day one: Ludlow, MA to Conneaut, OH

After a big homemade breakfast courtesy of Mom and Dad, I took off around 11:30am and headed west, leaving behind a waving family of parents and grandparents. Taking I-90 through Massachusetts and New York State, I stopped in Buffalo for a coffee with an old friend and kept on my way. The driving hours flew by and I would imagine a large part of that is the excitement of it being the first day.

As 9:00pm came around, I crossed the PA/OH border, leaving Erie and entering Conneaut, OH. With dinner on my mind, I passed up Velvet (which was very clearly open, though I'm not sure for what) to check out its neighbor down the street: The White Turkey Drive In, a local institution known for their root beer floats.




Pulling in to the parking lot and sitting at the counter, I felt more American already. Open since 1952, this place was straight out of the movies. While doo-wop and Elvis hits were pumping out of the radio, I breathed in the most amazing smell of greasy food, and took a seat/stool at the counter. Almost as if on queue, a muscle car pulled into the driveway just to rev its engine and then peeled out and blasted down the road, as everyone within earshot stopped everything and just gawked in silence. I chuckled and a 40ish year old in line or takeout flashed a toothless smile, mumbling something I just pretended to understand. Joe, my server, welcomed me and I asked him what he recommended to a cross-country traveler who may never be back here again. After hearing his suggestions, I ordered a Large Marge (pulled turkey sandwich with bacon and cheddar and covered in bbq sauce and hot sauce). My neighbors, overhearing my questioning, were quick to suggest the chili cheese fries, which I had to order.

While taking in a blissfully coronary-inducing meal (which eventually also included their famous root beer floats), I got to learn a good amount about my neighbors, father and son duo Bill and Dave from just over the border in PA. They admittedly love coming here, and tend to save it for special occasions. There was a really comfortable dynamic between the two. Dave could have been anywhere from 18 to 30 and was very proud of all his hobbies and jobs (which he listed one after the other), but in a very humble way. Bill shared this pride, but in a much more subtle way. He had a very pleasant demeanor, very serious, but still very polite. I dropped an F-bomb mid convo and immediately apologized and he smiled and softly laughed, not caring much at all. After my mentioning driving cross-country, Dave wasted no time letting me know he had visited every state east of the Mississippi except Alabama. Additionally, he builds catapults (or trebuchets) that throw everything from pumpkins to bowling balls and microwaves up to 200 yards. I wouldn’t have doubted him, but still he showed me video proof on his iPhone. When I asked if that was a common hobby around here he grinned and admitted that it wasn’t. His librarian got him into it.

I didn’t ask who got him into tapping maple syrup, his other hobby, but he was quick to mention how good he was at it. Again, not bragging, just proud and happy to tell someone about his accomplishments. It was this point that Bill pointed out that his son was a machinist and he a paramedic. Although with the Amish nearby, he makes some extra coin helping them transport bails of hay. I guess that lack of technology has its drawbacks. I admitted that I hadn’t inquired about their occupation because so many people back home don’t seem to like their jobs and talking about it is almost trivial. Not these guys – they take pride in their work. And said so with a smile.

They seemed eager to talk and to give advice and I was more than happy to listen. Once or twice I let the conversation trail to make sure I wasn’t interloping on a father-son dinner, but they kept finding different routes to suggest or stories to share.

After the two left and bid me farewell and safe travels, Joe came by to check on the progress I was making on my meal and assured me that not everyone around here is like them. But I’m not so sure. I was then very politely interrupted by another couple who suggested that I go into Cleveland to see the USS Cod, the submarine (right next to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame) that has been turned into a museum.

Joe: Part time teacher, part time server at the White Turkey Drive In



Dave and Bill: Bill was nice enough to take his hat off for the photo


I thanked Joe for the food and convo and headed on my way to Ashtabula (pronounced ASH-ta-BYOO-lah or just BYOO-la by the locals), a few miles away. In the parking lot of a 24-hr Walmart, I set up camp in my car and wrestled with sleep. Probably the worse night's sleep I've ever gotten. Waking up to rain in the middle of the night, I was forced to close my windows, making the heat infinitely more oppressive. I’ve never slept in a humidor before, but I would imagine it would be just like this.