FOREVER IN THE FRONT OF THE FERRY

When I visit my relatives in New York, I get to take the ferry.  Not THE ferry, as there are several, but a ferry, just the same.  I usually take the Burlington, Vermont, to Port Kent, New York, ferry.  It's a long ride, an hour or so, and it has gotten pricey ($30 one way with a car), but it's still the best scenic ferry ride around.

That particular ferry usually runs when the lake is not frozen, and it usually has two ferries working simultaneously, passing each other about halfway while several of us hang over the sides searching for Champy, Lake Champlain's version of the Loch Ness monster.  I am surprised, disappointed, and a little miffed to discover that there is only one ferry, despite it still being summer and tourist season, so the ferry crossing times are severely limited.

No worries.  I drive north a few exits on I-89 and find my way over to the Grand Isle ferry.  It runs every fifteen minutes (less, actually) and costs less than $11 with my car.  Plus, several ferries operate at the same time up here.  I am relieved to be fourth car in line.  This means that I won't be stuck at the front of the ferry.  I don't like the front spot since once I had an eighteen wheeler parked right up to my bumper, and I was afraid its brakes would let loose and push my van and me and my kids into the lake.

As soon as we start loading, everyone in front of me goes to lanes one and two.  The ferry worker points to me and steers me all the way to the left into aisle four, making me once again the front car.  Next to me there is an eighteen wheeler, putting him first in line (also first to get off the ferry).  It's a short crossing, though, so within a quarter hour, I am third car off the ferry and on my way.

Coming back home days later, I make it to the 10:50 ferry at Port Kent.  I am the third car to arrive, just in time I notice as there are four cars behind me in line.  Great, I figure, there's no way I'll end up in the front this time.  But, again, I am instructed to pull away from the other cars and move my arse forward to the front.

This time, the crossing will take just over an hour, and, as soon as we pull away from the dock, it begins to rain and the wind whips up into a frenzy.  I get out of my car and make my way upstairs to the observation area (indoor and outdoor).  People walking along the outer railing are blown around like rag dolls, and I am waiting for little kids who are running away from their parents to be lifted from the decks and tossed into the churning water.

Eventually I head back to my car, riding out the storm as spray comes up and over the front deck, swishing across my windshield like a car wash.  By the time we reach Burlington, the rain has stopped and the sun is trying to come out.  It's not my first squall on the ferry and certainly not my hairiest ride -- I rode through a squall from Nantucket on the open top deck of a huge ferry that rivaled the Titanic's sinking with the number of times the boat lurched and the many angles at which it leaned.  But it's still a little sketchy when riding in the first car that might go into the drink even on a smaller craft.

As payback for my car getting covered with lake water, I am the first one let off the ferry after we dock (once walkers and bikers are unloaded), and I'm on my way home quickly.  I should be happy; I need to beat the returning college kiddos and their families at St. Michaels, University of Vermont,  Middlebury, Norwich, Dartmouth, Colby-Sawyer, Southern New Hampshire University ... I only end up stopped in traffic three times and make it home in a decent amount of time, leaving the lake, my family, and the shenanigans behind.

It's okay, though.  The entire family, all extensions of it, will be together for a wedding this coming weekend.  More travel, no ferries, but tons of shenanigans, so it's all good.