After about 10 hours of travel last night, we stopped to sleep in Allentown, Pennsylvania, and awoke this morning with the idea that we would take about 3 hours to travel to Springfield, Massachusetts and spend the afternoon at the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame. More or less, that is what we did, but we had a few adventures along the way.
Our original plans were to skip New York City. More than one person had told us to maneuver around the big city and stay away from I-95. Good advice – I wish I had listened. Marc had not found us a hotel in Springfield, yet, so he told me to drive to Springfield as he booked a room online as I drove. I put in the address for the hall of fame and took off. You would have thought I had stolen my driver’s license by the way everyone in the car reacted to my normal driving on an interstate. Marc and Jordan spent the entire drive grabbing hold of the handle at the top of the doors and shouting things like, “NO!” and “Watch out!”. I have said this before, but I don’t know how I managed to drive myself all around the Carolinas for 27 years before I gave birth to Jordan and before I met Marc. They were so worried about my regular driving, they didn’t notice, and neither did I, that we were headed straight to New York City and I95. Until it was too late.
When we saw signs for Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, we knew it was too late. I was driving into New York City, and there was nothing anyone could do about it now. Jordan wanted me to let Marc take over driving, but there was no easy place for us to stop and change drivers. Besides, at this point, I was insulted and would never have given up the driver’s seat.
My first mishap occurred when I drove into an EZ Pass only lane as we approached a toll road. Oops. I stopped at the station where I should have received a ticket, but no ticket spit out.
“What should I do?” I asked.
“Drive forward. There is nothing else for us to do. And hope the police don’t follow us,” Marc answered. I glanced in the rear view mirror, and a car waited impatiently behind me, and a sign in front of me said plainly, “Do not back up.” So, I went forward.
“Maybe they will send us a bill,” I replied.
But no worries because after about a 15-minute ride into New Jersey, I exited the toll road and prepared to hand the ticket-taker the listed $3 fee.
“Do you have your ticket?” The attendant asked.
“No, I went through the wrong station,” I answered.
“Well, then it will be $12.30.”
$9 fine for going through the wrong stall. At least no police.
We edged off to the right through the toll booth, but the GPS kept requesting a u-turn. Certainly it would recalculate since I had to follow the traffic and the detours caused by road work. A few blocks more, and still the incessant call for a u-turn.
“There’s a Shell station up there on the left,” Marc said.
“What for? So you can drive?”
“No, just keep going. You are good.” He answered.
“Momma, you are going to have to make a u-turn,” Jordan said.
“But we are on Avenue E,” I kept saying, but I finally decided to turn around. After a few harsh words about trying to find a traffic light for an easy left turn, I managed to turn around and headed straight back to what looked like the same toll booth. Yet, somehow, I ended up on Highway 78, headed back across the river but on a different bridge. And so, for the next 30 minutes or so, we skirted around Manhattan, Washington Heights, and Harlem (at least that is what the Snap Chat filters and road signs said). I was quite proud of myself for navigating the city traffic, but I knew we were losing time. After countless stops and starts at traffic lights and bridges and just places where no one seemed to move at all, we made our way, or at least I thought we made our way, toward I95 near Connecticut. Yet, one road change lead to another sign and turn “toward” I95. And more traffic. Thank God we were there on a Saturday afternoon in July because I can’t imagine what kind of a traffic quagmire would have held us during a busy time.
All in all, the NYC detour added an hour to our drive time, but everyone else in the car enjoyed a solid look at the NYC skyline and a quick look into NYC outlying neighborhoods. And I was quite proud of myself for the way I had handled the crazy traffic, but evidently Jordan approved of none of my driving skills as he sat in the passenger seat so tensely I was sure he needed a massage for his cramping muscles by the time we reached Springfield. And Marc, in his efforts to encourage me, kept saying, “You are good. You are good.” in the same tone he would use to encourage a shy first grader on her first day in PE class, which, of course, infuriated me. They must not have had any faith in my driving skills. Yet, I drove them through a massive snarl of traffic all the way into Connecticut. When we stopped at a rest area for a bathroom break, I left the driver’s seat with a promise never to drive for them again. (I did get a quick glimpse at New Haven, Connecticut and wished for the opportunity to see Yale University, but we had to get to the Hall of Fame in time to see it in its entirety.)
About 30 minutes later, we found our way to Springfield, Mass, and drove right into the Hall of Fame parking lot. We had all snacked through our traffic jam experience, so we went straight into the Hall of Fame so we could spend the rest of the afternoon there.
My first impression was that this HoF was nothing like Cooperstown with its storied and quaint setting. And not set apart like the football HoF in Canton, Ohio. The basketball HoF was quite modern and built like a shopping mall complete with a Subway restaurant and a Marble Slab Creamery and other restaurants.
We managed to see most of the attractions in less than two hours, and I was surprised to find that they honored college teams, players, and coaches as well as NBA players. This year’s inductees include Shaq and Allen Iverson, but the third floor is covered in photos of other great players. In fact, we saw Dawn Staley’s photo right off the elevator, and we saw the photos of all the greats we love: MJ, Coach K, Bird, Magic Johnson, the Texas Western team that was the basis of the movie Glory Road, Pat Summitt, the original Dream Team, and so many others. We saw the famous MJ ad that had his arm wrapped around the corner of a wall along with a funky feathered outfit that Dennis Rodman once wore. The Cleveland Cavaliers had a special display after winning the championship this year, and all of LeBron’s items were a stopping point for Jordan and Joel. Joel tried to play a virtual reality game of basketball, which didn’t go so well, and the boys sat at a broadcasting desk even though they wouldn’t try to call a sample game.
When we finally left, we were starving, so we hit one of the local restaurants there at the HoF. Joel wanted to try Max’s Tavern, and the moment we walked in, when we saw the leather-bound menus and candle-lit tables, we knew we were underdressed. But the staff was friendly, sat us quickly, and since we were there before 4 pm, they gave us the lunch menu.
Joel ordered a mushroom burger, and the other three of us ordered a “big pig” burger. Man, I have never eaten a burger this big. The meat was at least an inch and half thick, and then piled high with bacon and bbq pork. We may have been starving, but there was no way I was starving enough to handle the entire burger. Turns out that we were the only “big pigs” there. We left stuffed so tight that walking to the car was difficult. Max’s Tavern definitely earned the Camp Stamp of Approval.
We ran into one bit of Yankee rudeness when we reached the hotel and tried to get out of our Jeep. A woman parked beside us opened her car door, and so I told the boys to wait until she shut the door before they open their door to get out. The only problem with that was this woman never shut the door. She played around with the items in her hatchback the entire time Marc and I unloaded the Jeep. I even made comments like, “Y’all just wait a couple of minutes and you will be able to get out to help us,” hoping she would get the hint. Nope. She kept doing whatever she wanted to do, including talking to members of her family, while Jordan and Joel waited to get out. She didn’t even move when they had to climb over the middle of the Jeep and get out the driver’s side. How rude! And her card tag was from Connecticut, and I heard her accent, so I know she was a Yankee.
Now, we are resting at the hotel, might swim a little bit later. Tomorrow morning, we are off to Concord to catch my Thoreau and Hawthorne vibe. I can’t wait!!
Our original plans were to skip New York City. More than one person had told us to maneuver around the big city and stay away from I-95. Good advice – I wish I had listened. Marc had not found us a hotel in Springfield, yet, so he told me to drive to Springfield as he booked a room online as I drove. I put in the address for the hall of fame and took off. You would have thought I had stolen my driver’s license by the way everyone in the car reacted to my normal driving on an interstate. Marc and Jordan spent the entire drive grabbing hold of the handle at the top of the doors and shouting things like, “NO!” and “Watch out!”. I have said this before, but I don’t know how I managed to drive myself all around the Carolinas for 27 years before I gave birth to Jordan and before I met Marc. They were so worried about my regular driving, they didn’t notice, and neither did I, that we were headed straight to New York City and I95. Until it was too late.
When we saw signs for Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, we knew it was too late. I was driving into New York City, and there was nothing anyone could do about it now. Jordan wanted me to let Marc take over driving, but there was no easy place for us to stop and change drivers. Besides, at this point, I was insulted and would never have given up the driver’s seat.
My first mishap occurred when I drove into an EZ Pass only lane as we approached a toll road. Oops. I stopped at the station where I should have received a ticket, but no ticket spit out.
“What should I do?” I asked.
“Drive forward. There is nothing else for us to do. And hope the police don’t follow us,” Marc answered. I glanced in the rear view mirror, and a car waited impatiently behind me, and a sign in front of me said plainly, “Do not back up.” So, I went forward.
“Maybe they will send us a bill,” I replied.
But no worries because after about a 15-minute ride into New Jersey, I exited the toll road and prepared to hand the ticket-taker the listed $3 fee.
“Do you have your ticket?” The attendant asked.
“No, I went through the wrong station,” I answered.
“Well, then it will be $12.30.”
$9 fine for going through the wrong stall. At least no police.
We edged off to the right through the toll booth, but the GPS kept requesting a u-turn. Certainly it would recalculate since I had to follow the traffic and the detours caused by road work. A few blocks more, and still the incessant call for a u-turn.
“There’s a Shell station up there on the left,” Marc said.
“What for? So you can drive?”
“No, just keep going. You are good.” He answered.
“Momma, you are going to have to make a u-turn,” Jordan said.
“But we are on Avenue E,” I kept saying, but I finally decided to turn around. After a few harsh words about trying to find a traffic light for an easy left turn, I managed to turn around and headed straight back to what looked like the same toll booth. Yet, somehow, I ended up on Highway 78, headed back across the river but on a different bridge. And so, for the next 30 minutes or so, we skirted around Manhattan, Washington Heights, and Harlem (at least that is what the Snap Chat filters and road signs said). I was quite proud of myself for navigating the city traffic, but I knew we were losing time. After countless stops and starts at traffic lights and bridges and just places where no one seemed to move at all, we made our way, or at least I thought we made our way, toward I95 near Connecticut. Yet, one road change lead to another sign and turn “toward” I95. And more traffic. Thank God we were there on a Saturday afternoon in July because I can’t imagine what kind of a traffic quagmire would have held us during a busy time.
All in all, the NYC detour added an hour to our drive time, but everyone else in the car enjoyed a solid look at the NYC skyline and a quick look into NYC outlying neighborhoods. And I was quite proud of myself for the way I had handled the crazy traffic, but evidently Jordan approved of none of my driving skills as he sat in the passenger seat so tensely I was sure he needed a massage for his cramping muscles by the time we reached Springfield. And Marc, in his efforts to encourage me, kept saying, “You are good. You are good.” in the same tone he would use to encourage a shy first grader on her first day in PE class, which, of course, infuriated me. They must not have had any faith in my driving skills. Yet, I drove them through a massive snarl of traffic all the way into Connecticut. When we stopped at a rest area for a bathroom break, I left the driver’s seat with a promise never to drive for them again. (I did get a quick glimpse at New Haven, Connecticut and wished for the opportunity to see Yale University, but we had to get to the Hall of Fame in time to see it in its entirety.)
About 30 minutes later, we found our way to Springfield, Mass, and drove right into the Hall of Fame parking lot. We had all snacked through our traffic jam experience, so we went straight into the Hall of Fame so we could spend the rest of the afternoon there.
My first impression was that this HoF was nothing like Cooperstown with its storied and quaint setting. And not set apart like the football HoF in Canton, Ohio. The basketball HoF was quite modern and built like a shopping mall complete with a Subway restaurant and a Marble Slab Creamery and other restaurants.
We managed to see most of the attractions in less than two hours, and I was surprised to find that they honored college teams, players, and coaches as well as NBA players. This year’s inductees include Shaq and Allen Iverson, but the third floor is covered in photos of other great players. In fact, we saw Dawn Staley’s photo right off the elevator, and we saw the photos of all the greats we love: MJ, Coach K, Bird, Magic Johnson, the Texas Western team that was the basis of the movie Glory Road, Pat Summitt, the original Dream Team, and so many others. We saw the famous MJ ad that had his arm wrapped around the corner of a wall along with a funky feathered outfit that Dennis Rodman once wore. The Cleveland Cavaliers had a special display after winning the championship this year, and all of LeBron’s items were a stopping point for Jordan and Joel. Joel tried to play a virtual reality game of basketball, which didn’t go so well, and the boys sat at a broadcasting desk even though they wouldn’t try to call a sample game.
When we finally left, we were starving, so we hit one of the local restaurants there at the HoF. Joel wanted to try Max’s Tavern, and the moment we walked in, when we saw the leather-bound menus and candle-lit tables, we knew we were underdressed. But the staff was friendly, sat us quickly, and since we were there before 4 pm, they gave us the lunch menu.
Joel ordered a mushroom burger, and the other three of us ordered a “big pig” burger. Man, I have never eaten a burger this big. The meat was at least an inch and half thick, and then piled high with bacon and bbq pork. We may have been starving, but there was no way I was starving enough to handle the entire burger. Turns out that we were the only “big pigs” there. We left stuffed so tight that walking to the car was difficult. Max’s Tavern definitely earned the Camp Stamp of Approval.
We ran into one bit of Yankee rudeness when we reached the hotel and tried to get out of our Jeep. A woman parked beside us opened her car door, and so I told the boys to wait until she shut the door before they open their door to get out. The only problem with that was this woman never shut the door. She played around with the items in her hatchback the entire time Marc and I unloaded the Jeep. I even made comments like, “Y’all just wait a couple of minutes and you will be able to get out to help us,” hoping she would get the hint. Nope. She kept doing whatever she wanted to do, including talking to members of her family, while Jordan and Joel waited to get out. She didn’t even move when they had to climb over the middle of the Jeep and get out the driver’s side. How rude! And her card tag was from Connecticut, and I heard her accent, so I know she was a Yankee.
Now, we are resting at the hotel, might swim a little bit later. Tomorrow morning, we are off to Concord to catch my Thoreau and Hawthorne vibe. I can’t wait!!
Kristie Camp 