Tuesday afternoons are usually pretty slow. Tuesday afternoons after a Monday holiday are molasses in January.
Thus, I blog.
Here is the full report of how things went down this weekend.
UPDATE: I started this on Tuesday as it turned into a very long post. I planned to finish it Wednesday, but I had to wait for the heat to die down, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.
UPDATE 2: Thursday was busy and stressful, and only part of that had to do with my job. Update today. Sorry. Deal.
Friday
The time when we were going to leave was a total crapshoot. Some Fridays, I’ve left as early as about 3. Some, it’s more like 8. But I momentarily forgot that other people get a three-day weekend too. My editors were on top of things, and there wasn’t breaking news, probably because there just wasn’t any, but I’d like to think it’s partially because people who make the news didn’t want a late Friday either.
So we made deadline, and I called Gina to let her know we were wrapping up. She was just finishing packing some things, and was soon on her way. I sat around work, shooting Nerf basketball and playing Sporcle quizzes to pass the time. I hopped in the car, and we were on our way.
Before all that time-killing, I took a few minutes to map out an alternate route in case things got bad. Our planned path was: I-495, I-270, I-70, Pennsylvania Turnpike, Ohio Turnpike, I-280, I-75, I-696, Mound Road, M-53. But traffic going out of D.C. on a normal Friday gets heavy at about noon or 1, and doesn’t let up until about 7:30 or 8 p.m. (At least going south, anyway.) This being a holiday weekend, I was anticipating even more volume. So I mapped out a way to go that avoided highways until well into Maryland. I told Gina about it, and she remembered something I didn’t: The HOV!
High-Occupancy Vehicle lanes (I don’t know if non-D.C. people know these things, or if they’re called that in other places) let us go faster than the lowly masses. No need to take the alternate, slower way; we can just go the most direct route and laugh at all those suckers as we blow by them. Except that traffic started to back up before we got to those lanes. (I mean, is traffic ever light on the 270 Spur? Maybe at midnight Tuesday. Maybe.) But it wasn’t a long delay, and soon we got to the lovely carpool lanes.
Except that once we cleared the spur, traffic wasn’t all that bad anyway. It was heavy, but moving well. It was here that we decided one way (and probably the only way) in which Maryland is better than Virginia: 270 is better than 95. I-95 south, beyond the Beltway, starts at five lanes and goes down to three, with two HOV lanes. And it can be a 20-mile-long parking lot for a couple of hours. Going north on 270 — which I know can get backed up because I hear about it on the traffic reports — you’ve got two local lanes, four express lanes and an HOV lane. Also, you need to have three people to qualify for the HOV on 95; on 270, it’s two.
(But again, I must stress that everything else about Virginia is better.)
Eventually, the highway goes down to two lanes, and it got backed up there, but again, it wasn’t horrible. We stopped for dinner, and to change Will before he went down for the night, at a McDonald’s near Hagerstown. And man, that place was bumpin’. Things I observed there:
* A 10- or -12 person line for the ladies’ room. No line for the men, of course.
* An employee who I’m pretty sure had his tie tied in a literal knot, as opposed to a tie knot.
* People speaking French, I think. It might have actually been Creole. They kissed one another on both cheeks.
After waiting in the long line, I made it up and ordered. I walked Gina back out to the car to help with Will, then back in to collect the food. I heard a guy call out: 6-piece, [name of burger] extra onions, medium fry. That was close to what I had. I was confused at first that he didn’t say, “Burger meal and a 6-piece,” but I was also confused because I ordered no onions, not extra onions. After a few seconds, he called out the order number, which confirmed it was mine. I grabbed it and took it back to a table to confirm that I wasn’t getting more of something I wanted none of. Fantastically, the burger box fell apart when I tried to take it out of the bag, spilling components all over the place. But hey — no onions! It’s not that they’re incompetent, just illiterate.
I took over driving as we hit the road. We got into the Keystone State and hit the turnpike. At this point, things get pretty uneventful, so I’ll skip ahead to Ohio, where we stopped to get gas and switch drivers again. I soon passed out after that and woke up when Gina was approaching the I-280 interchange. It was at some point around when we transitioned from 75 to 696 that Will woke up crying. It took a little while for him to go back to sleep, but he did. We walked into Grandma and Grandpa Clark’s right about 3:30 a.m. Will did some more squawking, and the grandparents got up to say hi. We all slept a few more hours.
Saturday
Gina was sitting up at the end of the couch where I was half-awake. Eager to see her parents (for good reason, of course), she had this look on her face that was some mix of anger, despair and sleepiness. It was 6 a.m., and we weren’t on the road yet. She let me sleep a little longer, but when I woke up again, she hadn’t moved an inch and was now pleading with me to get us going. I went upstairs to rally the troops (and address a serious need to brush my teeth), and people were up and getting ready to go. By nearly 8 a.m., we were off …
… to White Castle! Apparently, when my parents and sister make a trip to [address redacted], they always have breakfast there. As I was doing the driving, I gladly pulled into the new one near M-53 and ordered a sack o’ burgers.
Delicious.
And off we went to the in-laws’ place. My dad and sister were in one car; I was driving the other with Gina, Will and my mom. The drive was uneventful, and we made decent time.
We got there. Will ate. Everyone but me ate; I slept. For quite a while, in fact. I wasn’t terribly hungry, as my stomach was still recovering from whatever was ailing it. But it was boat ride time (the in-laws live on a man-made lake), and that’s enough to get me out of bed. Will wasn’t particularly fond of the idea, but he really didn’t have a choice. He’s still not a fan of any water that isn’t bath-temperature, and not for lack of trying to acclimate him to it. I guess it’ll come in time.
When we got back, it was time to start getting ready for the wedding. I helped Gina into her dress (it’s surprisingly complicated), then got myself cleaned up and ready to go. We drove with Gina’s friends, and the in-laws took their own car.
We arrived at a tapas place in downtown Grand Rapids — San Chez. If you find that spelling a little odd, rest assured you’re not alone. The main floor is where the regular restaurant is; we took the elevator to the third floor, where the ceremony and reception were.
The bride greeted us at the door, followed by the groom. Yes, in full view of one another. It could be said that these folks favored an unconventional approach. But hey, what’s tradition?
We found our table and went up to the bar for drinks, the first round of which (gin and tonic for me, vodka cranberry for the wife) were quite strong. Second round: much weaker. The sangria was reputedly pretty good, but I found it solidly meh. Also out during the pre-reception were meats and cheeses of various and sundry types, all quite delicious, especially the jamón serrano (like prosciutto, but Spanish).
Then came the ceremony. Brothers and sisters stood up, nieces and nephews blew bubbles. Short and sweet. The officiant read a nice poem. The toasts came afterward, which were also pleasant, along with a slideshow of the happy couple in various stages of their lives. Afterward, we — as in, everyone attending — took a picture with the newlyweds. That was quite an operation.
Then, it was food time. As I was trying not to overdo it on my still delicate stomach, I switched to beer for dinner as others (wife included) switched to wine. For the second weekend in a row, I was treated to probably the best IPA around. We were served tapas family style, and it went down a little something like this:
First course: Blue-cheese fritters with red pepper aioli for dipping. Very tasty. I mean, fried cheese — how can you go wrong?
Second course: Albóndigas. Meatballs served with vegetables in many parts of the Spanish-speaking world, these were made with Moroccan lamb (yes, they specified; apparently, that makes them better) and chorizo. Holy crap, chorizo, because these things were hot enough to melt the paint off your car. I got up to the bar for a second beer before the line got long with people seeking to soothe their seared mouths.
Third course: Shrimp in garlic olive oil. This is where I really gorged myself. Gina’s friends are apparently not big on shellfish, so I took each of their portions. That may or may not have been a good decision.
Fourth course: Roasted asparagus in romesco sauce (red bell peppers with almonds). I’m an unabashed fan of asparagus, so this was a nice treat.
Fifth course: Grilled flank steak atop cheese tortellini with a manchego cheese-mustard sauce. Pretty delicious. The steak could have been rarer — I like mine a nice shade of reddish-pink — but when you’re cooking for 70, you err on the side of doneness. It was seasoned well, and the pasta was good too.
There was one of those cupcake tower-things in the middle of the table for dessert, but I was so stuffed from dinner I could barely move, let alone shove frosted treats into my face.
The dancing started next. At the first dance, the DJ asked all the couples in attendance to join the bride and groom on the floor. Now, I’m not much for dancing, but I figured the wife would jump at the opportunity. I was across the room from our table when the announcement was made, so I went over to her. What was I greeted with?
“Honey, could you go get me another glass of wine?”
*blink blink* “Sure.”
Eventually, she noticed what was happening, and dragged me out there for the last 30 seconds of the song.
Despite my fullness and the fact that it was a freakin’ sauna in that place, I danced to a few more songs before we retired for the evening. I woke up the next morning feeling pretty good, perhaps because I was slogging down several glasses of water near the end of the evening. (Did I mention it was hot?) Gina, on the other hand, must have still had a delicate stomach also, because despite the one vodka cranberry and two glasses of wine, she had to ralph some more.
Sunday
Sometime after breakfast but before lunch, my parents and sister took off for their cottage. It needed some upkeep, and that weekend was their only opportunity for a while. The rest of us went over to another house in the neighborhood for a little shindig. Usual fare: hot dogs, brats, potato salad, etc. Standouts were the best sloppy joe I’ve ever had, a cucumber-dill salad and some too-damn-good peanut butter pudding concoction for which I’ve been promised the recipe. And it had better arrive.
Or Evil Monkey will have something to say about it.
And there was more good beer — Leinie’s, this time. Summer Shandy, Sunset Wheat — all good. The host of this particular get-together is a buyer of alcohol for Meijer, so we got to try a rare IPA from a mini-keg and a new Captain Morgan mixer just hitting the market. Long story short — I was feeling juuuust fine.
And Will had another boat ride. This one he mostly slept through.
I’m pretty sure we just skipped dinner, as everyone had plenty to eat throughout the afternoon. We took one more boat ride after Will wet to bed, and then turned into get an early start to Cleveland.
Monday
We wanted to be on the road by 6 a.m., so as to maximize our time with Gina’s former co-worker, her husband and children, but that just wasn’t realistic. After Will and the rest of us had breakfast and packed up, it was about 8. We were anticipating bad traffic, and the weather had taken a turn for the worse, so we figured if it came right down to it, we could call off our appearance.
But as soon as we got out of town, the skies cleared and the roads were open. Gina and Will napped while I made it most of the way to Cleveland. We made a quick stop, and then she took over while I slept. I woke up as we were coming into town and Gina needed a navigator. Google Maps steered us (mostly) true, and we found a place to park up the street from the former co-worker’s place.
It was a very nice neighborhood on Cleveland’s near east side, lots of trees and neat old houses and families with kids and dogs. There was a block party we were crashing, and apparently, it had stopped raining just before we got there. We spent a little time in a house down the street from our friends but quickly moved outside as people were starting to re-emerge.
The food was nothing short of phenomenal. The former co-worker’s husband is a chef high in the ranks of the Ritz-Carlton organization; he made a salad with watermelon, cherry tomatoes, cider vinegar, olive oil, cilantro and edible flowers. Super delicious. And their neighbor Q’d up some hot dogs, burgers and ribs, all of which were really great, in addition to the superior guacamole (the guy’s Mexican). We spent several hours eating, drinking and being merry while Will played on a blanket nearby (he’s not terribly fond of grass either, it seems). But as 3 p.m. rolled around, it was about time for us to hit the road. We said our thanks and goodbyes and got back on I-480 headed east.
We stopped in Breezewood for some fast-food dinner, and rolled back into town at about 11.
And that, my friends, is a long weekend.
When are you coming back?