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"IN MEMORY OF MARY LOGSDON" - IN NOTE SECTION OF CHECK


June 13, 2006

9:04 AM, and I am southbound on 3A in New Hampshire. I refuse to pay the toll on I 93, so I am paralleling the "free"way till I get past the toll booth. I noticed a sign on a hill above me that said, "Mama Clara's" a restaurant. So, I turned around to see what was up. I climbed the driveway to find that it is a truck stop type of place. So, I went in, having noticed that there were 8 bikes in the lot too.

Truckers and Bikers populated the place and there was a lively discussion going on as I took my seat and got my ever present note pad out of my pocket to take notes of what had happened thus far in the day. It was then, that I fully understood what the content of the intertable lively discussion actually was.

There was heated and rather loud debate taking place about the sausage that was being served for breakfast. It was obvious to me that I was odd man out, having never been in the neighborhood. All of these guys, even the French Canadian truckers were regulars, that Mama Clara new by name, if not by ordering habits.

The raging debate centered around the kind of conversation you might have with a friend who is trying to set you up with a blind date. "….A GREAT cook". "But how does she look?" " Did I  mention the great sense of humor?" "But how does she LOOK?" "and what a sweet laugh" "BUT HOW DOES SHE LOOK, DAMMIT!!!!??"

The consensus of opinion was that if you closed your eyes the sausage tasted great, but damn if it didn't look like dog poop!!
Mama Clara was supremely pissed. I could see that the objective had been reached when the vote was taken. I am willing to bet that the offending, though tasty, dog poop will never be on the menu again. I also bet that the employee with the lowest seniority had to take the rest home, too.

I became aware, as the dialogues quietly stopped, that the bikers and truckers were watching TV - and here is where it gets weird. Every manjack of them was watching (shudder) I can barely write this - for the love of God - they were watching MARTHA STEWART. This is NOT a joke. I hunkered down and ate quickly, so as to escape Rod Serling's ghost. I attribute part of that phenomenon to the fact that New Hampshire does not have a helmet law, and boy do the bikers follow THAT. I was at the beginning of Cape Cod by lunch time, so I stopped in Scituate Village (pronounced SITUATE) at Jamie's Pub and Garnett Grill. I managed to listen to a man my age and his deaf father discussing those idiots in Michigan tearing down a perfectly good barn to look for Hoffa's remains. On and on and on, they went about those fools; idiots; jerks; blah blah blah. It was fun. Pops accent was so New England thick that I had a hard time understanding him. I had a grilled cheese (white cheese - but good) and chicken and rice soup. No CHOWDAH to be had. I proceeded on to the Cape.

I noticed that the homes were covered in cedar shake siding, as the roofs were, giving them a monochrome weather beaten look that was truly unique. Some of the newer homes were also more expensive and L A R G E R . Money is being made somewhere and  spent in Cape Cod. On the way out to the point on the Cape that makes it the eastern most part of Massachusetts, I stopped for gas. In fact, I thought that there was a gas war going on. The lines; four of them; extended out into the street. I had never been to this neck of the woods (no pun intended)(look at the map, folks) so I thought, "shit, I better get some gas too". So I got in line, and did get filled up before I knew it. I really thought that this was the last gas station on Cape Cod that had fuel, so I wasn't taking any chances, even though I carry a gallon and a half can with me.

When I asked why this particular station was so packed, I was told that it was - I'm not kidding - TEDESCHI TUESDAY. I must have had one of those easy to recognize "you're not from around here, are you" looks on  my face, so they explained. Every Tuesday the owner Mr. Tedeschi, drops the price of gas by six cents a gallon, and that brings all these "nuts" out. Oh, say's I, "well I am glad I got such a bargain". Here's the skinny on this deal: Not even one complete mile down the road, a competing brand of gas was only THREE CENTS lower than the reduced by six cents gas. This means - oh, you do the math. Furthermore, I found that no other gas station from that point to the end of route 6 and the end of land on Cape Cod was six cents higher than Mr. Tadeschi's station. The man is a marketing genius. By the way, the vast majority of the license plates were from Massachusetts, so they would be considered to be locals, in my book.

After filling up, I went on to get to land's end. Finally, I made P-town. Note the use of the local slang expression for Provincetown, the last stop before you sink into the Atlantic. The most viewed bumper sticker in the area is:

Fear Not - urine P-town.

No, I didn't buy one. If I did, I would be secretly putting it on YOUR car when I got back. Let me tell you a bit about P-town. It knows exactly what it has going for it. Parking is a minimum of $2.50 per HOUR, thank you. Metered parking goes for more, but seemed to be used more by the locals. I talked to a very nice police officer, who gave me the real poop about parking and the best places to have dinner. She was very helpful, and her information was right on the money. I ended up paying for two hours of parking and had a great dinner at one of the charming carryout places. Imagine a village of pricey cottages turned schmaltzy effete storefronts. Motels in town started - STARTED at $120.00 per evening. Now, there are the usual "touristy" crap stores here, except that the touristy crap sold therein is way overpriced, which the shop keepers hope make the items more attractive than they really are. There are exceptions, to be sure, but not many. I could have bought a tie-dyed rainbow t shirt for only $40.00.

Uhm …. Speaking of rainbow t shirts. There is a reason for stores like "ID'S" and "Girls like Us" and "Eros the toy store".  And, wow, even kites are available in gay, vivid colors….I saw some interesting couples. One very attractive lady was walking her PIT BULL, down the street. No one would even talk to her.

I got some measure of respect from the locals by engaging her in conversation, all the while keeping my Nikon between Cujo and my jewels. She spent the few minutes explaining how these puppies are given a bad rap and how gentle they are and how cute they are….and on and blah blah blah…

While she is talking, the damn dog is staring into my eyes, my soul, my past and (in his mind) my very brief future-never blinking-staring-soulessly-mindlessly-staring-it was sucking my soul out of my head with it's eyes….

I was thinking to  myself, "If this dog is so loveable and gentle and such, why are you walking around with it's leash attached to a barbed wire collar, with the barbs facing toward it's neck?"  I began to get nervous. But the whole thing started when I realized that the color of her clothing, hair and skin, perfectly matched the color of the dog. She and the dog were a complete ensemble.

I wondered how many of those beasts she had at home; AND what color they might be? Black? Navy Blue? Chartreuse? Black is the new Black, I have been told. I have to thanks Lori for making me more fashion conscious, if not fashion minded.

By the way, I actually got to use some sun screen products that Beth got me. Oh, for those of you who don't know - Lori and Beth are members of the 1st Michigan Colonial Fife and Drum Corps. I started back toward Rhode Island at the end of my side trip to the Cape, and spotted a motel that wasn't charging enough to pay off the national debt. BUT, they had no internet service either.

Aylsa, the Innkeeper, noted that she did not have internet, but she did notice someone outside the library the other night after it was closed. So, I went down to the library and was able to access the WIFI with my PDA. Back to the motel, I went, and rented a room. I unloaded my bags and headed for the library.

I had the laptop unpacked the wireless mouse plugged in and Word 2003 up on the screen. Typing away merrily to get this onto the page, I began to become aware of a large airplane circling over the library. I took my eyes off of the screen and looked up - right into the grinning faces of fifty billion blood sucking female mosquito's, who had left dad home with the kids for a "girls night out".

I was the guest of honor, and the main course. I downloaded my email, saved the document and hauled my ample behinder out of there before everything I owned became swollen out of proportion. As it is, I am sitting in my room at this moment, without touching the seat. THE MOTSQUITO BITES ARE TOUCHING THE SEAT, BUT NOT MY KIESTER………

What a night. Boy, are those things loud when it seems like the entire population of mosquitos from the entire world are hovering over your head. I am still alive, but I do believe that I may be a quart or two low….

Tomorrow, on to Rhode Island and points south……………