The trip North
The alarm rang far too early. Once, twice, three times my hand slapped the snooze. Each time another nine minutes slowly ticked away. Why nine? How about five or fifteen? Who choose that standard? When I finally opened my eyes for good that day I was staring into the bottom of a cup of coffee. Bold and Cold, probably left over from the day before, but who’s checking. Caffeine is still caffeine. Beep, beep, beep, the new coffee for the day was ready in the breakfast room. Ohhhhh, now that’s nice java I said a loud to myself. Little bit of half and half, now I’m ready.
Changing my mind once again about what to serve for breakfast, I checked out the fridge. Ham, nah, served it yesterday, Sausage…. I don’t feel like it, bacon……now we’re talking. Pepper crusted thick sliced, smoked with just the right amount of fat to meat. Sweet mama, this looks good. OK, so its bacon, what else. Who’s coming I thought, and when are they coming down. I couldn’t remember. I had to go to the office to see how many rooms were full last night. 4. So that’s eight people. No, there are additional guests in the Marlborough suite. That’s nine. Back to the kitchen. On the counter I find a note under a flower vase. “Matt, I invited my friends to breakfast, Kate and the boys, Julie and her sister too. I hope this is not too much of a bother.” Ok so that’s nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen.” “But how old are the boys and will they want PineCrest Benedict with béarnaise sauce on my Mediterranean muffins?” “Forget it, pancakes, everyone gets pancakes.” A long silent thought…….”No, I would fix the boys pancakes and everyone else gets the good stuff.”
I had to wrap up breakfast quickly. I was going to take today and drive into the mountains and snoop around for a while. I “map quested” a few locations mentioned in the old news paper article. I would head out of Gorham through Standish and on up to Limington. From there I would cut over into the hills south of Cornish. These road were the light grey lines on the map. You know the grey that means you should think twice before driving on them. Any lighter and they would break up, which means a dirt road. No, not dirt, unimproved. Technically, a field is unimproved. The brush in the corner of the yard is unimproved. Do I drive there?
I would do my best to find some of the places. In the article there was a quote from a general store owner. The store was supposed to be about a finger width away from RT 25 on the map quest directions. Who does these directions anyway? Have they actually driven the roads or is some computer program just guessing?
I didn’t get away until late. I would have to rush if I was going to get back before 3:00 PM. Check-in. I know, I know, Amy could handle check-in, but I have this control issue to deal with and I have to do it. Not that there is anything different. The guest comes in, they sign the card, pay and go to there room. After a brief stint on some directions, they go on their way. I would have to try and get back in time.
I stopped at the Cumberland farms to get some gas. $2.59. Wow, I thought, what a bargain. How sad is it, when $2.59 is thought to be a bargain. It seems like just a few years ago, in Fairfield Ohio, I filled up for .79 cents a gallon. I filled my tank for just over 8 bucks.
I headed north. Twists and turns and turns and twists. The road kept me from driving my usual speed. Too fast. Just barely finding the cutoff from RT 25. I bounced westward on 15 until I came across what used to be a general store appeared around the bend. It was right out of a Steven King novel. Grey and weathered with broken shingles peppering the sides. A standing seem metal room, rusted with patches of tar keeping most of the weather out. Each side shingled with several falling off to reveal a lighter shade of brown underneath that had been protected from the shingle. Overgrown grass sprouted along the sides of the building with a height that could hide several kids playing hooky from school. The parking lot featured a dozen large potholes. Each pot hole filled to the rim with muddy brown water. Not sure how deep each one was, so I drove around each one. You never know when a pot hole might open up and swallow your car. In a place such as this, its better to err on the side of caution.
I stepped gingerly out of my car and jumped over another mud puddle to the steps of the general store. Walking in and looking for the main register, I noticed that everyone in the store was quiet. Not a peep or a clink coming from the kitchen. They were looking at me.
Changing my mind once again about what to serve for breakfast, I checked out the fridge. Ham, nah, served it yesterday, Sausage…. I don’t feel like it, bacon……now we’re talking. Pepper crusted thick sliced, smoked with just the right amount of fat to meat. Sweet mama, this looks good. OK, so its bacon, what else. Who’s coming I thought, and when are they coming down. I couldn’t remember. I had to go to the office to see how many rooms were full last night. 4. So that’s eight people. No, there are additional guests in the Marlborough suite. That’s nine. Back to the kitchen. On the counter I find a note under a flower vase. “Matt, I invited my friends to breakfast, Kate and the boys, Julie and her sister too. I hope this is not too much of a bother.” Ok so that’s nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen.” “But how old are the boys and will they want PineCrest Benedict with béarnaise sauce on my Mediterranean muffins?” “Forget it, pancakes, everyone gets pancakes.” A long silent thought…….”No, I would fix the boys pancakes and everyone else gets the good stuff.”
I had to wrap up breakfast quickly. I was going to take today and drive into the mountains and snoop around for a while. I “map quested” a few locations mentioned in the old news paper article. I would head out of Gorham through Standish and on up to Limington. From there I would cut over into the hills south of Cornish. These road were the light grey lines on the map. You know the grey that means you should think twice before driving on them. Any lighter and they would break up, which means a dirt road. No, not dirt, unimproved. Technically, a field is unimproved. The brush in the corner of the yard is unimproved. Do I drive there?
I would do my best to find some of the places. In the article there was a quote from a general store owner. The store was supposed to be about a finger width away from RT 25 on the map quest directions. Who does these directions anyway? Have they actually driven the roads or is some computer program just guessing?
I didn’t get away until late. I would have to rush if I was going to get back before 3:00 PM. Check-in. I know, I know, Amy could handle check-in, but I have this control issue to deal with and I have to do it. Not that there is anything different. The guest comes in, they sign the card, pay and go to there room. After a brief stint on some directions, they go on their way. I would have to try and get back in time.
I stopped at the Cumberland farms to get some gas. $2.59. Wow, I thought, what a bargain. How sad is it, when $2.59 is thought to be a bargain. It seems like just a few years ago, in Fairfield Ohio, I filled up for .79 cents a gallon. I filled my tank for just over 8 bucks.
I headed north. Twists and turns and turns and twists. The road kept me from driving my usual speed. Too fast. Just barely finding the cutoff from RT 25. I bounced westward on 15 until I came across what used to be a general store appeared around the bend. It was right out of a Steven King novel. Grey and weathered with broken shingles peppering the sides. A standing seem metal room, rusted with patches of tar keeping most of the weather out. Each side shingled with several falling off to reveal a lighter shade of brown underneath that had been protected from the shingle. Overgrown grass sprouted along the sides of the building with a height that could hide several kids playing hooky from school. The parking lot featured a dozen large potholes. Each pot hole filled to the rim with muddy brown water. Not sure how deep each one was, so I drove around each one. You never know when a pot hole might open up and swallow your car. In a place such as this, its better to err on the side of caution.
I stepped gingerly out of my car and jumped over another mud puddle to the steps of the general store. Walking in and looking for the main register, I noticed that everyone in the store was quiet. Not a peep or a clink coming from the kitchen. They were looking at me.
posted by Matt Mattingly at 6:25 AM
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