Babe occupies the co-pilot's seat as Tuck takes the helm for our return trip from Christmas Central -- Camelot-by-the-Sea -- back home to Chelsea-by-the-Sea. The wind- and snow-swept causeway that connects Goomp's idyllic Western Point to greater York stretches ahead with salt marshes, harbor inlets and tree-covered isles and land masses in the distance.
"I think every couple of years you oughta have a trip like that . . . A good winter snowstorm," comments Tuck, the seasoned Vermont winter driver who guided our little SUV filled with cats and presents and leftovers home through the driven snow this afternoon.
Chris pins the hem of Tuck's new trousers for tailoring
On the way we stopped off at the top-shelf men's clothier in Portsmouth where Chris works. The young man himself did Tuck the honor of pinning his glorious new trousers.
The view ahead as Tuck and Baby navigate the interstate south.
Just as we turned onto the interstate following the little side trip to see a man about a pair of trousers, police sirens and flashing blue lights announced an intersection accident. About a mile down the highway, more sirens and blue lights for a car that had spun off into the center strip. As the snowstorm raged and visibility grew poorer, there would be an off-road spin-off and attendant blue and red lights, police and fire rescue sirens every couple of miles, not to mention a seemingly endless fleet of purposeful tow trucks and flatbeds speeding to the scene of the various mishaps. The traffic slowed to a crawl and then a halt. Tuck postulated that it was a weather-exaggerated backup at the Hampton Toll Booth, and in a sense, it was. A stretch that normally takes 10 minutes filled an hour or more. Once at the toll booth, we found the roadway strewn with shattered automobile parts and the nose-smashed remnants of a multi-car pile-up.
The view in the rearview mirror gives courage. A battalion of snowplowers and salt trucks promise a safe way ahead.
On the final leg of our journey, we thought longingly of the mountainous piles of road salt resting at the angle of repose across the street from the humble abode in Chelsea where we longed to be. Salt, salt, everywhere, but not a drop on the highway ahead. For us it was hairy, but for Tuck it was a return to his college days in southern Vermont, when driving fast on unplowed roads was a varsity sport.
A great tale of a trip between two Cities by the sea with exciting pictures
Posted by: Goomp | December 26, 2004 at 06:47 PM
Perfect (purrfect?) pictures accompany the dialog of a great and memorable trip - would not have made it w/o Babe's unwavering assistance.
Posted by: Tuck | December 27, 2004 at 07:25 PM