where we had kissed that kiss.

Without stopping at the hardware store, I made my way to the Pickeral Point Resort (which, by the way, is still there)... got out of my car, and headed inside for a beer (or several)... after awhile, I made my way outside, and out to the beach. I sat there beside the lapping water and had a long talk with God. I apologized for all the wrongs I had done.. I was crying, and sobbing...and then I heard the laughing and frolicking in the water of a whole bunch of little children behind me... they were making sand castles in the sandy beach... oblivious to my awful thoughts. After telling my tale to the water, I stood up.. and just as an explanation point to it all.. that song someone decided to play on the juke box from the resort (the back window was open) came pouring out..

CRAZY... I'm CRAZY FOR FEELIN' SO LONELY.....OH, I'M CRAZY....CRAZY FOR FEELING SOOOO BLUE...

This was our song. The song that we shared together one night, dancing closely in our living room... truly a mind crunching moment. It was as if that song held all of the feelings of US for the past many years we were together. It was over!

I got back in the car. And at that moment I knew I was not going to buy a shotgun. I was not going to rent a room. And I was NOT going to end my life.

The next CD in the bunch loaded into the car's CD changer, and it was ABBA's Greatest hits. As I tore out of the parking lot of Pickeral Point....and pointed the car South... I knew that I was going to heal. That I was going to find love again. That I was going to be okay...

The Song SOS played and I SCREAMED it at full volume, as I pointed the car back home again. All the way home, I listened to the best of ABBA. As I got closer to home, the songs from this CD spoke to me the same way the Bruce Springsteen songs spoke.

And I had the uncanny notion that an angel was riding back home with me then. I've had many such apparitions since....but for the first time, she was beautiful... she was light.... she was lifting my heart..

I knew I was going to be alright. And, eventually...... I was.

Where are those happy days, they seem so hard to find

I tried to reach for you, but you have closed your mind

Whatever happened to our love I wish I understood

It used to be so nice, it used to be so good

So when you're near me, darling can't you hear me SOS

The love you gave me, nothing else can save me SOS

When you're gone How can I even try to go on

When you're gone Though I try how can I carry on

You seemed so far away though you were standing near

You made me feel alive, but something died I fear

I really tried to make it out I wish I understood

What happened to our love, it used to be so good

So when you're near me, darling can't you hear me SOS

The love you gave me, nothing else can save me SOS

When you're gone How can I even try to go on

When you're gone Though I try how can I carry on

So when you're near me, darling can't you hear me SOS

And the love you gave me, nothing else can save me SOS

When you're gone How can I even try to go on

When you're gone Though I try how can I carry on

When you're gone How can I even try to go on

When you're gone Though I try how can I carry on