The Trip: 9-11-06
Well, the thing of it is at the time we made our reservations, ostensibly for any available Monday-to-Monday and then settled on September 11, we hadn't thought of the fifth anniversary of that fated event. And when we did realize it the die was cast, and we only hoped that security at the border wouldn't be out of this world. As it happened, it wasn't; being a Monday there was little traffic.
The border guard/customs officer who confronted us with his surly demand: "let's see your passports" didn't, to be sure, impress us with his hostile officiousness, and I felt like remonstrating with him, letting him know, chum, that passport presentations for road traffic wouldn't come into law for another year and more, unlike air transit when 2007 has been ticked as the requirement date for border entry. But I didn't, of course.
Our passports presented, he scrutinized the photos, then us, ran our license plate through the computer, grudgingly handing back our passports but only after asking rather sourly what our livelihood was. Retired, dunce! Was with the foreign service, ergo the dip-passports. They're supposed to be surrendered! he barks at us. They're cancelled and left in our possession, my husband responds in a reasonably restrained manner (quite unlike him). In this country they're surrendered, persists this demonic twit. And off we go.
Ah, the leisure of a perfectly paved, three-lane deserted Interstate after the frenzy of Montreal bypass traffic. Insane drivers of a motley medley of trucks - medium, large and super-sized, all with a demonstrable grudge against the presence on their roadway of the lowly passenger vehicle. That's all right, we're perfectly willing to share the road.
Several miles on, an excellent rest-stop for weary travellers (weary? not us). We don't venture inside; we've had previous experience at this stop, were mildly unimpressed by the obvious distaste evinced by state-employed tourist guides at the presence of nuisance tourists who always have the option of fending for themselves - brochures and pamphlets in obvious display on shelves.
We walk the dogs over the neat greensward toward a newly-vacated picnic table. Just behind us an older couple, straining to keep their two Malamutes in check, straining mightily at their leashes. the owners' intent soon clear - to lead the dogs over to the link fence separating the manicured lawn from a farm pasture where, close by, hovers a straggling herd of milking cattle, curious as all-get-out at the presence of two-legged creatures accompanied by puny four-legged creatures. How odd is that, if you're a cow?
The Malamutes heave and strain toward the fence, snarl and jump toward the fence, to the cows' amazed curiosity and their owners' growing alarm. They manage to wrestle their beasts back to the ground and drag them off. Soon enough we see a truck driver swing down off his rig, an overweight and obviously much coddled Chihuahua in his arms, which he sets down on the grass while patiently awaiting the little fellow's performance.
Out of a looong recreation trailer steps a slightly-built bearded man. He turns to hold out his arms to a slender child, a tiny blonde girl. The trailer's third passenger disembarks unaided, a blonde bombshell in a high-risk-for-heart-trouble category, many years the man's junior - but perhaps not. Both she and the child are brightly dressed but inadequately for the cool weather and the winds that whip across the field, yet neither appear to be aware of the cold. The child's mother, if such she is, has a digital camera and strives to entice the child when they reach the pasture fence, to stand closer to the cows. The child demurs, seeking the comfort of the man's hand.
We eat our clementines, our bananas, our croissants slathered with butter and peanut butter, and sip hot tea. Too much sugar in the tea, as usual. But, a holiday indulgence. Our little dogs are eager to share our indulgence and so we indulge them. Then it's time to leave, and we soon pass from the State of Vermont to New Hampshire. The "Live Free or Die" State. The Granite State. Seatbelts mandatory under 18. "It's the Law". "It's the Sensible Thing to do". Under-18s are legislated to safe and prudent laws, all others are free to die. Is that sensible?
But hey, we're in the United States now, where it isn't mandatory in most states to wear motorcycle helmets either. People are free to live as they wish, or to die, should they wish. Can't push Americans around. This is the country that prides itself on its resilience, its moral codes, its high ethics, and all with good reason. This is also the country that insists it will export its brand of Democracy to other countries of the world which to be certain, could use a good dose of Democracy. It's also where a mere 17% of eligible voters bothered to get out and vote in elections last week. Go figure.
Last time we made this trip the weather was so socked in we were unable to see the mountain tops as we passed through the spectacular ambiance of the Franconia Notch. Not so this time, they're there to view in all their incredible geological glory. The mountains hover above us in their fully revealed green splendour. A splendour enhanced by early fall colours beginning their inexorable creep toward winter. Colours in all the fall shades of yellows, oranges and reds, a celebration of summer's hasty departure, fall's imminence.
We pass the still, crystal essence of Echo Lake, lofty Eagle's Cliff, tough old Mount Lafayette, the incredible Basin Cascades, the Flume. Never thought too much of the Old Man in any event, could never figure out why it was held in such high regard that the silhouette graced official documents, even license plates. Old Man no more. But Indian Head is still there. Too soon we leave Franconia State Park with its splendid views of nature at her most surprising.
We'll be back. After we pick up our visitors' pass.
posted by Pieface @ Tuesday, September 19, 2006
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