The Great American Road Trip

A ways back, I think it was around Birmingham, I mentioned that there were some cracks appearing in the individuals on our trip. Last night, and today, those cracks became volcanic fissures that spewed forth and heated things up a bit. To basically be spending 24/7 with the same people for 20 days is bound to catch up with anyone. Bickering and fighting between brothers led to dad getting involved, and then no one is happy. I realized that my patience for such nonsense has completely disappeared. Deep breaths.

The problem with a road trip is that no one can go anywhere to get away. Eventually, we all have to pile back into the truck and drive somewhere. And by drive somewhere, we are at least several days away from home, even if we drove all day, every day. When we piled into the truck this morning, it was quiet since no one was really in the mood to talk to anyone. For me, I found my directions for our next stop, turned up the music, and just drove. I knew that eventually, people will come along (including myself), and again, because we’re stuck with each other, we were going to have to speak to each other eventually. 🙂

Our first stop of the day was also our main stop for the day. We drove to Cooperstown, New York to see the National Baseball Hall of Fame. As a kid, and even into my adulthood, I have wanted to see this place. I just never thought I would ever be even in the neighborhood to think about going there. Then, a few days ago, as I’m looking at how to spend the extra day or two we picked up by cutting New Orleans out of our plans, I realized that we would actually be in the neighborhood, so to speak. So, this being a road trip, I made a command decision, and off we went.

Frankly, Cooperstown is in the middle of nowhere. Upstate New York is definitely not as populated as the rest of New York, and Cooperstown is tucked away in a valley, almost not visible until you turn on to Main street. The town looks like it’s straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Nicely manicured lawns in front of houses sporting American flags from their front porches. Everything is green. Families are everywhere.

We parked a few blocks away from the Baseball Hall of Fame, and walked up the street. Like how Salem, Massachusetts has embraced it’s witchy background, Cooperstown has fully embraced the fact that people are here for baseball. For me, just being there elevated my spirits – reminding me of the things that made me happy as a kid.

Of course, as I noticed kids (boys and girls) walking with their moms and dads, excited to see the Hall of Fame, all decked-out in their baseball/softball uniforms, the irony wasn’t lost on me that my two boys were still silent and sullen from the morning’s fireworks. But, as we got closer, I noticed that they got more excited, and were downright chatterboxes as we entered the building.

Now, my experiences with playing baseball ended with Little League. I sucked. I’m not really sure I ever even enjoyed myself. But, I have always been a competitive person, and sports – any sport – is better than most other things. Even though I was never any good, I was always a fan. I have remained a fan, though I have to admit that I don’t watch the games as often as i used to. The game is slow, leisurely, and life for me has been too hectic for me to really enjoy watching a game in its entirety anymore. Still, I found myself excited as well to explore this place.

The Hall is amazing. Lots of informative displays, great memorabilia, and a general reverence for the game which was palpable as soon as you entered. I went slowly, reading everything. The boys, feigning interest (neither are baseball fans), eventually left me to my own devices, and they went exploring at their own pace, which was much faster than mine.

I pored over Babe Ruth’s uniform, Willie Mays’ glove, and many other revered artifacts from baseball history. Seeing Roberto Clemente’s jersey reminded me of the sad story I read years ago about how, just months after he had his 3,000th hit, the pride of Puerto Rico was killed in a plane crash while on a humanitarian trip bringing aid packages to Managua, Nicaragua, which had been hit by a devastating earthquake. Then I saw the seven hats Nolan Ryan (my favorite player as a kid) wore when he threw his record 7 no-hitters. I was a happy person once again!

Afterwards, I caught up with the boys at the end of the exhibits and hour and a half later, and found them to be in equally good spirits. A miracle! Baseball does it again!

We got back into the truck, joking and having a good time, and drove to our destination for the night: Buffalo, New York. We had dinner locally at the Anchor Bar, whose claim to fame is that this supposedly is the place where buffalo wings was invented. Either way, the newspaper clippings on the wall declare that they are consistently voted best wings in Buffalo, so there’s that. The wings were really good, and again, everyone was happy. I guess baseball and buffalo wings are good enough to cure any bad mood. Of course, yesterday we toured Ben & Jerry’s, and I would’ve thought that ice cream would have also done the trick. Oh well. Anyway, here are the pictures:

Some final thoughts for the day:

• Although I don’t catch very many games on TV anymore, baseball still holds an important place in my heart. When I first moved to Eugene, Oregon to attend the University of Oregon, I was dismayed that they didn’t have a baseball team. The city did have a minor league baseball team, the Emeralds (short season Single-A, affiliated at the time with the Kansas City Royals). Then, in the summer of 1989, I got a job working at Civic Stadium as the first ever BBQ cook (I had listed that I had prior experience as a BBQ cook – I just didn’t tell them that it was all on a small Hibachi). It was there that I met a pretty stand manager who was constantly scolding me for stealing cups from her stand (and some soda). That, of course would be Deborah. 30 years later (Hey I just realized it’s our 30th anniversary of meeting each other!), and we’re still together (married 28 of those years!).
• My first favorite baseball player that I can remember is Nolan Ryan. He is why I’m a Los Angeles Angels fan to this day. I remember reading an article on how Ryan held the record for the fastest pitch ever recorded (over 100 mph!). This fascinated me, and throughout the 1970’s, I followed his career. At the time he was a member of the Angels, hence, I became an Angels fan.
• In the summer of 1999, five years after his retirement, Nolan Ryan was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Just weeks later, my first son was born: Nolan Kala Hart. Coincidence? I think not (thank goodness Deborah liked the name too!)
• Quick trivia: The tallest baseball player ever is Jon Rauch (6′ 11″). The shortest ever was Eddie Gaedel (3′ 7″). Gaedel was actually a publicity stunt. Hired to bring more fans to the games, Gaedel came up to bat once, and walked.
• More trivia: The oldest person to play a Major League game was Satchel Paige. The old former Negro League player made his debut in 1948 at the age of 42 (still a record for oldest rookie player ever). In 1965, the then 59 year old Paige came in and pitched three scoreless innings for the then Kansas City A’s. “If you keep moving, old age can’t catch you, ” he later said. The youngest person ever to play was Joe Nuxhall, who was 15 years old when, just days after school let out, the 6′ 3″ ninth-grader signed with the Cincinnati Reds in 1944. World War II had decimated the big leagues of players, and the Reds, like everyone else, was looking anywhere and everywhere for players. Nuxhall made his debut, pitching 2/3 scoreless innings of a blowout game before being released. He would eventually return and play for 16 seasons.

Well, that’s it for today. I think I’m slowing down because this is yet another post finished a day later. It’s just getting harder to write this after a day full of sight-seeing and mostly driving. Thanks for reading this! Knowing people are following us makes it easier to keep going! Hope you have a great day!