CHAPTER ONE – NO REST FOR THE WEARY BLADDER
The last two long trips
I’ve taken have definitely been bladder busters, and I say this with a grain of
truth and a huge boulder of bullshit.
When I’m taking a trip
somewhere, the last thing I want to do is waste time at rest areas, but I’m happy
to do so when I have to pee or when my car needs gas. These are necessities. When I travel alone, I often plan my breaks
around the rest areas, sometimes for fun (The Johnny Appleseed rest stop –
woohoo!) and sometimes out of necessity.
Like the time I drove to
Burlington, VT by myself. I planned a
rest area stop just over the New Hampshire border because the rest area in Sharon,
VT, has space dedicated to Vietnam Veterans.
It’s also the only rest area on the way north via route 89. (There are no rest areas on the southbound
side, just so you’re all informed.)
Another time I drove
myself out to Albany, NY. The very
morning I was planning on leaving, Floyd (my uterine fibroid) decided to pay me
a visit, and I had to stop at almost every rest area between home and my destination
and then back again lest my car looked like Polanski’s living room. By the way, I-90 has some extremely
well-stocked rest areas, complete with multiple restaurants, lots of gas pumps,
and bathrooms that could double as luxury condos.
Recently a group of us
caravans to Maryland and back. Clever
us: We take an alternate route home and discover that many New York rest areas
are only for show, as in “Oh, look, this
used to be a place to go potty, but now it’s just a dirt-covered maze of steel
girders pretending to be construction.
Totally blows to be you and your full bladder. Better luck in Connecticut, suckers.” We do manage to find one rest area that
remains open, complete with a Dunkin Donuts, a Subway, gas pumps, and
functioning toilets. It is a sentimental
moment.
My most recent adventure
though, takes me out to Tarrytown, NY.
Tarrytown is on the east side of the Hudson River by the Tappan Zee
Bridge. Bordered to the south by Dobbs
Ferry (my ultimate destination for the day) and by infamous Sleepy Hollow to
the north, the area is rich with hidden touristy-type stuff that interests a
geek like me. I map my trip, set the
GPS, and convince myself that it’s okay to drink that mug of tea since there
are at least two rest areas along my route once I’ve reached Connecticut, not
to mention several on the Massachusetts Turnpike.
It turns out that at least
one rest stop on I-90 through Massachusetts mistakes itself for New York and
has been closed. This is very sad news
to me since I pass by several other rest areas and decide not to stop. No matter.
I’m hooking up with two other relatively major thoroughfares before I
hit the “always closed and/or seasonal
but not this season” rest areas of the Saw Mill River Parkway vicinity.
This concept of closing
rest areas along major highways must be relatively new, and everyone seems to
be doing it. For the first time I pass
more “closed” rest areas than open ones.
Yup, this is going to be one long, suck-ass ride to the Hudson River
Valley. I’m going to have to take an
exit and go in search of facilities since the signs that say “food, this exit”
rarely actually mean food. More likely
these signs mean “food may be detectable this exit if you drive for miles and
chant the lyrics to Food, Glorious Food
and pray your every-loving heart out for mercy.” I wait until I come to an exit with the
symbols for food and gas and with actual restaurant names on the sign.
Success!
Exit 15 has both a
McDonalds and a Panera. I opt for
Panera. This, of course, turns out to be
a mistake. I drive around the multi-unit
strip mall, doing large one-way circles, passing McDonalds twice with no sign
of Panera anywhere. Now not only do I have to piss, but I am pissed. Sure, I can go to
Mickey-D’s, but I am thinking maybe I want a blueberry muffin (even though I
packed enough snacks and food to sustain myself for days).
I park my car several
spaces from the fast food entrance and recheck the blocks of store fronts. I finally discover Panera across the lot,
near where I entered, around the one-way signs, and under some other
building. I walk down the concrete
stairs, step into the restaurant, and immediately discover that the bathrooms
are not any place logical. I have to
snake through several partitions and around booths and tables and customers and
am starting to feel like Theseus in the Labyrinth, except he probably didn’t
have to pee, or maybe he did, which would explain why he was so ticked off at Minotaur.
One potty break and one
blueberry muffin later, I am back on the road, retracing my earlier scenic tour
of the one-way-only parking lot, following a giant Panera delivery truck out of
the mini-mall, and then passing that same truck on the entrance ramp so I don’t
get killed merging on to the highway at too slow a speed.
I check my GPS – My original
arrival time in Sleepy Hollow, set while sitting in my driveway back in
Massachusetts, is scheduled for 10:41.
Since I’ve hit rainy weather but no real traffic yet, and since my brand
new transponder EZ Pass actually works, the time I shave off my trip has simply
been made up by the rest stop. My ETA is
now 10:39. Apparently, peeing puts me
into a time warp.
Welcome to Connecticut, a long state to drive through,
so make sure your bladder is emptied in another state because we really mean that
we welcome you to continue driving.
Bye-bye, now!
Watching Southbury
disappear into my rearview mirror and the fog of diminishing drizzle, I assure
myself there will be no more potty breaks until well after my pre-lacrosse game
sight-seeing odyssey, which is a good thing since in Connecticut there is no
rest for the weary bladder. Travelers
and tea/coffee drinkers, beware.
