This is how Anthony, Eddie, and I filled our four hour drive up the interstate, up the thruway, and up and down the winding mountain roads, through Walton, through Franklin, through Oneonta, all the way to The Baseball Motherland. The cow sightings were interrupted by the questions of Will this car go up this hill? Why is the engine revving like that? Are you sure you're in the right gear? No, seriously, are you? These questions came mostly from Anthony, owner of the car, directed towards me, driver of the car once we left Roscoe. Our deal was that he would drive over the bridges and I would drive through the mountains. There was no question of gears when we were over the bridges. The incline of the mountain paths posed a challenge his car had never encountered previously. And probably won't again.
As an added bonus challenge, it rained. Whenever the sun poked out, I proclaimed, See? I was right! We passed the storm! Then it rained some more, and I pointed out, It's raining again, like really raining.
When we got to Oneonta, it was a crisp rain. However, I didn't mind because the drive had been somewhat familiar, the tiny towns and barns and silos and hills and trees and winding backroads all coming back in dream-like snippets from the drives up during my undergrad days. I didn't drive when I was in college; I got rides and checked out the scenery, navigating the way, so driving this time delighted me. It also meant I couldn't navigate. My brother in the passenger seat was in charge of that on the second leg. My brother never texts. So when we hit Oneonta, not only was my brother not navigating, but we missed the turn to Cooperstown because he was answering texts. This, my friends, is irony.
Eddie in the backseat found this amusing. He spent the drive taking pictures and video, some of the greenery, some of the livestock, and some of his wife and brother-in-law. At one point, he got very excited by the sight of a llama. My brother caught the excitement once he saw it. I then explained that it was an alpaca, not a llama, because I am an animal expert since I watch Dr. Pol on TLC.
Fenimore Art Museum. When we stepped out into the parking lot, Eddie said, It's hailing. We looked down. The precipitation was bouncing off the ground in tiny pellets. Yup, this was Memorial Day Weekend weather in NY. Sleeting. Hailing. Raining. Fantastic.
We drove to find the museum. We drove back to Main Street to find food. We found metered parking at a muni-meter that didn't want to take credit cards so we scrounged around for quarters. We found the very fancy Batters Up diner with their fancy menus. We got seated in about ten minutes. The server took our order in another ten minutes.
Eddie at the art museum is fun. Anthony reads everything. I analyze the photos, sculptures, and paintings. Eddie takes pictures of everything. Like everything. Of me. Of Anthony. Of the art. Of descriptions of the art. Of security. Of other patrons. Of the entrance and exit. Everything. Of course, it took very little time for my brother and I to jump right in and join the fun.