Out in the Mountains

Martha and Be|inda’s Excellent Adventure: Part 5

Harrisburg, Pa to Waterbury, CT

We head south to Lancaster County to ogle

the Amish. After scanning the AAA Tour- .

guide Book, I insist we stop for breakfast as
a quaint sounding restaurant, “The Bird in
Hand.” The food is overrated and over-
priced, as predicted by Martha, and she is
convinced that the old man in Amish beard
and his bored daughter in drab dress at the
counter are paid by the restaurant man-
agement to sit there for pathetic Amish
seekers. like us. Martha rewrites the res-
taurant’s ad in the AAA guidebook: “See
the Amish bus girl clearing tables! Sit next
to a group of local Amish women and lis-
ten in on their day-to—day conversation!
Crafts and homemade pies made from au-
thentic Amish recipesl...”

Ignoring her cynicism, I announce that I
absolutely must have an Amish hat, so
we drive to a rather vile gift shop, where
I find a “genuine replica” of the real
thing. I am thrilled. We spend a good
hour cruising outlet stores. Martha de-
clares that she must have a T—shirt‘ and a.
pair of Nike socks, which she promptly
purchases, muttering that she feels sorry
for the poor folk from Lancaster if

they’re ever forced by circumstances to-

pay full price.

Then, anxious as ever about time, (and
no doubt, the spending spree we just in-
dulged in) she decides to take the wheel

and “get us back on schedule”, nut an
hour down the road, spies a sign for a J.
Crew outlet. While I doze on blissfully,
she carefully guides the car into the mall
parking lot, and wakes me with a sheep-
ish grin. We emerge 20 minutes later,
both agreeing that, “it pretty much
sucks”, with its high prices and small se-
lection. It’s a lot harder to justify the
prices of those faded T—shirts when
they’re hanging on a rack inside a
cramped store, instead of on a couple of
beefy, faux farmer—type models in front
of a rusty old Ford.

We are finally back on the road to Wa-
terbury at about 12 noon. We make up
for lost time by playing a little Speeding
Ticket Roulette, and don’t stop for lunch
until around 4:30. Realizing that this will
be our last roadside picnic lunch, we de-
cide to record the experience on film.
Martha is fascinated by a guy (who bears
a striking resemblance to Rob Lowe)
who is hard at work inspecting trucks.
His job appears to consist of staring at
the underbellies of 18-wheelers before
waving them on their way.

We reach Waterbury, Ct at about 7 pm.
The hotel is huge, and, thanks to my last
stint as a travel agent, we get to stay in a
plush Sheraton for a "fraction of the nor-
mal cost. The catch is, I am supposed to
endure a “Site Inspection” of the prop-

erty with a manager. So far this trip]
have managed to escape the ordeal. No
one has ever even mentioned it. I would

be willing to bet big money that this idea ‘

was dreamed up by someone at cor-
porate headquarters, and that when the
local managers heard about it, they
rolled their eyes and decided to go with
the old “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy.
This hotel appears to be no different, and
we breathe a sigh of relief as the re-
ceptionist hands us the room key. We
snag the nearest brass luggage cart, load
up and head up to the third floor. Martha
cannot resist the temptation to ride on it,
and I push her for the first 10 feet, before
jumping aboard myself. Our combined
weight results in greater acceleration,
and we careen down the hallway, leap-
ing off at the last minute and grabbing it
just before the entire thing hits the wall.

Martha finds the pool and lures me down
to it, and we take turns practicing the old
One—Arm—Rescue carry. Both of fail mis-
erably. I swallowlots of chlorine. Mar-
tha hops in the jacuzzi and is joined al-
most immediately by a portly man from
the Waterbury area, who tells her much
more than she’ll ever need to know re-
garding the Sheraton and its various oc-
cupancy levels. Back in the room, we
watch a 2 hour PBS special on the Ken-
nedys and eat “Nachos Grande” from
room service V tn lw rnnrinued

 

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