Chinese water torture

What a difference between yesterday and today! Today was a full day of interstate driving, and was just about as exciting as that sounds. The high point of the day was when I stopped and bought a jar of peanut butter.

I got on the road around 10:00 this morning—not exactly early, but certainly better than yesterday's 2:00 p.m. departure. It would have been earlier, but I took advantage of the campsite's facilities to top off my fresh water and dump the black and gray tanks. Was it Queen Victoria who said "Never miss a chance to visit the loo"? Well, this is kind of the same thing.

Parker Dam is only a few miles north of I-80, so within fifteen minutes I was off scenic Mud Run Road, which leads out of the park, and on the interstate system. At about the same time the terrain changed from hilly to flat.

It was like that all day: I-80, I-76, I-71...I stopped a few times to scrape the bugs off the windshield and eat lunch, but for the most part I just droned along, hour after hour, through flat to gently rolling countryside with nothing in particular to look at or think about.

I set the iPod to play all my country music, and passed the hours listening to the 1930s western swing recordings of Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys, a mixture of bluegrass artists, and finally an anthology of Patsy Cline recordings, which made me cry. My god, but that woman could sing! Through the hokey Fifties arrangements and the over-reverbed string sections her voice comes through clear and direct, full of honest emotion. She's the exact opposite of today's so-called "song stylist," a breed of singer I never have cared for.

Near Akron I passed signs that read "RUBBER BOWL - EXIT 26." The image of giant Tupperware this evoked struck me as rather hilarious, but at the same time puzzling. It wasn't until half an hour down the road that it dawned on me that this was probably Ohio's equivalent of the Rose Bowl or Superbowl. It's hard to imagine anybody coming up with a more ludicrous name for a sports venue, but there it is.

Even the town names were dull. Yesterday brought such gems as Weedville and Scattertown. But today there was nothing piquant, nothing amusing...just Akron and Ashtabula.

I found my way to Mount Gilead State Park without incident, arriving around 4:30. I must say that it's a very nice layout: a mix of shaded and open sites with groves of those lovely tall pines. The place was mostly empty, and I picked a campsite on the edge of a clearing so I'd have lots of light but not too much direct sun. No need to level—these sites are paved with gravel and graded level.

The weather has turned warm and quite humid, so for once I was glad to have electric power available at my campsite, because it meant I could run my roof air conditioner. I used my homemade two foot long "box opener" wand to cautiously open the electrical box, and I was glad I did—there was a wasp nest inside! It was a very small one, and a lone wasp was just crawling out to see what was going on. I took a swing with the business end of the box opener and knocked nest and occupant into the next campsite. Then I hooked up, turned on the A/C, shed my clothes and waited to cool off.

I made myself a snack of celery sticks filled with peanut butter, something I haven't had in many years but just happened to be in the mood for, and relaxed with music and a book: Bill Bryson's "The Lost Continent," about his travels through small-town America. Bryson is always entertaining reading, though his tongue is perhaps a bit sharper than it needs to be in this early work.

For supper I cooked up a pot of rotini and fresh broccoli (my all-purpose vegetable) and served it up with pesto sauce—delicious! Then I put on "Hairspray," one of my all-time favorite movies. I felt that after such a boring day I deserved some lighthearted entertainment, and "Hairspray"—a thoroughly delightful musical romp through 1960s Baltimore teen culture—certainly qualifies.

I recently read a review of the current Broadway musical version of "Hairspray" in which the writer effusively praised the stage production as a wonderful piece of wholesome family entertainment, and then remarked in a dismissive tone that it was all the more remarkable that such a wonderful show had been inspired by a "low-budget cult movie." Well, I'm here to tell you that there's nothing low-budget or "cult" about "Hairspray"! It's a polished, clever, funny and tuneful movie, nicely seasoned with the unique and interesting characters that typify all of John Waters' films.

Since the air conditioner was still going, I decided to listen with headphones so as not to miss any of the music. About halfway through the movie I became aware of a major rainstorm going on outside, but I paid it no mind...until suddenly I felt water dripping on my leg! I flipped on the lights and saw that it was coming from the rim of the vent right in the middle of Gertie's rear lounge where I was sitting.

Since I hadn't used the roof air conditioner in almost a year, I wasn't sure whether the leak was from a plugged condenser drain or from the rain. I shut off the air conditioner, but of course the ceiling kept on dripping. I placed mixing bowls in strategic locations, with an old throw rug for backup. There wasn't much else I could do—it wasn't as if I could accomplish anything by going up on a wet roof in the dark to troubleshoot.

The rain stopped, but the dripping from the vent—about twice a second now—continued. Oddly, the back window where I'd had a major leak during the rainstorm at Buttermilk Falls didn't leak a drop of water.

I put in my earplugs and went to bed, hoping it would stop by morning.