Maybe it’s like you’re supposed to feel like the governor is the person responsible for the state you’re entering, so you know who to go talk to if you find yourself dissatisfied with, say, Alabama. Maybe the governor is the state’s CSR-in-Chief.
Went to Mobile. Stayed in a hotel. Watched baseball on TV.
I suppose it’s sort of a full sentence, but it still seems strange to not have title caps on your welcome sign and then since they didn’t, they could’ve at least given me some punctuation to work with. Maybe next state.
Only 14 left…!
Smiling Faces, Beautiful Places: Welcome to South Carolina, (Signed) [Political Has-Been], Governor (State #33)
Thirty-three, the tres-tres. Landmark.
I got kind of excited about Mark Sanford when he refused to take the government’s bad-idea, forced loans, but then:
- I found out he’s not much of a public speaker.
- He ran off to Argentina with his mistress.
- I found out he put his name on his state’s welcome signs.
Obviously the third one is the real killer.
I also learned that a palmetto is sort of like a small palm tree, which usually doesn’t ever get over nine feet in height. I think South Carolina is the first state I’ve been to on this trip where people really seem to get excited about their state flag. It’s a cool flag for one thing, but you kind of see it everywhere. Maybe I just notice it more because it’s so eye-poppingly cool. And it’s on (almost) all the license plates whether folks like it or not, which might also be why it seems to be everywhere…
My parents lived here a while back, so my most basic thoughts about North Carolina all have to do with 1963. As such, it’s been strange to drive around the state and not see any cars with fins on them. If it weren’t for watching Mad Men before going to bed every night, there’d be no 1960s in my life *at all* right now. Disappointing. Ah, well.
And, as such, five-eighths of the way there (in terms of states visited).
Right. This is actually a make-up photo because there was no welcome sign on the highway that landed me in Harper’s Ferry. It’s a convoluted little triangle there — maybe the absent sign was WVa’s protest.
Another prime number — I can sleep easy once again.
I was a little surprised to be in Virginia. I thought I’d be in West Virginia. But no: just normal Virginia for about five miles. It was pleasant while it lasted. I’d be back soon.
I don’t really know if there was an arrow pointing after “New Jersey”. The sign was in tile inside the Holland Tunnel, kind of like at a subway stop, and I didn’t really expect to see it there. And then it turns out that there *is* a “Welcome to New Jersey” sign, but it’s about eight blocks into the state and I’d already given up on seeing it (I only saw it once I left town heading west — that’s what I get for my unwillingness to go more than a quarter mile away from the Hudson).
Most especially, though, I’m proud of finding my way from New Haven to Jersey City without having to pay a toll by staying above the Tri-Borough Bridge (and then the Holland Tunnel is only tolled when you’re going *into* the city). Also, the hotel I stayed at in Jersey City (Holland Motor Inn) was a pretty good deal — free parking!, big rooms, seven-minute walk to the PATH, and $30 cheaper than the shared-bathroom places in the city.
Just in case anyone from a big state wants an opportunity to say “well landsakes!”, I started the day in Maine, traveled through New Hampshire to get to Massachusetts, then went to Rhode Island before finishing up at my cousin’s place in Connecticut. Five states in one day — try *that* from Brownsville! Anyway:
Major thanks out to J-Bigs and Alexis for putting me up in New Haven. Dearly appreciated and your Indian restaurant was one of the best I’ve ever been to. And I’ve been to more than one, yes.
So, yes, the half-way state: Rhode Island.
Per the requirement, I *did* stop off somewhere for clam chowder while there (New England white, not Rhode Island red) and also bought clam cakes, which were sort of gross (but I finished them). Experienced a great disappointment in Rhode Island: the #3 hamburger in the country is locked up inside a formal dining restaurant that’s closed from 2:30 to 5:30 — roughly the exact length of time I had available to be in Newport, R.I.
It’s okay — I don’t have a jacket with me on this trip anyway.