Franklinsanity

A crank's musings on family, drink, travel, food & life

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  • Brownian Motion

    Brownian Motion

    8:43 am San Francisco, CA:  At least three of you felt strongly the blog should continue.  So, if you object to this reality, blame that triumvirate (as well as my vanity).  In any case, I still think Lord Chesterfield got it right when he said the majority was always in the wrong.

    Unless, in fact, the (silent) majority of Franklinsanity’s readership just loves the blog.  In which case, Chesterfield’s just a British guy with a fancy overcoat named after him.

    In any case, the family’s glad not to be driving hundreds of miles a day and pleased to be back in the house.  Kingsley especially is pleased to have his couch – and his straightforward job back, e.g., barking at neighbors and especially the post- and UPS men.

    Right now it’s a (rare) grey, misty morning in the North Bay.  Both dogs are taking Kingsley’s job seriously, at top volume.  The kids are contributing.  Awesome Wife is in the shower.

    The day’s plans include a BBQ and possible pool activity with friends; some work; and possibly a sighting of the great, elusive Paul R., screenwriter and man about town, allegedly in SF for some sort of live-music-related activity.

    Myself, I’m just glad to be eating fresh, light, overpriced, Coastal PLU food again.  You know what I’m talking about:  freshly-roasted, self-ground Blue Bottle coffee; a green apple and kale smoothie; and a Thomas’ English Muffin (yeah, yeah, that’s not exactly light – but it IS overpriced).  It IS possible to have too much Dunkin’ Donuts (don’t start, Lutzky).

    Man, do I have a lot of yard work to do.

  • 759 | 12 | 9.5

    759 | 12 | 9.5

    10:31 pm, San Rafael, CA:  As Barry said, looks like we made it.

    Heck of a day, today.  Nearly 800 miles – and if I count driving time only, we did it in about 9.5 hours.  Yes, folks, if you do the math, we averaged around 80 mph.  It gets even scarier if you take out the 2-odd hours Awesome Wife insisted on driving…on the salt flats outside Winemucca, I definitely covered over 100 miles in an hour.

    Gotta love 80 mph speed limits, no traffic, no cops and a good car.

    Highlights, aside from speed, were the rando-but-awesome sandwich shop Awesome Wife found in Elko – despite being at death’s door and largely unable to speak given her sore throat; the gorgeous weather; a Chipotle in Roseville (I’ve had enough fast food for a long, long time now); the joy that Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban brought to the kids, or at least Gryffindor’s victory for the House Cup; the dude in the white mercedes headed to Vegas who flipped me off because he couldn’t quite ditch me in the Nevada desert…and the magnificent, unbeatable perfect California sunset as we crossed the Richmond bridge to get home.

    Cool trip.  Now what the hell do I do with this blog?

  • The Waldorf Park City: An Interlude

    The Waldorf Park City: An Interlude

    Tuesday 3 pm – Wednesday 8:30 am, Park City, Utah:  After the long drive from Iowa and the night in Cheyenne, Awesome Wife surprised us by diverting us from Salt Lake City and another Sheraton to the Waldorf in Park City.

    Now, the Waldorf in NYC – to me, at this point, no offense – is sort of a joke.  Yes, it’s iconic.  Yes, it’s a beautiful building.  But it’s seen better days.  In fact, it often reminds me of the Grand Hotel Budapest – after the Soviets took over.  Basically, it was built for a different, more glamorous era.

    The Waldorf Park City – described by some on Yelp as “a Hilton with lipstick” – is really pretty nice.  Great pool, with IPA and a whole bunch of other booze at the snack bar.  Elegant rooms. Good food.  And dog friendly.  So friendly that no one blinked when Oonagh, despite many opportunities otherwise, decided she had to urinate inside on the way to our room.

    Maybe that’s how the rugs in the Plains hotel got to look the way they did.

    In any case, it was too short a visit – especially because Awesome Wife came down with some kind of nasty bug on the way out of Cheyenne.  Means a long drive Wednesday, since we all pretty much want to get back home now.

  • Cheyenne, or, literally the best western

    Cheyenne, or, literally the best western

    Belatedly:  we passed through Cheyenne after an 11 hour sprint through Nebraska. Our friendly dog app told us the best hotel in terms of food, location and canine permissiveness was the “historic” Plains Hotel.

    Reviewa told us the place had a lot of retro charm and that the rooms and bathrooms were quite small.  The hotel’s hold music informed us proudly that the hotel had just undergone a major renovation – in 2002.

    We called many other hotels. No love, at least for dogs.

    So the Plains it was!  What an experience.  The place has definitely seen better days.  I found it kind of cool, in the way that a small-town natural history museum is cool, or perhaps a local farm’s taxidermy exhibit.  It’s a slice of faded or fading Americana…massive lobby; with probably a quarter acre of carefully tiled floor.  In those tiny hexagonal tiles.  Which is now buckled, so that when you push a luggage cart over it, it wobbles.

    The bar here, btw, is called the Wig Wam.

    The rooms weren’t that small – the bathrooms were.  Our sink was actually in our room.  And the bathroom was around the size of a closet.  The rooms and halls looked like something out of the Shining…faded, once-fancy carpets, odd old fixtures and moldings.  The die-cast-metal cowboy molds on the walls with room numbers were a nice touch.

    I don’t think any of us slept too well.

    Still, the next morning, I enjoyed an early walk with the dogs over the bridge across the train depot.  Awesome Wife found a hipster coffee joint that made great smoothies. And the kids and I had a great breakfast in the nearly empty, massive, leather-and-Western-stitched booths.

    All in all, I was amused if slightly paranoid the whole time (we saw very few people; and those we did see were aging-but-still-fierce bikers.  The rest of the family seemed BEmused and also on edge.  So:  glad we passed through, not sure how much longer we wanted to stay.  Though in fairness, our traveling circus didn’t give the town much of a chance to show itself off.

    Next time!

  • Traffic Patterns

    Traffic Patterns

    9:20 am, Lynnville, Iowa – I feel it’s important to record some separate thoughts on long-distance driving, and the apparent general habits of different drivers in different states:

    • Western Pennsylvania:  these people are psychos.  Interstates basically have two lanes each way.  Folks in far West PA basically like to play chicken with each other – and you – tailgating, breaking, and swerving – all at 80-plus MPH.  The tunnels and hills in the edge of that state make all this very interesting.  Awesome Wife begs to differ.
    • Ohio, Illinois, Indiana:  stubborn and seemingly unaware of important safety technology in their cars, e.g., turn signals.  The general pattern as we drove through these states was for people in the right (slow) lane to drive super fast right up behind a massive truck, then dart left.  Then pass the truck much more slowly then they approached it.  Then stay in the left lane, oblivious to people who had been going about 20% faster than their current speed.  Those people in turn try to tailgate the would-be passer.  This results in a massive line of cars in the fast lane, all driving within 6 feet of each other at 80-plus MPH, trying to prevent more would-be passers from cramming themselves in – and those passers sitting right behind trucks on the left.  You can see how huge pileups occur here.
    • Iowa:  normal driving, so far.  Except for the asshole in the 1995 Pontiac Grand Am, who keeps tailgating and stalking us.
  • Iowa City’s a Hit

    Iowa City’s a Hit

    9:03 am, near Brooklyn, Iowa…according to Google – and the Smithsonian – American barns are red because red paint is cheap, and red paint is cheap because it’s got iron oxide in it, and there’s a lot of that around because dying stars throw off a lot of the base components of that compound.

    These are the things we ponder in this fine Monday in Iowa.

    We’re generally refreshed, after a much more successful stay in Iowa than Ohio.  Thumbs up for the Sheraton there having a restaurant, with a patio, which welcomes dogs – and which is also right next to a giant play structure and a fountain.

    So, the wine bar came through – solid Sauvignon Blanc, excellent grilled chicken, burgers, cheese plates and other fare.

    There was even a pool.  I believe I can sum up our family’s collective relief by noting that Kingsley finally took a dump.  (He’d been holding it, no doubt out of pique, for days.)

    Other highlights:  the plaza near the hotel has nearly tame chipmunks, which hugely amused the kids.  Their grandparents’ country club supposedly has them too.  But they are much more sneaky, there – and the kids have been trying to spot them there since birth, mostly unsuccessfully.

    So, the sight of the brazen rogue of an Iowa chipmunk, eating a giant acorn – for reals – was an occasion of significance.  True, Kingsley pretty quickly put the fear of God into him, but for a few minutes, there was a lot of kid joy.

    700-plus miles to Cheyenne, Wyoming.  Which is seemingly much less exotic than it sounds – Nelson Litterest, if you’re reading this and have tips, let us know.  But we’re really only there for a few hours…the next glamour destination is Park City.

    Onwards.

  • Corn…and Coffee

    Corn…and Coffee

    10:15 am, somewhere near Edison’s birthplace, OH:  about 496 miles to Iowa City, sipping Starbucks (of course), listening to Jim Dale read Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, handling about 20-plus different voices seamlessly.

    And watching the corn go by.  It’s not as high as an elephant’s eye.  But there is a lot of it.

    (This unvarnishedly agrarian view is only slightly undercut by the equally endless amount of road construction.)

    Feeling optimistic, even though the dogs kept us awake most of the night – there were two weddings in the hotel.  I will say I was impressed:  the level of drunkenness was fairly epic, based on the stumbling, drunken behavior.  At which Kingsley and Oonagh barked repeatedly.

    Reminds me of a time when it seemed like a good idea to spray a fellow groomsman with a fire extinguisher, years ago.

    Awesome Wife figured out, around 3 am, that we should move the dog crate to the side of the room with the kids’ white noise machine.  After that, they quieted right down.

    Supposedly there’s a fine wine bar at the Sheraton in Iowa City.  Can’t wait!

  • Thank God for Chipotle, Or WTF, Ohio?

    Thank God for Chipotle, Or WTF, Ohio?

    8:24 pm, Cuyahoga Falls, OH.  Honestly, I don’t know what it is about this state.  It was the lowlight of our trip East – and it’s exceeded that non-standard nicely on our trip West.

    I should state that for any number of reasons, I’m predisposed  to like Ohio, vs. not.  Two of the most excellent guys I knew in college were from there, just for a start. The only time I’ve ever been to a party at which a mime was in attendance, for another.  And the only time I’ve ever borrowed a kilt – wait, that’s not true.

    I digress.  Point is, I had nothing against Ohio prior to this trip.  But at this stage, should I be so shallow as to hold a grudge against a state, I’d definitely pick this one.

    Where to begin?  So as not to turn this into a thousand word post, let’s just say the roads and the construction remain worse than the BQE near JFK for most of the 90’s; supposedly dog-friendly restaurant – according to multiple online sources, including the restaurant’s own – suggest that not only do you have to leave the large, generally uninhabited outdoor patio with your dogs, you can’t even order takeout because you have the dogs, unless you also take the dogs halfway down the block; not a single gas station has carbonated water (I know, first-world problems); and the hotel tells you your credit card is declined, when the credit card company tells you it’s just fine.

    You know, that paragraph reads like we’re unbelievably spoiled, petty people.  Heck with it, I’ll own it.  When you’ve got 2 kids and 2 dogs and drive 8 hours, you’re hungry and want to believe a website.  And while no one wants their card declined, that’s especially true when in fact it’s working just fine.

    I think I’ll relax in my $159 one-bedroom suite now, nursing my outrage at the lack of agua sin gas, thankful for the fact that Chipotle was across the street from the human-centric restaurant.  My kids love Chipotle.  And there was something oddly mellow about eating burritos while sitting on the curb in the parking lot with your dogs.

    Funny, no one else I follow on instagram has this sort of thing in their feed. Somewhere, men named Stoller, Ruehl and Bader are laughing.

    Looking forward to Iowa City tomorrow.

  • It Ain’t Over ’til It’s Over!

    8:50 pm, New Britain, CT – sports fans, there is more to come. Specifically, 3000 miles more.

    Yes, it’s true. We are driving back.

    Projected ETD:  Saturday am. We’ll keep you posted on the Franklinsanity.

  • The High Life: Or, Inchworms at the Rosewood

    The High Life: Or, Inchworms at the Rosewood

    4:30 PM EST, Washington DC – Ensconced in the offices of my firm’s lobbying arms, I figured it’s time to break from work content for 15 minutes and talk travel.

    I’m midway through my criss-cross of the US by plane, vs. car.  There’s no question planes are faster – I am happy to confirm that shatteringly obvious point.  But I have to say I miss the car, including the nutty dogs – not to mention the family.

    Here’s what I don’t miss:  worm-infested $45 caesar salads at the otherwise-reliable Rosewood Hotel in Sand Hill Road; and cancelled rooms after a redeye flight at the otherwise reliable Grand Hyatt in Washington DC.

    I have to say I’ve never been to a pitch before where I literally was trying not to throw up, given that 30 minutes before I was halfway through a very elegant looking salad when I noticed not just one, but multiple creepy crawlies clambering all over the plate.  It was clear I had to have eaten rather a lot of them.

    I mean, there’s farm to table – and I am an adventurous eater – but let’s agree that one has to draw the line somewhere.  These weren’t fried crickets.  And I’m not in special forces.

    Still, all’s well that ends well.  I’m no longer nauseated.  I got to see both my college roommates and a bunch of other friends for dinner in SF.  And I am back within a few hundred miles of the family.  Oh, and the meetings went well.

    Next up – flying from DC to Hartford.  That’s a regional jaunt I’ve not done by plane before.  And then planning our car trip BACK to the West Coast.  Yes folks, this is happening.  Tolkien doesn’t have a monopoly on There and Back Again – though I was afraid I’d get sued if I used that as the blog’s title.

    Plus, I like the ambiguity of Franklinsanity.