Of our trip, at least. Nothing more dire than that. Having seen the happy couple matched, hatched and dispatched (I think I got that wrong–it was just matched…but that’s enough) we awoke to a rainy Sunday morning. I have to say that we were confused enough by the church names that we couldn’t figure out which one to go to, so we didn’t go anywhere. I know this is a perfidious turn of events, but what are you going to do?
We went for breakfast at a place that served “Dutch pancakes” which I figured were at least made from potatoes but which turned out to be a thickish crepe about the diameter of the diner’s head. Becky got one and I got scrambled eggs. I was feeling a trifle under the weather due to my ongoing sinus infection, two days of shopping and sightseeing and being nearly blown off a mountain by hurricane force winds. (Someone said the winds got faster every time I mentioned them. Come to think of it, they were like an F5 tornado.) That’s why I had eggs and not a giant Dutch flatcake. I can see why there’s no “International House of Dutch Pancakes (IHoDP).” (sounds like an acronym for an auto immune disease). Maybe it’s just me, but Dutch pancakes are fairly low down on my list of alimentations.
Anyhow, we went back up Mountain Road in the general direction of the lodge. Someone had told us the day before that there was “7%” chance of snow on top of the mountain the day before. Why 7% and not 5% or 6%? Around here, we get “slight chance of flurries with amounts ranging from two feet in the highlands to a trace by the shore.” (You know what I’m sayin’.) Becky took some pictures of the lodge in only overcast, not 500 mph supersonic extraterrestrial winds storms. Then we went over to the gondola “shack.” Here’s a picture Becky took of the alleged shack. As you can see, this “shack” is more like a “barn.”
The gondola concept is pretty cool. They run on a continuous loop (like many politicians) and so when they are working they never stop. riders have to leap on while the cars are traveling at maybe, I don’t know, two miles an hour. Every part of the ride is exciting, from wondering if the door is open and we were all going to tumble down the mountainside, pushed by immeasurable winds to leaping amain from the car and rolling to a stop. Or something like that. So, here is a picture Becky took that shows what the experience was like without the tsunami and earthquakes:
After that, we took pictures of a covered bridge, which we found charming and picturesque. Here’s a rather artistic shot of the bridge that I took with my camera phone:
We shopped our way back down Route 110, or at least Becky did while I took naps in the car. We had lunch at the Whip again, which I kept trying to call the Silver Dagger or the Golden Chain or something like that. Then we were on our way back to Burlington to turn in the rental car and catch our flight. We were way early and passed what we planned to be our last couple of hours in Burlington at the big two-story Barnes and Noble near the airport. We made our way to the airport, turned in the car and went through the fearsome ministrations of the Burlington TSA. I found out that the miniscule bottle of maple syrup I had bought was a potential explosive fluid. Uh, right.
The flight was delayed for twenty minutes and then United made an announcement that it would be delayed while two tires were shipped from Albany, NY, about three and a half hours away. I was just thinking that if it took that long the crew would exceed their time worked allowance and the flight would be cancelled. Just then the P.A. announced the cancellation of the flight.
Tomorrow: The Wedding Singer, Part V: Nothing More to Write. Part the Last.