...I made a left onto the first semi-used road I could find. I quickly realized that I was mistaken- it turned out to be one of those utility roads. I had to cross a single lane bridge (always nerve wracking) and then cross over another single lane road (with another car waiting on the other side, of course, because there is ALWAYS another car waiting).
I looked down at the road and it had turned into a residential road, winding up into the woods with houses and neighborhoods on either side. I was trying to enjoy my ride, but the disorientation combined with the strong winds kept my knuckles white and tight on the steering wheel.
At long last I came out into the open and quickly scanned for signs for 83, deciding the highway should've been my first choice. If there is anything worse than being lost, it;s being lost with someone riding your ass. You can never be lost WITHOUT someone right behind you, and almost always, that person is a local who has lived in the area their entire lives, knows their neighbors and their neighbors' neighbors, and doesn't understand the concept of people visiting and therefore, being lost.
I finally see the sign for 83 and after missing the turn (expected) and receiving a sarcastic honk from the car finally passing me (also, expected), I get on the highway. If the wind was threatening on the small windy local roads, they were downright violent on the highway. Though I maintain my new SUV's safety and girth, it still managed to get pulled and pushed like a toy. It freaked me out but nevertheless I was determined to have a damn adventure destination, so I decided to pull off at the next somewhat interesting stop. That stop? Shrewsbury/Stewartstown, Pennsylvania.
I noticed the signs for a winery and an antique row, two pleasant and calming activities, so I was glad for the choice. It didn't help, however, to get lost again but thankfully I had my Garmin to show me the rest of the way. After a second attempt to find the winery's entrance I was at last successful.
I took a deep breath, suddenly panicking that I'd either look like apathetic loser visiting a winery alone on Valentine's day weekend, or else a hopeless drunk. Happily when I entered I was able to come up with a good back story to tell the woman working there.
"Can I help you?" she asked with confidence and kindness.
"Um, yes, I'm looking for a wine for my BOYFRIEND and me to share for Valentine's day," I said quickly.
She showed me to their tasting counter and after sampling just a few I settled on the first one I tried and purchased the bottle.
I went back outside, happy that I had at last done something productive that day, took a few random pictures of the surrounding farmlands and got back in my car. Now where to...
I tried to punch in the name of the antique row I saw advertised, but I couldn't recall the exact name. Instead I decided I was hungry so I'd look for a place to eat. Not just any place. I was looking for those real down-home local eateries, where regulars hang out.
It didn't take long for me to find a place and as I walked in I was hoping to experience some deep reflections on life and living in someone else's shoes. Instead, as I quietly ate my open-faced turkey sandwich and fries covered in yellow gravy, I realized just how mediocre things are elsewhere. If there was a deep message to be found there it went no deeper than, "Nuthin special." And maybe there is some comfort in that.
Anyway, after another terrifying trip back on the highway I finally pulled up by my house, and was happy to be home. At least I had a bottle of wine to show for my adventure...
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