May 1993

Martha and Be|inda's Excellent Adventure: Part 4

Belinda Darcey

Day 4 - Colorado Springs to Man-
hattan, Kansas. September 16, 1993

God, what a morning! I was grumpy,
cranky and irritable. I snarled at Martha
when she tried to tune in to some local
talk radio show (her attempt at soaking up
some Americana.) There was no way in
hell I was going to endure the Inis—
informed, bigoted opinions of the white
bread Bible Belt at seven a.m. We drove
on in silence. I turned to my book (having
developed at an early age, the uncanny
knack of being able to completely tune out
all things unpleasant), and eventually nod-
ded off while Martha fumed away.

A hundred and fifty miles later, we pulled
into a truck stop diner for breakfast. Mar-
tha ignored me as I whined about not be-
ing given the common courtesy of a five
minute wake up call, which would have at
least given me time to put my sneakers
back on and get my bearings. She stared at
me in disbelief and slammed the car door
behind her. I finished tying my laces and
followed her inside. I made a concerted ef-
fort to cheer up over hot pancakes and
eggs, pointing out Judy, the flustered cash-
ier—in—training and a booth of four old gee-
zers in John Deere uniforms who ap-
peared to be permanent fixtures. Martha
just nodded, not saying much.

Back in the car (my turn to drive) she ex-
ploded. Half an hour of yelling and crying
ensued, after which I agreed to be less of a
princess and more flexible about all the in-
conveniences of life on the road. Things
got better fast.

Martha is falling in love with Kansas. I
don't quite get it. We stopped so that she
could have her photo taken standing in a
field. It's at least ninety degrees and there's

nothing but flat, flat land in every direc-
tion. While I can appreciate the gorgeous
blue sky after L.A., in my opinion, the
view is one big yawn. She's delirious.

We pass billboard after billboard wel-
coming us to the area on behalf of the
First Church of Someone—or—other, and
even see a few hastily—erected signs in-
viting us to attend a local revival meeting
with the Right Reverend James. I ponder
whether he is “Right” as

in right—wing or “Right” as in the as-
sumption that all others are “wrong”.

Meanwhile, Martha is watching for a
Dairy Queen. Suddenly, we see signs for,
of all things, a London Fog outlet. Driven
by curiosity and the need for gas, we stop
to have a looky—look. Big mistake. It
turns out to be a huge collection of retail
outlets. I kept wondering where on earth
they got their customers from and who
the hell would shop here for Bugle Boy
shorts and Wedgewood China. Well, as it
turns out, bored fools like us, with noth-
ing better to do while driving cross-
country. What started out as a bargain
$13.50 flannel shirt purchase, quickly
turned into a whopping $81.00 ex-
penditure. We justified this spending
spree over a picnic lunch at the next rest
area. Half-way through her long-awaited
turkey sandwich, Martha found herself
the unwilling object of desire of a rather
large and very persistent bumble bee. We
tried various methods of discouragement,
including waving a napkin at it, all the
while trying not to panic. This only
seemed to encourage him, and then I
started laughing which only made mat-
ters worse. I'm sorry, but as I said at the
time, it was very funny, okay? Needless
to say, she wasn't the least bit amused. I
threw everything in the hamper while she
danced around, and we ran back to the
safety of the car.

658-5353

For information write:

The Lavender Connection

A Discreet Dating’ Service

The Lavender Connection
PO Box 546 0 Colchester, VT 05446

 

 

To Martha's immense satisfaction, we
reached the Best Western in Manhattan,
Kansas by 4 pm. Not so much as a blink
from the sporty—looking receptionist as
she passed us our room key. (M: Big
dyke. B: Really? M: Please!) I lugged the
cooler up a flight of stairs (this was a very
big deal, since I generally like to let Mar-
tha do any heavy lifting), and spent the
next hour in the sorry excuse for a pool.
Martha convinced me to wear some
shorts, a Jog-bra and a tee-shirt (“There's
no one else down there honey”). Of
course as soon as soon as we were in the
water, two middle—aged straight guys
showed up. We did our best to ignore
them, but they kept staring at my wet tee-
shirt, so we decided to try out the more
private, enclosed jacuzzi instead. despite
the ubiquitous signs warning us that we
were being watched by video cameras,
presumably to discourage any hanky—
panky, I indulged my long-suffering Be-

. loved in a luxurious little foot massage.

We could only hope that our receptionist
was getting an eyeful.

Later, we walked across some train tracks
to the Pizza Hut for dinner, where we con-
sumed a large deep—dish special (half pep-
peroni, half pineapple and ham...one
guess who ordered which.) Sated, we
strolled back to the motel bathed in the
warm, balmy evening breezes. Thousands
of crickets heralded an imminent tropical
storm and it felt like we were on a peace-
ful, tropical island. It felt like everything
was going to be just fine. It felt really
wonderful.

(To be continued...) V

ARANOFF

ATTERMEYS AT LAQLKKI

UPSON

SERVHVG THE NEEDS OF THE

LESBIAN AND GAY COMMUNITY

V

Susan L. Aranoff Lisa A. Upson
28 MAIN STREET, MONTPELIER, VERMONT 05602

802.223.1418