Weare, Where?

On to NH!  Rah!  Here we come to peep leaves!

I get up about 6:00 – 6:30 every morning.  With Roku, or because of Roku;  Ton-Ton running in his sleep, or peacefully slumbering, it’s when my clock goes off.  I don’t want it to, I LOVE good sleep, and I desperately want to go return to my apnea mask and covers-off-covers-on approach to nighty-night.  But it is never to be, so up I get.  Nespresso plugged in and on, water reservoir filled, pick two color pods from the large pot and slip it home.  Half and half from fridge heated for 25 seconds, then frothed.  Yummity yum yum. 

Open the little window in the door so Roku the crazy cat can get out at will.  Snuggle into couch with coffee, blanket (thanks Melissa!), technology at hand.  Maybe a pastry.  Yes all, I’m back on the sugar.  Fully enflamed in its glory and not apologizing…yet. 

Tony rouses around 8:30 – 9:00, shaking Blue as he marches like a Marine through his morning routine.  Mask off, roll out of bed, bathroom, brush teeth, comb hair with water.  Then a hearty, “What’s happenin’, baby?”  Every morning the same.  And I always answer with a head shake indicating nothing/leave me alone.  My quiet time has been adjusted, and that’s fine with me ‘cause it’s time to motivate!,  but give me a minute.  We chat a bit about the day, what we saw yesterday, how cool Roku is, how we slept – the how we slept part is REALLY important to us, because like an amoebic idea, our sleep patterns are constantly shifting.  On this particular morning, I’m tired already – been up for two hours! – and decide to hit the hay for another hour.  What heaven that decision is, knowing I CAN.  Tony would like to go but graciously waits while I snooze.  It was lovely and deep, I felt marvy and ready to roll.

Oddly enough, a tent trailer has appeared right next to us overnight!  I didn’t hear it come in, but Tony did, around midnight.  Now, Winter Island in the rain isn’t appealing to the locals, and every camping spot in our area (the parking lot on the water) is completely empty – we’re it!  Why oh why, would you not put a late arriver in their own space, far away from us?  Happens everywhere.  Tony spoke with them in the morning and they’re from Ohio with their grand kids, very nice people.  I was so need-a-shower sweaty/smelly/greasy I just couldn’t go out and hang with them. 

Showered up, moved the car into position, moved Blue into position; I drive the car on the tow dolly with the expert hand signals from Ton-Ton.  Now, I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned in an earlier missive that car loading and unloading is a pain in the ass.  Takes TC at least 20 minutes to get the car loaded, straps in place on both front tires, other straps cinched down to keep the tire straps in place, chains bolted, bolts tightened.  He doesn’t necessary put the rug he lays on and the channel locks back where they belong either (in the trunk of the car), so a few more minutes could be spent while he asks me where the channel locks are.  Argh.  The straps on the tires have been off and hanging while driving; the chains have been dragging while driving, notifying us THERE’S A PROBLEM!  We pull over regularly now, even when there’s no need to eat, pee, drink or shop…just to check the straps.  If the car or the tow dolly lets loose, beware the traffic behind us, here comes Tony’s prized Chrysler Sebring convertible, his baby – GET OUT OF THE WAY!

We had plenty of room to maneuver today in our big old Winter Island parking lot, so it went very smoothly, and we were off.  Although I’ve become the navigator and Tony the driver - he lives to drive and appreciates my navigational skills at this point, as opposed to an earlier blog concerning that subject (“No!” he proclaimed.  “I appreciate your navigating!”)  High praise from a manly knows-everything; I took it and keep it in my pocket for those tough days.  We don’t know it yet, because we start each day with hope and optimism, but the word “tough” won’t even touch what’s ahead for us today.  If we had known, we may have stayed in bed.  Suffice it to say that I have no pictures of any part of this day which shall live in infamy.

Tony had spent some time plotting our course for today, so I really gave it no never mind. His strategy, according to the mapetizing he had done, involved getting on 114 straight to NH. I sort of looked at the map to get an idea of what he was talking about, so I could watch for turns, etc., AND, I did fire Gertie up as back-up to get us out of town if necessary.  We headed out our now-familiar streets of Salem…Essex, Bridge, 107, 128, Derby, New Derby…and immediately lost direction.  As we took a right into what we thought was a street, we realized within about a half block that it was a dead end to an apartment complex.  We could only hope that there was turn-around room.  NO, there wasn’t, why should there be?  Only an L-shaped parking lot about half full.  We sat there, minds racing, dumbly watching cars entering and leaving, talking a bit about how to get out of this.

Have I also ever discussed the sense of horror we experience each and every time we turn a corner with 34’ of motorhome and another 10’ of car and dolly?  It’s nightmare time.  You cannot back up an RV with a car on a dolly.  Well wait, you CAN, but you WILL be pushing the dolly/car combo sideways at some point, bashing and scraping both, plus whatever happens to be behind and to the side of you.  UGLY scene.  So, Tony tries.  He always tries.  Is that a Marine trait, or a Pipefitter trait?  I don’t know but it makes me crazy. 

Doesn’t work.  So, off comes the Sebring – remember, 15 or 20 minutes of mechanics involved – which I drive off and move into a parking spot.  Have I mentioned how hard it is to back up with a tow dolly?  It is.  But again, he’s a true trier, and tries, tries, tries, tries, tries again.  During these Blue maneuverings, I am behind the RV and in line with Tony’s mirror, using my hand signals – right hand extended, fingers together, making a “come on” motion means keep coming back; a fist means stop.  That’s really all I use, except maybe to point right or left with my right index finger.  Now, anyone who knows Mr. Tony understands that he will do whatever he wants to do in any sitcheation.  Even though it’s important to watch and follow your navigator’s back-up instructions, I’m pretty sure he uses me as a reference only.  We go round and round about that in our after-the-fact conversations, but he insists that he follows my every finger movement.  I’ll have to test that statement further…..

Doesn’t work.  Off comes the dolly, pushed into a parking spot, and I’m praying no further cars return or want to leave.  The roar of our Cummins diesel in this little enclave makes me feel for any poor bastard who works the third shift and is trying to sleep.  We’re in luck and have a clear shot around the “L”, which TC drives masterfully.  Quickly put the dolly on, drive on the car, strap down and go.  But where?  114 East.  We find our bead and head toward it like a hummingbird to a hollyhock.  Tony is a bit frazzled by all this – it’s frustrating and, I must say, humiliating making a mistake like that.  There just isn’t an out when you’re driving an RV into a dead end.

As we’re driving and driving, we’re getting the feeling the direction is not right, but continue on.  Gertie is going nuts trying to turn us around, but do we listen?  No.  Tension rises.  Looking back with my 20/20 glasses on, I can truly say that we were experiencing pre-disaster tension – AND SHOULD HAVE FUCKING LISTENED TO OUR TENSE INSTINCTS!!!

Soon, we’re in Marblehead, which is south of Gloucester and definitely south of Salem.  Sometimes when it says “east”, it means south; when it says “west”, it means north.  We don’t know why, but it makes being solid with your travel plans essential.  I’ve come up with a new navigational theory that has proven out: figure out where you want to go, check your Travelmath app for distance, compare with atlas, figure out which roads you want to take – and which you should take.  That’s all done the day before.  The morning of, I plug the address of the next campground into Gertie, and check her directions with how we want to go.  She’s kind of goofy too, so it’s not always a pretty conversation we have with her about timing, roads traveled and mistakes made.  But usually if this list of stuff is followed, we’re pretty close to getting where we want to go, when we want to get there.

Back to Marblehead.  We were advised to go there as it’s another beautiful coastal town, but it should have been a car trip.  As we go through town – all New England towns have Town Halls, and this one sits on an earth island in the middle of their downtown, very cute! – the streets become more narrow and circuitous, and we really start to worry.  But we pursue our goal of getting out of Marblehead…we now realize this is not the right direction and we should have taken 114 West…Gertie is persistent in leading us further toward the coast.  We finally come to Circle Street which is VERY narrow, but continue on.  It gets so messed up and scary, I get out to lead him through.

Oh God, we’re in a mess. From my view looking toward the windshield, there’s a house on the left, with about a two foot granite guard in front of the door – obviously to stop anyone from hitting the house; and one of the east coasts infamous and multitudinous rock walls, this one about bumper height.  I am sick to my stomach looking at Blue between a rock and a hard place.  I try and inch him forward, Blue scraping the wall, but not hitting the granite stop.  It’s all my eyes can look at, like a pair of windshield wipers moving slow, granite – rock, granite – rock.  Suddenly a little white haired man (LWHM) appears to my left out of the house, racing toward us, telling us to stop, you can’t get through, you’ll roll the rig if you do.  He then points to the overhanging roof of his 301 YEAR OLD HOUSE (!), saying, “You’ve already got my roof.”  I am mortified, apologizing to him, telling him I don’t know how we’re going to get out of here.  He says it happens all the time with trucks following their GPS, he just stopped one yesterday.  I am horrified, Tony is horrified. 

I then hear a woman’s voice from Tony’s side saying, “You’re breaking the trees!”  More mortification.  Tony says to her, “I know, we’re trying to figure this out.”  I say out loud, “I wonder if we should call the Fire Department, if they could help?”  I also assure LWHM that we will compensate him for any damage to his home.  He is not yelling, not excited, in other words, not a jerk.  I think he can see that we are distraught, and he is kind enough not to add to this incredibly uncomfortable situation.  Tony’s out of the RV by now, and we’re all on the same page concerning getting the car off of the dolly (again), and the dolly off of the RV (again), then living the fantasy of somehow backing Blue around the corner of Circle Street and out this neighborhood from RV hell.  God in himmel.  LWHM kindly takes TC through his yard so that he can get to the rear of Blue – it’s that tight, there’s not but inches between poor Blue and the house and wall.  Tony then pursues the dolly/car deal.  And I’m left to chat amiably with LWHM.  I’m babbling, trying to be a bit cheery, somewhat confident, but not cavalier.  LWHM had mentioned our Washington license plate and said he and the bride had just been to Seattle in spring.

So I started a round of NW Jeopardy with him, picking category after category of his cruise to Alaska.  I relived my nights sleeping on the deck of the Alaskan ferry, working with fish, putting my way through college with the money I made; did he visit all of SE Alaska?  Ketchikan, Sitka, Juneau?  Yes, they did.  Isn’t Sitka lovely with the Russian Orthodox Church in the middle of town?  Did he see the Tlingit totems?  The Juneau glacier?  Yes they did.  I then started in on our trip, how astonishingly OLD everything is, what neophytes we are in the west.  I even made a reference to the northwest being “all about cowboys and Indians, really.”  And…..ran out of topic.  Looked at his roof, asked what compensation he would like for it.  We came to a reasonable deal and I went into Blue to write him a check.  As I’m writing (no, I didn’t put “LWHM” in the “TO” space!), I hear another chronically New England voice, loud, saying, “Johnny!  What are you doing Johnny?  Taking a trip in an RV (pronounced “ah vee”)?  Did they come to pick you up?  Did you buy an ah vee and not tell me you were going?  What’s going on?”  All with laughter and giggling from both of them.  A head sticks itself into the ah vee as I’m handing the check to Johnny, and it’s the postman who has been postulating on his friend and client Johnny’s new travel mode, stuck in between his house and the rock wall.

Postman then makes very funny comments about me handing Johnny a check, and we banter about how many times Postman has seen someone hand Johnny money under suspicious circumstances.  Johnny, meanwhile, is giggling and cackling, explaining to me that he used to own a liquor store, and of course took checks all day long.  Ha ha.  He and the Postman then follow a long tangent of what happened, and how Johnny is going to draw a map so that we can understand how Tony will drive out of Circle Street, and back into streets that Blue can drive through, out of Marblehead.  I tell them maybe men should listen to women more, as I think Tony should have done with me this morning.  Postman agrees whole heartedly!  They discuss the back up and turn, agreeing it’s “No problem, he’ll have no problem.”  I am feeling both the need to vomit, and laugh.  I stick with the laughter, promise myself I can puke later when we’re able to think about this pickle we got ourselves out of.  Tony had backed up the RV enough by now that you can walk between Blue and Johnny’s house side, has parked the Sebring in someone’s driveway, and moved the dolly to the end of the street.  As he’s coming up from the rear of Blue toward Postman and Johnny, Postman starts in with “Tony!  Toooonnnnyyy!   How’s it goin’ Tonnnnyyy!?  Hey Tonnnnny!”  Cracked us up, loosened us up.  We fill Tony in on the scenario as Johnny and Postman have decided it will go; I explain the map Johnny has drawn for him to get us out of here.  Postman tells him to listen to me. 

And here comes a car behind Blue, wanting to get through.  Oh, there was also a jogger who was PISSED that he couldn’t get through, had to go a long way around.  Seemed to delight our Johnny.   I walk back with Johnny to spot for Tony’s back-up drill, and take a minute to explain to the beautifully dressed, magnificently coiffed woman in the Benz, that we were stuck, but needed to back up, and would appreciate her patience.  She was very kind, sorry that we were experiencing this situation, and happily drove off, wishing us luck.  Nice!  Johnny and Tony realize that Tony can’t back-up around the corner of Circle Street, and must back straight down to the hahbuh instead.  Narrow street, car in way.  Tony knocks on house door asking them to move the car, which they kindly do.  I, meanwhile, move the Sebring sitting in someone’s driveway, down the street – I thought a short move, but nothing is easy today.  I park about four blocks away in a beach-side parking lot that blessedly has a space for me.  I walk back, finally looking to my left at the most gorgeous harbor of beautiful Marblehead.  My head is full of low-tide salt water smell, just like home, and I breathe deep.  It’s sunny and stunning here, when you’re not negotiating 1750 streets in a 1994 RV.

I meet Johnny at the street corner Blue will be turning up backwards on, and we talk about the beauty of Marblehead as Tony gets Blue righteous.  He then pulls forward enough to allow traffic to go by, and we re-attach the dolly.  Turning to Johnny, we thank him for being such a pleasure to work with and for all his kind help, shake his hand, and off we go – me to the Sebring down the street, Tony back to Blue.  I drive back and lead Tony out according to Johnny’s map – “It’s the transit route, so all the big busses take this way.”  Speaking of which, here comes a bus now, doing just fine.  On we go, looking for the sign to Salem on 114 West, finding one, pulling over a time or two – I am petrified of heading down an uber narrow street again, and scout a little before having Blue follow me.  We reach a four way street that says Salem is left, and we pull over a bit.  I see a bus’s rear end meeting a bus’s front end, and watch them carefully passing each other.  I get out of the car to explain to Tony where we’re going, when a big old ice cream truck comes tinkling its tunes up beside me, and the driver explains that we’re OK, just go left around the Town Hall and follow the signs to Salem.  His kind face, and equally sympathetic voice, gave me my mojo back and we were ready to move on and get back on track.  Whew.  Suck morning.

We drove out with a few more missteps, nothing that couldn’t be corrected.  We left our cell phones open so that we could talk our way back to 114 West, while trying to find a parking lot to pull into and get the car loaded (again).  We found our way and continued onto 114 West, thanks to Tony’s diligence, and Gertie’s never failing cheer.  About ten miles up the road we realized it was already 3:30, that we were to be in Weare earlier today for an appointment with an RV service center.  We stopped at the Olive Garden for lunch – starving! – because it was in front of a Home Depot with a huge parking lot!  I called the RV center and told them we’d see them the next day.  We sat down to a really fantastic lunch with an excellent, chirpy, funny little “Southie” (South Boston) waitress, who, upon hearing that we had had a suck day, proceeded to sit with us, dance with our tray, and tell us a joke she made up.  When we left to continue on to Weare, life did indeed look better.

We did hit massive traffic on the way north, after all it was Friday at rush hour, but we were on the road.  I called ahead to the RV service centers affiliate campground (four pools!  An adult pool!), made reservations for three nights and called it a day.  When we arrived at Cold Springs Park Resort, I was happy, Tony relieved, I think.  We actually got a pull-through spot – can’t TELL you how nice that is – and settled in.  Made one run to Goffstown, beautiful place, to Sully’s Market for a bakery goods.

I don’t think I’ve explained the stores back here before.  As every little burg has a magnificent Town Hall, so do they have little markets on every neighborhood corner.  They don’t have a Safeway on one block, a Whole Foods on the next, an Albertson’s on the next.  There are little teeny markets, very personal and old; and small grocery stores.  We went in pursuit of a large grocery store in earnest one day, needing the comfort of all those items for our conspicuous consumption, and finally found the mother lode in a Stop and Shop.  But in the smaller towns, you’ll find small markets only – and only one. 

Sully’s turns out to be a fabulous store, bigger than expected, with an unusually large bakery department.  We load up singing a happy tune.  Back to the park where we have leftover lunch for dinner, then dig into the baked goods.  Our hearts were happy.

Getting up today has proven to be beautiful blue skies and about a perfect 75 degrees.  Tony heads over to the RV center where they tell him they can’t get to us now until next Saturday.  Poop.  I immediately become placid and happy-hap, glad to spend a week at this resort with an adult pool, a store, bingo at night, and other activities.  We head for the pool and sit in the sun, reading and chatting with other folks.  Try and get in the adult pool but it is the temp of an ice cube.  Forgoing that pool, turn toward ….. the kiddie pool which is still heated, my head down.  The hot tub is grand, though, and we chat some more, gleaning bits of info from a helpful new-friend-we’ll-never-see-again while Katy Perry blasts in our ears. 

Two hours of sun later we walk back to Blue as gold carts careen by us, filled with kids and parents.  Roku is lazy, lazy boy today, sleeping.  Tony takes off again and I happily start my new meal planning spreadsheet, then do some bracelet making out at the picnic table with Roku lying on the sacred rug, watching the world go by.  I talk, he listens.   I wave at golf carts, he licks his butt.  He’s dainty and thorough, I must say.  There’s a gang of little boys racing through the park on their bikes, I can just make out some conversations as they whip by, “Let’s go up the hill again…”, “I can stand on my bike!”, “It’s my birthday!”  The folks on the other side of an empty trailer from us have been loudly talking and laughing all afternoon.  It’s 10 here now, and they have a huge fire going, have played a few games, are singing, then laughing.  The cadence of their east coast language is so beautiful to me.  I feel as if I’m listening in on a 1950’s camping trip, when their lives are at their best.  They are loud, and proud.  I am grateful to be listening to them through my screen window, jammies on, Roku sleeping at my side, my blog story told. 

I love our life.