Searching Craigslist a week or so ago, I found someone selling four insulated window sashes measuring 23 by 58 inches. Since the south-facing wall on the new greenhouse upstairs has space for windows no taller than 58 inches, I had special interest in these windows, especially since they were being sold for only $20 each. The only problem with them was how far away they were: Guilford, Connecticut, which is east of New Haven. Though I've never been to Guilford, the town has special resonance for me as being the hometown of Daniel Reitman, Esq., my college arch-nemesis. (In the early 90s I had a girlfriend living in New Haven who drove out to Daniel's childhood home and snapped some pictures.)
Today was the day I'd arranged to go pick up those windows despite the five or six hour round trip. I'd decided to take the dogs to make it into something of a roadtrip adventure.
For some reason I didn't bother to plan my trip before setting out; I figured if I went south I-84 and took it east, eventually there would be a way to drive south to New Haven. Fortunately, though, I also took Gretchen's smart phone, and after driving through the congested hell of Waterbury, Connecticut (a surprisingly large industrial city), I used its GPS functionality to direct me to Guilford. It turned out that there were no big roads to take; I ended up going down a series of small county roads through unexpectedly-scenic countryside full of lakes and forests until I ended up on State Route 77, which goes directly into Guilford. Along the way I stopped at a municipal park so I could run the dogs and take a piss.
The guy with the windows lived in an upscale neighborhood full of confusing curved streets and cul-du-sacs. (I hate that style of development.) I knocked on his door and was met by the guy and his wife, both active senior citizens. The guy with the windows had actually called my cellphone once during the drive and had unsuccessfully tried to help me with my navigation, so I already knew him to be something of an over-eager micromanager. He continued his micromanagement as I carefully tied all four panes of glass to the Subaru's roof rack. But at least he let me turn the dogs loose in his yard as I worked. Clearly his intentions were good, and I humored him as much as I could, but usually when I'm making a purchase I just want to get my stuff and go.
Heading back northward again, I could see evidence for how long this drive had been in the very language of the people in this distant land. Makeshift signs posted at the intersections advertising the sale of household items were not for "yard sales" or "garage sales," they were for "tag sales." Evidently that is what they are called in this part of New England. Then there were the restaurants selling "grinders," which to my ear sounds like a made-up regionalism from a movie. But no, grinders are real things; they're the turd-shaped sandwiches that are called "subs," "poboys," "heroes," or "hoagies" in other parts of the country.
I hadn't brought a charger for Gretchen's cellphone, and its battery lasted only long enough to guide me back through the chaos of coastal Connecticut back to I-691, though from there I wouldn't need any help. Unfortunately, traffic was bad again once I reached Waterbury, leading me to conclude that I-84 is in a perpetual state of traffic jam snake.
It's hard to strap something to a roof in a way that makes it totally silent when driving 60 miles per hour. A little ways down I-691, I pulled over to see what that knocking sound was about, but there wasn't anything obviously wrong with the windows. When I stopped for gas a little ways into New York, I dogeared the corners of the cardboard I'd placed between the panels to make them more ærodynamic, and that definitely helped.
After crossing the Hudson at Newburgh, I saw a sign suggesting an exit for New Paltz, and, assuming that was the Thruway exit, took it. But it dumped me out on State Route 32. So, what the hell, I took that instead. This marked the first time I have ever driven from Newburgh back to Hurley without using the Thruway. It's an occasionally pretty way to drive, and I shot video of some of it with a tiny camcorder.
This evening Gretchen's friend Robert (who was one of her prisoner-students back when she worked in the local prisons) came up for a visit. Gretchen picked him up at the bus station while I was still driving back from Connecticut, though I didn't see them until they returned from whatever they'd planned to do tonight (I think it was a baroque concert at Bard).
