Hey, Let's Stop Here ...

(Source)

I am, at best, an indifferent tourist. At least when it comes to some things, for other things, I can be a fanatic.

My whole life has been about getting from point A to point B in order to do something at point B. I've never really been an "it's not the destination, it's the journey" kind of guy. Might be the fact that I spent 24 years in the Air Force. (I also like to show up at the airport hours before a scheduled flight, or maybe that's the Dad in me.)

Anyhoo, never been much of a tourist.

"What brings this on Sarge?" some of you may be asking.

Well, yesterday's post presented me with lots of ideas for things to do in retirement, especially as regards traveling to see the kids and grandkids in California. While flying does get you there in a hurry, one is also missing various things in the "flyover country" that are worth seeing. (As pointed out to me by a couple of y'all.)

So that's something I would need to adjust to, that is, I'd be driving to California, but would be making stops along the way, for a day or more at a time. The stops that is. And that is what will take some adjusting.

The Missus Herself has always been somewhat uncomfortable with my "we can't stop, we gotta make more miles!" way of traveling. She once swore that if I could, I would drive across the country with nothing more than a cooler full of sandwiches and sodas and stops only to fuel up (and take a leak, as it were, all that soda has to go somewhere).

Well, I did do that once, not across the entire country mind you, just from Vermont to Denver, which is, as some of you might know, a fair distance to travel. Two-thousand miles, give or take, as I recall. I've done that road twice, once going out, once coming back, but under different circumstances each time.

In 1982 we had returned to the States from Korea, well, I had returned, bringing a wife and son with me. (Didn't have 'em when I went out that way.) We spent a month with my parents in Vermont, in June mind you, with no air conditioning, I should also mention that The Missus Herself was pregnant with The Nuke, about three months into that ordeal.

I had orders for Lowry AFB, in Denver, so at some point in time we mounted up in the VW Beetle, along with all the stuff we'd need to get started, and headed for Denver. Note that the VW Beetle, back in the day, did not have air conditioning, repeat, did not.

This became an issue at some point in the trip, not the first day, traveling across New York, but later, might have been Nebraska.

I still remember The Missus Herself asking, "How many more hours until we get there?" And me saying, "Days dear, not hours, days. Maybe three days by my reckoning."

Her stunned look sort of set the tone for the rest of the trip.

But it was very much a "must get there, can't stop" sort of trip. Though we did stay in motels along the way. In Erie, PA, - Omaha, NE, - and might have been another somewhere along the way. A long trip.

The mission was, of course, to get to Denver, report in, and start working/setting up house/awaiting The Nuke's arrival. Which we accomplished.

So that's how I used to roll. These days I get reminded, by The Missus Herself , that "Yes, we will be stopping for a nice dinner along the way. No, not McDonalds/Burger King/Kentucky Fried Chicken/etc. A real restaurant, with wait staff and menus and amenities. So I've been partially trained to stop and "enjoy" myself.

Tough to do when you keep looking at your watch and thinking, "We could have made Des Moines by now! Damn it!" But I can learn.

As to the indifferent tourist thing, I well remember our trip to Paris. It was Easter weekend in 1992. Wing bus trip to the capital of La Belle France for a 4-day weekend (which Easter is in Europe).

One of the first stops was la tour d'Eiffel. It was raining/hailing/sunny on that day. No, seriously. It was spring and the weather was weird. At any rate, our bus stopped at the Eiffel Tower, pretty much in the same spot as can be seen in the photo.

Everyone on the bus was very "Oh wow, the Eiffel Tower, it's so pretty, we need to go to the top of it!" Whereas I sat there, looked out the window and said, "Damn, sumbitch is bigger than I thought."

We thought, briefly, about joining the queue to go up the Tower, then decided not to. After all, the rain/hail/sunshine cycle was continuing and we had no desire to wait in line. So we moved on and checked into our hotel.

We did do some touristy stuff in Paris but not the big ones. The Louvre was too damned crowded as were a couple of other venues. But we did go to the Museé de l'Armeé, where I had to be dragged kicking and screaming out of when the wives had decided they'd seen enough.

"But we're only up to the 17th Century!" I wailed as we departed. But we did go to a quiet bistro, sipped wine, and watched the people go by. Which is my idea of being a tourist, as in, try to blend in and not be so obviously a tourist.

But like I said in a comment yesterday ...

I'm a man

but I can change

if I have to

I guess.

So I'll adapt.

Somehow ...