Road Trip - Day Three

Cooperstown, NY to Portland, ME - 320 mi

Waking up to a fresh, cool summer morning on top of a foothill of the Adirondack Mountains is a pleasant experience to say the least. And an early morning drive back to Cooperstown was just as pleasant. Arriving at the Baseball Hall of Fame twenty minutes after they opened their doors and having basically the whole place to yourself is something else entirely.

Baseball has always been my sport. Well, I shouldn’t say always- I played soccer from kindergarten to 4th grade, at which point I realized that running is not my thing, and so I switched to a sport that only requires you to run in short quick bursts, and where everyone looks as frumpy as I do running. I played baseball right up until that point in high school where it became not “for fun” anymore, but for competition, which sucked all the life out of the sport. But I love baseball. So to show up at Cooperstown and walk into the Hall of Fame, you feel like you’re a kid again, reading about all the greats of the game and the memorabilia and little-known facts, and finding all your favorite players and sports announcers bronze plaques in the Hall, and then finding a distant family member.

I’ve known for quite awhile that I had a great aunt (grandma’s sister, is great aunt correct?) who played in the women’s pro baseball league during and following WWII. What I did not expect, though, was to find her name and see her picture at Cooperstown. Aunt Audrey (for whom my sister is named) played for Kenosha in the women’s league, and has a place in the National Baseball Hall of Fame. I had to walk that one off.

Anyone who has ever played or enjoyed baseball needs to make a pilgrimage to Cooperstown. It is a religious experience.

After Cooperstown, we hit the road toward Albany, which seemed like a really nice city, not small enough to feel like there’s nothing going on, but not big enough to feel impersonal and gross. After a Starbucks break, we drove out through southern Vermont and New Hampshire. I’ve seen the Rocky Mountains before, and they’re impressive and all, but there’s just something about the Appalachians that always gets me. I think I can some it up in this very dudelike sense: the Rocky Mountains are like that super-hot girl that’s really great to look at, but is just a little too distant and you know you’d never have a chance with her. The Appalachians, on the other hand, are much more accessible, like that super-cute girl that you can actually DO stuff with and have a conversation, and surprises you at almost every turn. Driving through the Green Mountains in Vermont was a fulfilling experience, both putting the car through its handling paces and allowing amazing views of the surrounding mountains.

A few more lakes and hills in New Hampshire and a quick run up the coast, and we arrived in Portland, hooking up with Adam and his dad, knocking back a few cold local brews and then calling it a night.