Day One

Day One

Woke up at about 8am, got the paper and waited for signs of life from upstairs.  Ann’s first night in Gates Mills seemed to be a success.  Consummation is awesome.  Who knew?? 

Surprisingly, it took Ann a while to get ready to hit the road.  Apparently one’s hair has to be just so to go on a road trip.  Anyway, we loaded up the luggage, bicycles, golf clubs, and dog.  We then set the GPS for the Red Lion Inn in Stockbridge, Mass and headed east.  400 miles to go on route 90. 

I stopped at McDonalds for lunch. Ann turns her nose up at their food but loves stealing some French fries from me.   They have a new premium burger called Angus.  1/3 pound (because the Quarter Pounder was too small).  Angus comes with a fancier bun, a slice of tomato and sliced onion.  It appears to be an effort by McDonalds to make a sort of “gourmet” burger (an oxymoron?).  I’m not exactly sure why, but it didn’t work.  Each of the elements seemed to be there to make a superior product but it just didn’t taste very good.  I would have preferred a greasy old quarter pounder—it may not be fancy or have anything remotely fresh or healthy in it, but it tastes good.  Angus strikes me as too much lipstick on the pig.

Entertainment for the road trip came from the XM radio that came with my little Mercedes SUV.  I am enjoying it until the 6 month free subscription runs out, at which point I will be back to NPR and MAGIC.  The XM radio stations are created by marketers who identify key demographic groups and play them the stuff they already listen to.  Some of them are incredibly narrow.  There are stations devoted solely to Elvis, Bruce Springsteen, and Willie Nelson for example. 

Ann leans towards “The Coffee House” and “The Loft”, which are stations that play a lot of acoustic music by sensitive men and suicidal females.  I tend towards “Classic Vinyl” (Led Zep, Bad Company, Cream, etc.) or “Bluegrass Junction” (think of music from the Beverly Hillbillies, Deliverance, etc.).  We discovered that there is a station for a demographic coupling of the two of us called “the Spectrum” which plays a mix of newer stuff, with the occasional old headbanger or sad female.  This resolved a potentially tricky challenge early in our marriage.

We then got the Browns on the radio.  It sounded like they played a pretty good game but again came up short—this time against a pretty good opponent though (Baltimore, led by literal murderer Ray Lewis).  My sense is that this Browns team is trying too hard.  You can see and hear the effort, but everything seems too difficult.  Maybe they are being overcoached?  There was a similar comment in the New York Times Monday about the Giants, who looked really tight in a bad game against the Titans—there were complaints about an overly “controlling” coaching staff. 

Ann generally has one or two boyfriends on every Cleveland sports team—she has not settled on who she loves among the current crop of Browns, although she thinks she loves a special teams guy that she read about—she just can’t remember his name.

Ann had some difficult moments in construction areas where they had built concrete barriers right up against the passing lane and I insisted on passing tractor trailers that sometimes appeared to be driven by guys who were texting and possibly drinking beer.  We discussed whether her instinct to not pass and just stay behind the trucks was simply a lack of testosterone or whether one would actually need a full dose of estrogen to feel this way. 

Anyway, we got to the Red Lion Inn (western Massachussets) at about 7pm.  The Red Lion is in the Berkshires and is over 200 years old.  We rented a little cottage where Ann’s dog Daisy was welcome.  We had a very good dinner in the Tavern (preceded, in my case, by a delicious martini up).  The Inn features locally grown and produced food which was wonderful.  We had a glass of wine in their little jazz bar in the basement, known as the “Lion’s Den” (not to be confused with the “Adult Superstores” of the same name that you see advertised along the Interstates).  Danced  to “Girl from Ipanema” and went to bed watching football.

PS:  It should be noted that upon our return from the wedding reception the night before all of this, we were greeted with (a) a thoughtful and touching wedding gift on our front porch and (b) toilet paper draped all over the house.  I know who the culprits are and am even now plotting my revenge.