… wasn’t such a good night as it might have been. Not that there was anything wrong with the motel where I stayed – it was just that there were things wrong with me, I reckon.
I couldn’t sleep very well al all – very difficult to make myself comfortable, and the odd trip down the corridor didn’t help much either.
Mind you, I was back on my travels again. Round at the farm as it happens doing some repairs. And they certainly needed doing too because one of the walls had entirely disappeared and was just propped up with tree trunks.
But anyway, back to the plot. And don’t worry about the lack of photos right now. I’mm having an “upload” issue that might not be solved until I return home.
So read the stories and you can come back to look at the pictures next week or so.
I didn’t feel like any breakfast right now – I’d rather let the time slip somewhat – and so I tidied up everywhere in here and prepared for the road.
We had free coffee to take away, which is always a good plan, and with plenty of ice around I was able to fill up my water bottle with stone-cold root beer.
But having seen how many motels these days have fridges with little freezer units, I’m going to pick up a cheap ice cube tray from somewhere.
And it’s true!
I thought that I had seen a sign for “Hicksville” – the traditional name for every small-minded mid-west town – and while this might not be the town itself, it’s the next best thing.
It must be embarrassing to tell people that you actually live and work in Hicksville though.
And so we hit the road. I’m not in a great hurry. According to my timetable I have two days to travel 8 hours or so, so it’s not going to be a big deal.
I find a motorway service station to stop and eat a couple of bagels with jam, and to exchange cheery greetings with my neighbour.
There’s ascenic turn-off (why don’t they call them “scenic turn-ons”? That’s much more appropriate) on the side of the Highway overlooking the Mystic River.
Despite being only a short river (3.5 miles or something like that) it’s almost entirely tidal.
It’s also famous in that the European settlers attacked a native village here in 1637.They destroyed the settlement and massacred all of the inhabitants and, according to contemporary writings, were quite proud of the fact.
My attention was however diverted by the ship over there. A traditional three-master was what it seemed to be.
Mystic River was formerly an important shipbuilding area and in 1929 it was all turned into a maritime museum.
The ship that you can see is the Charles W Morgan. Built in 1841, she’s said to be the last of the wooden sailing whalers in existence and probably the oldest merchant vessel still afloat.
Laid up for many years, she was donated to the museum on her 100th birthday and has undergone a full programme of restoration. She’s now completely seaworthy, apparently.
Next door in a northwards direction from Connecticut is Rhode Island, or, to give it its full official title, the State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations.
This is the smallest State in the USA despite having the longest official name of all of them, and although there was a shorter route which would have saved me half an hour (and a lot more as it subsequently was to turn out) I arranged my journey so that I would pass this way.
One more State off my list then.
The capital of Rhode Island is Providence, and the Highway takes us right through the centre of town.
It’s said to be one of the oldest cities in the USA, being founded in 1636 and named in honour of “God’s Merciful Providence” that brought the early settlers here.
Today though, you can see that it’s just like every other big city in the USA – no difference at all. You are hard-pressed to say where you might be in the USA’s urban environment.
Having come this way, there is no alternative but to wrestle with the Boston traffic.
There’s an inner ring road and an outer ring road. I pick the outer one, which costs me about 15 minutes in journey time but saves the congestion, or so I thought.
And I was glad that I was travelling north, not south. Just look at that lot over there!
So I said at the time. But it wasn’t long before I was decanted into the traffic queues.
I knew that Boston was a nightmare and so I had picked my time carefully and picked my road too. But it wasall of no avail.
40 minutes we inched along the outer ring road and it did make me wonder whether I should have bitten the bullet and gone for the town centre.
But at least it wasn’t the 6 hours of New York traffic from yesterday.
We’ve been to New Hampshire on many occasions, but here’s a reminder of where we are now.
New Hampshire, at least down on the coast, is another one of these places where you blink and miss it, so I wanted to make sure that you and I didn’t.
It’s still quite early too – only about 17:00. Despite the hold-ups in Boston I’m making good time. Only 6 hours or so to the US/Canada border.
Much to my surprise, Portland in Maine is comparatively quiet. And so like Jackson Browne in “Nothing But Time”, I can “roll down (or in my case, “up”) I-295 out of Portland, Maine” without any inconvenience – except for the barrage of toll barrages.
In the end, totally, fed up, I leave the Interstate and try Highway 2 – and that’s even worse as I seem to be stuck behind every slow-moving vehicle on the planet. It’s so frustrating that in the end, I see another “Interstate 95” sign and bite the bullet.
As I approach the town of Lewiston, it’s 18:00 and there’s a “Motel” sign on the side of the Interstate. Unfortunately in Maine, they don’t tell you the names of the motels on the signs like they do in most other States so it’s pretty much pot luck.
Having had good success in the past, here I strike out (well, i’m in the USA!). One look at the cars in the car park tell me that this place isn’t for the likes of me.
But never mind. Lewiston is a biggish town. Bound to be some more.
And famous last words they were too. I’ve never seen a town with so little in the way of accommodation – at least, at my kind of price. The commercial centre is out to the north so that’s the place to look – but that comes up empty too.
Still, I head north on the grounds that something will show up sooner or later. But by 19:20 at Livermore Falls and low on fuel in the pitch blackness, a very vocal local yokel in the petrol station tells me that at 15 miles up the road in Farmington are a couple of cat houses that will do the job.
He’s not wrong either!
The Colonial Valley Motel in Farmington conjures up an excellent room for just $70:00 all-in and I’m quite happy here. Even breakfast is included in the price.
The manageress adores my accent, but I’m not sure what she is going to make of the registration formalities –
Identity – British passport
Proof of address – French Driving Licence
Vehicle registration – New Brunswick plates
Mobile ‘phone – Quebec number
Payment – Belgian credit card
Yes, sort that lot out!
There’s a microwave here in the room so tea is a couple of tins of stuff slung into it. Cheap and quick.
But here’s a problem – my *.ftp server has corrupted and I don’t have the settings to reset it. That means that I can’t upload my photos to the internet.
So you’ll have to do without for a while until I return home.
