DAY 02 - "It only rains when Nancy drives."

With a good 650 miles to put in our dust, we were up and out of Wilkes-Barre by 7:00AM.  A sizable drive day, but also a Saturday where only the real road warriors remain.

David took the first shift and expertly piloted the Lincoln Highway straight across Pennsylvania.  The road was relatively clear, the sky was blue, and we were all thankful for a less strenuous stretch of concrete ribbon.

Incidentally, it seems to be a lot more green down here…do we think that’s because every living being in the state is sick over how the Eagles have been performing the last couple weeks?  Could be…

We gassed up and switched drivers at a Love’s Travel Stop, where I procured more cough suppressants in all common elemental states.

Nancy took the next shift because she needed her full focus devoted to the afternoon Notre Dame game. 

The car did not argue. 

As soon as she did though, the skies darkened, the clouds rolled in, and the pitter-patter of raindrops were curiously similar to the morse code pattern: ・ ⁃ ・・   ⁃ ⁃ ⁃ ・ ⁃ ・・ 

Certainly, the travel Gods aren’t that cheeky.  But I digress…

The rain let up around the time I got weirdly excited over seeing a sign for Punxsutawney and it was then that I realized I forgot my Saint Christopher pendant on a Wilkes-Barre nightstand…

Saint Christopher, patron saint of travelers.

Now, it’s not that I’m particularly religious or superstitious or crippled by fear…you know, beyond the normal daily dose of existential dread that I suppress with dirty martinis and poor attempts at humor.

But long ago, a dear friend who loved to travel put some credence into the idea, thinking it was charming to believe in something…and so, after she passed, I have always carried one.  This particular SC was a small, sterling silver talisman I happened to pick up in Quebec City last year. 

Bummer.

Alas, an accidental sacrifice; an ironic casualty.  Bet I could carve another one out of a cough drop…

And so, we powered onward, pausing for lunch outside of Toledo, Ohio, as we Etch-a-Sketched a trail on lost highways up and over and up and over to Grand Rapids, Michigan.

After we were absolutely certain The Irish had clinched a win over NC State (thank God), we headed out to dinner at The Mitten: a previously decommissioned Victorian firehouse turned microbrewery.

It was a uniquely perfect mix between a historic firefighting landmark and an homage to vintage Detroit Tigers baseball. 

And though we’re still not allowed to mention the NY Mets (sorry Steven), the local patrons at the first operating brewery on Grand Rapids’ West Side since Prohibition and these out-of-towners, could commiserate over a very decent beer and pizza.

Not a bad way to end a long drive day.

DAY 03