D.C. to NYC

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Caroline Wise and Jutta Engelhardt at Arlington National Cemetery in Washington D.C.

Our last day in Washington D.C. starts with us paying a visit to Arlington National Cemetery and the gravesite of John F. Kennedy.

Arlington National Cemetery in Washington D.C.

We first visited this resting spot for soldiers from nearly all of America’s conflicts back in 2000, during our expeditionary journey across the United States that saw us racing from Arizona to Maine before heading south to take in places like Washington D.C., Kentucky, the Natchez Trace Parkway, and Louisiana. We didn’t have a proper visit to these grounds then; sadly, we are failing in that task today, too.

Washington National Cathedral in Washington D.C.

Washington National Cathedral might have been slightly out of our way leaving D.C., but who turns up their nose at some classic neo-gothic architecture when it’s so close?

Washington National Cathedral in Washington D.C.

Started in 1907, the cathedral, like most others, would take a long time before being considered finished. In this instance, it took 83 years until 1990, when construction was finally completed.

Washington National Cathedral in Washington D.C.

This cathedral is part of the Episcopal faith, which got its start when the United States was breaking free from Britain and the Church of England which required allegiance to the monarch.

Washington National Cathedral in Washington D.C.

We, though, are not here for religion or God; we are here for our senses and to see how old-world European cathedrals compare to what sprung up over here.

Washington National Cathedral in Washington D.C.

Strangely enough, Caroline and I have visited more Spanish missions in California than any other house of worship across America.

Washington National Cathedral in Washington D.C.

I don’t know what I was expecting when I planned our visit, but this is quite a beautiful cathedral. I suppose I’d likely seen it in the news being used for funerals or for inaugural prayers, but a foggy memory isn’t certain.

Washington National Cathedral in Washington D.C.

Things missed while visiting: listening to the organ or a music recital, a tour of the bell tower, and attending services.

Washington National Cathedral in Washington D.C.

The light is magnificent in many parts of the cathedral.

Washington National Cathedral in Washington D.C.

I might be wrong, but this seems like a stained glass window one would only see in America.

Washington National Cathedral in Washington D.C.

Close-up detail of the rose window, dedicated in 1977 in the presence of President Jimmy Carter and Queen Elizabeth II.

George Washington statue in the Washington National Cathedral in Washington D.C.

This is the namesake of the cathedral, George Washington, in an alcove under stained glass windows towering above.

After leaving the D.C. area, our destination today is New York City, four hours away.

Caroline Wise and Jutta Engelhardt in New York City

It was late in the afternoon as we arrived at the Courtyard Marriott in Jersey City, New Jersey on the Hudson River. Mere moments after dropping off our bags in the room, we were jumping on the subway at the Pavonia/Newport station en route to Times Square.

New York City

The sun was just peeking over the horizon as we started our walk up Broadway to 42nd Street.

New York City

While it’s a well-known phenomenon, the vibrant energy coursing through this city is palpable. Excitement pulls us in.

Caroline Wise and John Wise in New York City

Gotta remember to take the occasional selfie of Caroline and me so we are reminded that these adventures weren’t just Caroline and Jutta traveling with their personal documentarian.

New York City

Can we ever have too many photos of things that amaze us?

Caroline Wise and Jutta Engelhardt in New York City

The streets were crowded and, sure enough, lived up to the buzz that this corner of America generates. We weren’t allowed too much time to gawk, though, as we had reservations for a famous local attraction over on 5th Avenue between 33rd and 34th Streets.

New York City

View from the Empire State Building.

New York City

A perfect, cloud-free, fogless, clear night to look out upon New York City.

Caroline Wise in New York City

We must have lingered more than an hour up here. We did take the elevator to the 102nd-floor observatory but enjoyed the 86th-floor more, with the wind and sounds of the city below.

Caroline Wise and Jutta Engelhardt in New York City

Not a lot accomplished yet here in New York City but we have a full day planned for tomorrow.

Mystic Seaport Museum – Day 10

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Seven years ago, when we first passed through this coastal town of Mystic, Connecticut, it was late in the day, which didn’t afford us an opportunity to spend any quality time here. We are rectifying that today.

A restaurant so small I’d say you’d be lucky to get a dozen people in this joint that’s appropriately named Kitchen Little. I had the Portuguese Fisherman breakfast consisting of chouriço (Portuguese chorizo) and linguica (Portuguese kielbasa) mixed with eggs, peppers, onions, and a jalapeno cheese on top of a Portuguese English muffin while Caroline’s breakfast omelet included fiddlehead ferns, a tasty veg discovery we’d never heard of before.

I’m happy nobody was with us on our walk through town and along the river when this drawbridge was raised for a passing boat, as we’d have embarrassed ourselves with our geek-squeals of delight, oohs, aahs, and general nerdiness that might be weird to normal people who live near drawbridges. This is the Mystic River.

The last time we were here at Mystic Seaport Museum, it was only 45 minutes before closing time; now we’re here before they open at 10:00 and are like kids going into Disneyland for the first time.

There’s a dilemma for me when entering any museum and that’s, where do I start? I want to be everywhere simultaneously and see the most important things first. That level of anxiety creates issues for me as I typically downplay the first things I see, knowing that around the corner is the real stuff. In the end, everything was worth seeing, and I often wish I’d spent more time exploring and examining the details of those impressions.

Then there’s the variable that asks, how long will it take to see everything? The answer is likely longer than we have to dedicate to this moment we’re out here. Part of my brain panics with the thought, but what if we never come back? Reality thought plays out with the good fortune that if we try to exercise some intention and desire to return, then we likely will.

The whaling ship Charles W. Morgan launched back on  July 21, 1841, and was retired in 1921 after 37 voyages over the course of its career. Lucky us as next year, the Morgan will be taken out of the water for renovations that will take nearly five years, but today, under beautiful skies, we get the opportunity to walk out on Chubb’s Wharf and walk on the deck and below of the oldest surviving commercial ship that is still afloat.

To our untrained eyes, the ship looks perfect, but then again, we cannot see what’s below the surface and how the structural integrity of the ship is holding up after being in the water for 176 years. In a world of replicas, simulacra, and simulations, it’s nearly unbelievable that this actual ship plied the waters of Earth, hunting whales and storing their oil below this deck.

Look into the rigging and try to imagine the people who crawled up the mast while at sea. They would be over 100 feet over the deck or more than 11 floors above the sea as they maneuvered among the 7,134 square feet of sail.

Below the deck are the galley, sleeping quarters, and storage space for supplies and whale oil. I can’t help but think that if the opportunity arose where a modern fleet of these old wooden masters of the sea was to offer adventurers to cross the Atlantic on such a craft, some of us would sign up for such a voyage.

While these try-pots are certainly a historic curiosity, there is also something very grim about authentic cast iron pots that were used to cook down whale blubber into oil. In some way, I feel like this is akin to looking into the ovens at Dachau that were used for cremating humans.

The Mystic Seaport Museum is a living treasure that reminds visitors that when the ships of the world came into port a full cadre of crafts and services had to be on hand to service the needs of the ships and their crews.

Plymouth Cordage Company Ropewalk was once the largest rope producer on earth, but after 140 years of business, the company shut down in 1964. The machinery and 1/3 of the ropewalk itself were moved from Massachusetts here to Mystic Seaport, where we can see the equipment and type of environment in which rope for rigging along with twine was made. For those with a keen eye, you can see that the process is nearly identical to making yarn. As for the shortened ropewalk, it used to be 110 feet long, which was needed by the men to walk out the fibers as they twisted them into lengths of rope up to 90 feet long.

This is the Fishtown Chapel that was moved to the museum in 1949. For a while back in 1900, it was used as a school but was then abandoned and sat decaying before being rescued and restored.

Trying to imagine the buzz around town when a whaling ship was seen on the horizon returning to its home base after being out at sea for two years. The spouses had to wait for the hopeful return of husbands and fathers who would come back to see their children having grown significantly older. With the masts towering 11 stories high, it would have been taller than everything in the area. At the height of the whaling industry, skyscrapers had not yet been built in Chicago or New York, so these ships would have been seen as incredible feats of engineering.

How fortunate America is that Mystic Seaport Museum also plays host to the Henry B. DuPont Preservation Shipyard, where the craft of keeping aging ships afloat and in working order lives on. We could stay here all day and maybe even a second full day, but with 245 miles between us and our next motel, we can’t linger too long, and with heavy hearts, we pull ourselves away.

Once again on the road, it was a brutal drive south past New York City – where we found ourselves in a traffic jam on the Cross Bronx Expressway that forced us to stop and crawl for an hour and a half.

We only had three miles to travel through this congested city, but it took 90 freaking minutes of astonishment and moments of claustrophobia.

Finally, we start to see the clutch of NYC release its grip on us. How do people do this every day?

Across the bridge in New Jersey, we fly in between beautiful wetlands on one side of the turnpike and stinking factories on the other. It was almost 9:45 p.m. when we arrived at our Days Inn in Wilmington, Delaware.

Vermont and Beyond – Day 5

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Who asks for a 4:30 wake-up call while on vacation? The kind of people who want to be outside their room by 5:15, that’s who. Why would anyone want to be up and gone by the break of dawn? Because there is no other way to witness this kind of sky. How many times will anyone have the opportunity to see such sights with their own eyes?

What are the subconscious influences that determine why particular routes are chosen over others? As I look at the map of the area, there’s a part of me that thinks that maybe we should have hugged the St. Lawrence River, but our primary place of interest wasn’t that waterway but getting over to Maine. But why Maine? To some degree of awareness, I vaguely know that the idea of the state holds some kind of romantic intrigue. I don’t know why this is in the back of my mind, and can only guess there are images that found their way into my imagination that took hold, kind of like the notions I have about old abandoned buildings.

I know that we have to avoid freeways at all costs until they become the only way to get to our destination, and the rural roads we travel – if we are so lucky to find ones without fences – have an appeal due to the lack of barriers, which draws me into this particular land being more open than those lands beyond even only two-wires of barbed wire standing between me and what’s on the other side. This doesn’t feel rational, and in the distance, I see exactly what I would see even with the two thin wires, but there’s an emotional component that defies logic. Somehow, this applies to my sense of maps when I’m plotting a path.

Rambling along old backroads, we are leaving the Trout River-Westville Rd and turning south on State Route 30 at the Canadian and United States border in New York. Across the border is Godmanchester, and in front of us is Constable. On the radio, we mostly find French broadcasters and a great diversity of programming – not like what we have heard further south. Not many people are living up here. There are a few farms but not much else besides the countryside and plenty of signs.

There are a lot of internal signs that impact my decisions to operate from intuition, while when physically maneuvering our world, the signs imposed by laws constrain my actions. The internal signs are pointers to dreams that help fulfill aspirations, and so it is that we are out here now, trying to decipher and make real whatever the hopes were that formed the structure of this adventure.

There’s so much water out here, and so much we can’t see. If we were here on a summer evening would we hear frogs, would we see fireflies, or whatever other nocturnal life living out here? Those who dwell along these roads and waterways, do they spend time learning about their environment, or is it invisible background noise no longer making an impact? We are enchanted by scenes like this and look for what fish, birds, butterflies, and plants are along the riverbank and what’s in the channel. We are only afforded the most superficial of experiences, though, as this isn’t about immersion but impressions.

While driving just south of the Canadian border, we’ve been tuning into various radio stations along the way with the majority of them broadcasting in French. When the soundtrack to an environment is as new as the place itself, the thrill of novelty is amplified and takes us into perspectives beyond our expectations. Since our departure this morning from Massena, New York, we’ve been traveling on the Military Trail Scenic Byway.

Our hearts pull us toward North Hero here on our return to Vermont, but the desire for new experiences demands we head over the bridges toward Swanton, Vermont.

There are a few things one must see in Vermont, and farms play a large role in that.

Covered bridges made of wood are another thing on the must-see list visitors should seek out. This particular one is the Power House Covered Bridge in Johnson, Vermont.

Add forests and cascades to that list; check.

Metal moose and giant metal daisies are the kind of lawn ornaments the people of Ohio could learn about, with their plastic deer decorating their front yards. Come to think about it; I wonder why the people of Arizona haven’t discovered fake enormous scorpions or javelinas for their yards? Then there are those pink flamingos down in Florida – that’s it; I want to see giant metal pink javelinas in my future.

With only a bit more than five hours in Vermont, I’ll be the first to admit that it was nowhere near enough time to understand the breadth of character this state has. Our second glimpse of the place makes it even more attractive, and the hope to return for a more extensive will burn within.

Hello, New Hampshire and North Stratford! So, we know nothing more about this first town in New Hampshire than we did before we passed through. Sadly, this state will mostly be a blur. Our route will take us down the Daniel Webster Highway along the Connecticut River until we reach Groveton, where we pick up the Berlin-Groveton Highway, also known as the Woodland Heritage Trail.

Stark Covered Bridge over the Upper Ammonoosuc River in Stark, New Hampshire is as good a reason to stop to take in a sight. Have I ever shared that Caroline and I are in love with America’s scenic byways?

While we were in town, this old church from 1853 also caught our attention. It was built shortly before the bridge above.

And within two hours, we were about to say goodbye to the Granite State but not before we heard our first loon out here on the White Mountain Scenic Drive. I should make a note to Caroline and me that we need to come back to this corner of America sometime in June or September to better explore Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island.

Home for the next three nights will be right here in the great state of Maine.

No loons here, but plenty of frogs to listen to here at Cupsuptic Lake on Wilson Mills Road.

How did I miss that the Wilhelm Reich Museum called Orgonon in Rangely, Maine, was along our path? Here we are, showing up well after they closed for the day, drats. Who was Wilhelm Reich you ask? Author of The Function of the Orgasm, The Murder of Christ, Listen, Little Man!, and The Mass Psychology of Fascism. Reich was also a controversial figure for his theory of Orgone, or the energy of the orgasm, and how its regulation was important for mental health. I first learned about him from William S. Burroughs back when I was a teenager in high school.

In Rangely, where we’ll be spending the night, we had an early dinner and then used the late-day sunlight to head up “Moose Alley.” Along the way, we spot about a dozen moose that look like they barely survived winter and some elk and even a beaver. Back in town, the sound of frogs and loons will soon take us off to sleep, but first, we request another 4:30 wake-up call.

St. Lawrence Seaway, NY – Day 4

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Lillian "Luba" Knezetic and Robert Knezetic of Ozalj, Karlovac, Croatia

If I had to guess, I’d say this is the first portrait of Louisa Priezula and Blasius Knezetic in the United States somewhere near about 1905 after they passed through Ellis Island. My great-grandmother, while known as Luba in her village of Ozalj near Karlovac, Croatia, would become Lillian in America in order to better fit in. Blasius became Robert. Seven years after taking up residence in Buffalo, New York, they started having children, starting with my Uncle Bob and stopping at the seventh child, my Aunt Ann.

It’s a shame that I never dug deep into who my family was as I was too preoccupied with my own travails to be able to take much interest in people who felt distant and foreign, combined with the fact that I’d never know them. Growing older, I now know that I’d like to know more about their story, but those who could share and might have known something are all gone. Keep in mind that while I’m writing the majority of the blog entries from this trip in 2007 based on notes Caroline kept as we drove across the Eastern United States, is now 2020 when I’m finally assembling this. Hindsight is really at work these days: back in 2007, I felt like my family would somehow always be there – wrong.

Before leaving Buffalo, we stopped at Barnes & Noble to pick up a map of the United States, a coffee, and hopefully, something that would detail hiking and bike trails across the Buffalo region. Sadly, that kind of book does not exist.

Our route is moving in reverse of the trip my mom and I took a couple of years ago and so Caroline and I drive this abomination car called Mustang north through Lockport and Newfane up to Olcott Beach on Lake Ontario.

You just knew Caroline had to step into Lake Ontario at the first opportunity. From this point east, we’ll be traveling the Seaway Trail National Scenic Byway.

To some, these may be simple dandelions, but to these two people from the desert of Arizona, they are a field of glorious color.

Thirty Mile Point Lighthouse in Barker, New York, is only about 14 miles up the road from the previous lighthouse, but we are far from suffering from lighthouse fatigue, so we had to visit.

Why we find shoe trees so interesting is kind of strange, considering that this is likely not good for the tree. Either they are nailed to the poor tree, or they hang from the branches, and when the shoes get wet they probably put a lot of stress on it.

Charlotte Genesee Lighthouse was our next major stop along the byway. By the end of this trip, we’ll likely realize this journey to the Eastern United States should have been called the 2007 Lighthouse Tour. I should point out how nice it is to be out here with Caroline to enjoy the luxury of taking in the really important things and not being on a race to the next diner, restaurant, farmers market, ice cream stand, bakery, or winery as I was with my mom back in 2005.

Well, speaking of food. Mom and I stopped here, and I fell in love with the location right on Lake Ontario, so it seemed like a great place to bring Caroline for lunch. We had a Red Plate and a Guppy Plate, which are both haddock but in different portion sizes. Still hungry, I also ordered a Texas Hot. No wonder I’m fat. For those who may not know, a Texas Hot is a charbroiled hot dog with a red chili sauce. It’s a Western New York thing, so now you know. To top it all off, we each had a Birch Beer that might best be described as a kind of root beer.

Visiting Rudy’s Lakeside Drive-In in Oswego, New York. I wonder what kind of idiot is driving that ugly, poorly designed-Mustang out front? Oh yeah, I’m the idiot. I seriously wish we’d exchanged this thing for something else, anything else, even a moped.

Driving along, looking at the fruit trees in bloom, recently plowed fields, and the occasional glimpse of the St. Lawrence Seaway on our left, Caroline and I are attuned with senses on high alert, looking for spots that make us say ‘wow.’ This small streambed with barely an inch of water running over clean bedrock was just one of the moments. On this afternoon, we were traveling northeast on New York Route 12 to its terminus in Morristown, NY, before getting on NY 37. As usual, we passed over the stream and, recognizing the beauty of the location, had to turn around, park the car, and walk out over the bridge to take the shot. If I had a wish, it would be that we were biking this road. It is quiet out here; the occasional scent of flowers and sweet grasses is just dreamy; it’s hard to imagine the harshness of winter that just passed through before us.

There are many waterways, creeks, and streams along the road. Each is photogenic in its own right but we are recognizing that we are now starting to run behind. While our schedule is flexible, we booked rooms for each and every night, so we do have destinations we need to get to, and in some cases, we need to check in well before midnight.

At times, the road couldn’t be any closer to the water, and the flies couldn’t be thicker. I don’t believe we’ve ever encountered thicker clouds of flying insects before being out here. While some of the photos could portray just how bad they were, Photoshop came to the rescue to remove the blurs that added nothing to these photos or our memories.

Tibbetts Point Lighthouse in Cape Vincent, New York at the mouth of the Saint Lawrence Seaway. We are only 100 miles away from Massena, New York, up the seaway, but at our speed, it will be midnight before we arrive. Time to hit the gas.

Amazing photos along the seaway are not here but the memories hopefully travel with us. Dinner was at Bauernstube Restaurant for German food. This is the same place my mom and I had breakfast a couple of years ago. Hmm, wasn’t I just saying this trip isn’t all about food?

The Lakeview Motel in Massena, New York, for the bargain-basement price of only $55 a night was ours. What do you think? Was the view worth it?

Buffalo Memories – Day 3

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Love Canal in Buffalo, New York

My cousin Brian Marynowski is our tour guide today. Our first stop was at Love Canal, which used to be a thriving neighborhood here in Buffalo until buried toxic waste started seeping into basements and bubbling up in areas where kids played. Ultimately, the contaminated area was evacuated, and attempts to remediate the place were undertaken, starting about 30 years ago. It was just a few years ago that Love Canal was moved off the Superfund site list, but I doubt anyone will be living here along these decaying streets again in my lifetime.

Niagara Falls in Buffalo, New York

Water spilling over rocks to form waterfalls is so much more than a simple description. The roar of the plummeting waters with rising mists catching the sun to produce countless rainbows reminds us of the force that water is when it’s not sitting in a pool or lake, just playing home to some fish. Our second time here, and still, we’ll not be venturing out on the river below that takes visitors to the foot of Niagara Falls, but one day we’ll get out there.

Caroline Wise, Brian Marynowski, and John Wise at Niagara Falls in Buffalo, New York

That’s Brian Marynowski between us and the city of Niagara Falls, Canada, behind us. As where Buffalo is in a state of decay, the city across the river is thriving. I think some of the differentiating characteristics between the neighbors was that one embraced change and diversity while the other, afraid of losing their blue-collar past, held onto ideas of how things should stay the way they were and that it was everyone else’s fault their city was faltering.

Our Lady of Victory Basilica in Buffalo, New York

This beautiful corner in Buffalo is Our Lady of Victory Basilica, which is also referred to as Father Baker’s.

Our Lady of Victory Basilica in Buffalo, New York

Inside, Our Lady of Victory compares with many of the cathedrals of Europe.

Schwabl's Roast Beef in Buffalo, New York

This amazing temple to the divine Beef on Weck should be considered a holy shrine as they are not only the creators of this Buffalonian delicacy but have been a fixture in this city since 1837. This was where we had lunch, even though Brian insisted there was somewhere better. I closed my ears to that argument and didn’t note the address so I could remain a purist and maintain my loyalty to the one and only Schwabl’s.

Mount Olivet Cemetery in Buffalo, New York

The visit to Mount Olivet Cemetery was an unexpected surprise as I’d not previously considered that many of my relatives found their final resting place here in Buffalo. The cemetery is located at 4000 Elmwood Ave.

Robert Knezetic grave at Mount Olivet Cemetery in Buffalo, New York

Here lies my paternal great-grandfather Robert Knezetic, born Blasius, who was father to my grandmother Amelia Wise.

Lillian "Luba" Knezetic grave at Mount Olivet Cemetery in Buffalo, New York

His wife was Lillian, also known as Luba; she was born in Croatia as Louisa Priezula.

John A. Wise grave at Mount Olivet Cemetery in Buffalo, New York

This is my paternal grandfather, John Alexander Wise. He was a giant in my eyes, but I later came to understand that he was an angry and raging man who lent that quality to my father, who, in turn, tried to let me inherit the trait. I hope that the ugliness in this bloodline dies with me.

Amelia Wise grave at Mount Olivet Cemetery in Buffalo, New York

This was my dear grandmother and a woman who certainly loved her grandchildren. She endured a very hard life of deprivations, mostly created by her husband, my grandfather. Her health started to deteriorate in the late 1970s, and she passed away at the age of only 64.

Jacob Marynowski and Jonathan Marynowski at 109 Delta Road in Buffalo, New York

To finish off our second full day in Buffalo, Aunt Lillian prepared a picnic BBQ for Brian, Jonathan, Jacob, Caroline, and myself. Sadly, I wasn’t able to snap a photo of my favorite aunt as she’s not been feeling well with her diabetes. This dreaded disease is what killed her father and her brother, and now it’s her nemesis, too. Hung out talking for the rest of the day enjoying the nostalgia of lives lived in the City of Light – Buffalo, New York.

Lafayette and Niagara – Day 2

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109 Delta Road in Buffalo, New York

Back in Phoenix, Arizona, we would be fast approaching our first 100-degree day, while here in the Northeast, spring is just now starting to peek through the long winter’s doldrums of gray and cold. That red POS in the driveway is our rental car; we loathe that thing and wish we could exchange it for a normal car.

Anderson's Custard in Buffalo, New York

For some silly reason or other, we didn’t take a single note for today or tomorrow, so details are obviously lost, but suffice it to say the majority of our time was spent with family. My aunt Lillian and cousin Brian have to work, so Caroline and I will wander Buffalo until they are done. While we had breakfast with them, we couldn’t resist the indulgence of going for a big fat cup of custard from Anderson’s before we got serious about our exploration.

Ellicott Creek in Buffalo, New York

There is no plan on what to visit other than just trying to enjoy the nice weather. My shortsightedness tells me I need not worry about photos as it was two years ago that I captured everything I needed to when I visited with my mom. Maybe I should have considered the improvement in camera quality or that the weather is nicer, but then again it’s great to just wander around without any demands.

Niagara River in Buffalo, New York

We slowed our usual pace to take a walk along the Niagara River as the day was simply beautiful and deserving of appreciation.

Fowler's Chocolates in Buffalo, New York

I grew up on Fowler’s orange chocolates, especially the ones that are shaped like buffalos. Even living in Arizona, I was able to maintain this connection as my mom would order a bunch of them every Easter; so seeing we are right here in Buffalo and the memory crept into my head, it seemed like there couldn’t be too much sugar in the day, and so here we are.

Santasiero's Restaurant in Buffalo, New York

We weren’t away from the house all that long before my aunt was done with her bit of work, and we were able to spend the afternoon talking. When Brian and his boys, Johnathan and Jacob, joined us, it was time for the six of us to go for dinner. Our destination was a place I’d not been since I was a little boy: Santasiero’s Italian Restaurant at 1329 Niagara Street. This place has been a Buffalo staple since 1921.

Caroline Wise at Santasiero's Restaurant in Buffalo, New York

After way too much coaxing, Caroline finally agreed to wear the bib. You would have thought we were asking her to have a root canal the way she fought the strong-armed tactics deployed for our own selfish entertainment. I am certain that nearly everyone in my family has worn a bib at this establishment at one time or another and now Caroline joins that long tradition.

Lake Erie, Pennsylvania – Day 1

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Leaving Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania Airport

Sonal was kind enough to pick us up this morning at 6:30 to bring us to Sky Harbor. Our non-stop flight left Phoenix just after 9:00 a.m. and arrived in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, at nearly 4:00 p.m. I had booked the flight after looking at the number of stops, car rental rates, and airfares at a dozen airports back east. The cheapest flight was into Newark, New Jersey, but that came with the highest rental car rate; Chicago was almost as bad. Columbus, Ohio, and Pittsburgh had the best combination of prices, but Pittsburgh was closer to Niagara Falls – where we were headed. Airfare was a reasonable $235 each round trip, and the rental car for two weeks was a mere $316 with Budget. Once landed, we picked up the car, which was unfortunately upgraded to a fire-engine red Mustang, and were soon on our way into the city.

Caroline Wise at Primanti Brothers in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Our first stop was at the world-famous Primanti Bros. in downtown Pittsburgh for one of their incredible sandwiches. The Primanti sandwich features your choice of meat, egg, or cheese, which is then stacked high with coleslaw and french fries on thick Italian bread – they are yummy. Caroline opted for the Colossal Fish & Cheese and I the Corned Beef & Cheese, though we did have to ask the waitress why the menu lists a #2 best seller but not the #1. She says, “It’s because beer is the number 1 best seller here!”

Sunset over Lake Erie in Pennsylvania

The road out of Pittsburgh is littered with roadkill. It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the stink that goes along with so many dead and rotting animals. At some point, we start keeping track of the zoo outside our stupid red car, which includes some of the following: badger or raccoon (difficult to identify in its current state), a small furry grey thing, two deer with big stink, another furry thing, skunk, something unseen but its aroma reached us easily, bird, bird, furry things, raccoon, possum, something too flat to identify, more deer.

Leaving the turnpike (at the time, we had no idea why a turnpike is a turnpike), we were leaving the death zone and heading for the beautiful lake at sunset zone. Regarding this road nomenclature, I later learned that back in the day, a “pike” was a stick blocking a path. Upon paying a toll, the pike was “turned” up, thus allowing the person to pass the barrier.

Caroline Wise and John Wise entering New York State

We stayed along Lake Erie on Highway 5 through the rest of Pennsylvania to the New York Stateline. Taking photos is becoming a chore as getting in and out of this horrible Ford Mustang that we are close to hating takes an inordinate amount of work. The seatbelt requires a reach-around that demands contortionist skills. The window frame was not designed to rest your arm on it. The passenger seat sits so low and cannot be raised enough for my 5-foot 4-inch wife to see over the hood, which is difficult for me, too. The emergency brake handle was placed strategically in a spot to ensure you’d never want to rest your leg against the center console.

Sunset in Western New York

Passing through Ripley, New York, Caroline recognizes Plummer’s Tavern and points it out, reminding me that we’d eaten there back on our year 2000 cross-country road trip. Our destination tonight is Buffalo.

Valvo’s Candies in Silver Creek, New York

At the time, we were shocked to see this again as, in our memories, Dolly Dimples the Killer Doll was somewhere back in Pennsylvania, not right here at Valvo’s Candies in Silver Creek, New York.

Bocce Club Pizza from Buffalo, New York

While it was almost 10:00 p.m. when we pulled up to 109 Delta Road here in Buffalo to spend the night with my aunt Lillian, it wasn’t too late for her to help us get a pizza from Bocce Club Pizza from around the corner on Baily Avenue. Getting our fill of the world’s best pizza and catching up a bit on the intervening seven years since the last visit, we were off to sleep. It’s been a busy travel day after nearly 18 hours of being in motion.