Amy Rosen
Around Town
My family and I recently returned from vacation at Smith Mountain Lake, Virginia. Picture this: one woman and four men driving eight hours. What is the woman not going to do as often as she wants? Hint: it’s not shopping.
When my husband gets behind the wheel of a car and starts the engine, he’s on a mission to get from point A to point B in the shortest time. This means limited nature stops – and I’m not referring to scenic views.
My husband’s mission started the night before we left. I’d been gathering items for the trip for two weeks. As I systematically placed my things into a suitcase, the guys grabbed their clothes and threw them into theirs. Done – put on the television.
I stayed awake until midnight making sure nothing was overlooked.
My husband loaded the car that night to expedite leaving at the crack of dawn, so I had to put the last-minute items into other bags in the morning. I subsequently had to endure remarks about why I always have to bring so many bags. Sheesh!
We made it to Maryland for our first rest stop. The guys went about their business quickly, then watched in amusement as I attempted to keep up with them. Of course, I got delayed with long lines in the ladies room (why don’t men ever have to wait?) and for coffee (the decaf was still brewing). I did the best I could, and we hit the road again.
Next, we got off the turnpike for gas (immaculate ladies room), but couldn’t find the entrance ramp back onto the highway ( he wouldn’t ask). We eventually realized the entrance ramp was straight down the road all along.
After entering Virginia (our halfway point), we rode for 83 miles on a highway with many nice shops. I suggested stopping at this point for lunch (and bathrooms) since we had no way to know what was ahead. Being on a mission, he chose to continue until the kids said they wanted to stop. As soon as we left civilization, we got the word from the kids, but this road had no signs of life, other than trees, for miles. I told him that if we didn’t find a place soon, some of the nasty words floating around in my brain about him might come out of my mouth.
We finally came to a disgusting gas station. I asked for the rest room, but I had no idea what the man said. After three trys, he slowly said in exasperation, “Outside, on the upper end of the building.”
“What did he say?” my son asked.
We saw two filthy doors marked “ladies” and “men,” wished each other luck and went our separate ways. The doors were a good indication of what lay ahead.
“Why do you have that strange look on your face?” my husband asked when I returned. I reminded him of the nice stores we had passed and told him he’d better pray we find a restaurant soon.
That was when I whipped out my pad and started to write.
“What are you doing?” he asked nervously. I said, “I’m starting my next column and it’s about YOU!”
As we rode along, the beads of sweat started to drip off his forehead.
“Isn’t it amazing and funny that there are no restaurants on this road?” he said with a nervous laugh. “I can’t believe it.”
About 30 miles later, golden arches appeared in the distance and all was forgiven (but not forgotten).
We laughed about what happened and started reminiscing about how he got the nickname Clark Griswald after the main character in the movie “Vacation.” It’s about a bumbling father on a mission for his family to have fun, no matter the consequences.
These things happen a lot with us. Like when he wouldn’t stop on the way to Niagara Falls to see the Corning Glass factory because we had to get there early (like we’d miss the falls if we got there later?); or the time we ended up lost and afraid to get out of the car in an unfriendly part of Norfolk, Va., on the way to North Carolina, because he wouldn’t ask for directions. And with all the Cracker Barrel restaurants on the way to Florida, I never got to sit down in one. “Takes too long, have to keep moving.”
Anyway, we finally made it to the townhouse we rented at Bernard’s Landing Resort, situated on the tip of a peninsula with a breathtaking view of the magnificent blue lake surrounded by the Blue Ridge mountains. We launched the boat and tied it to the dock, and started unpacking and unwinding – until my husband started yelling that the boat was floating away. The rear cleat had broken on the dock, but since the boat was secured to another one in the front, we didn’t lose it.
Never a dull moment.
The following morning I got locked in the bathroom and was rescued by my husband. Being my hero redeemed him somewhat, but it’s ironic that he had to rescue me from a bathroom, of all places.
The rest of the vacation went well. We enjoyed swimming, jet skiing, water skiing, tubing and cruising on the lake. There were many dock and dine spots. Everyone we met was friendly and seemed to know someone from New Jersey.
Mother Nature provided the best weather and entertainment: from the quiet mornings as the sun rose over the mountains, to the full moon reflected on the water, illuminating the lake. A rain-free lightning show provided entertainment one night that far surpassed any Fourth of July fireworks. But the most impressive show of nature was a violent afternoon thunderstorm that transformed the water into a formidable, foggy sea with heavy rain, thunder and lightning so powerful it shook us to the bone. I wondered how the many houseboats on the lake were faring and was glad to be on land, especially since we had been on the lake shortly before the storm hit.
When the storm stopped, so did the electricity. I thought it was cozy and the lack of television allowed for interaction without any distractions. Undaunted, my youngest son, a true product of the high-tech generation, provided battery-powered music, movies and games on his hand-held equipment, which conveniently offered illumination as well.
Now that we are back home, fond memories of being in touch with nature and each other will forever remain in our memories.
Next vacation I think I’ll drive and stop everywhere I can – except the men’s room.
Amy Rosen is a Greater Media Newspapers staff writer.