(smiles, deep breath).
Nothing better at the end of a busy weekend than a quiet Sunday on the lake, with the rain coming down and nothing to do but nap.
The drive back was uneventful, as good drives are. We hit the road about 7 and got in a little after 10, only hitting a little traffic around Guilford. These days, our journeys to and through New England leave out the bit of Route 95 that runs from New York to New Haven, about which I had this to say last year:
"As it turns out, they've now entirely dispensed with the pretense that there's some kind of goal or end in sight to the repairs on the Connecticut stretch of 95, some point at which the repairs will be considered 'done' and the build-team will be able to relax and have a beer, hopefully somewhere up high upon Connecticut's tallest peak, where they can look down upon the whole, shining, unbroken and unblemished ribbon of the Interstate, as the traffic flows like playful otters flashing up and down the river of tarmac. No. The army of robot slaves has been set to the task of constant labor, rebuilding CT/US-95 over and over and over. When the Earth finally explodes and the hunk of it that used to be Connecticut exits the Solar System at a 17 degree angle to the elliptic, they'll still be toiling away on that bit just before the first Northbound Bridgeport exit."
Anyway, we now take Route 15 (which will always be known to me as the Merritt Parkway, despite the fact that it only bears that name for part of its length) to avoid that clusterfuck. It's not as if it's any safer, but it's a damn sight faster, and at least there's no trucks - which I regard as a major, major plus.
I'll get some pictures up, and perhaps even a poorly stitched-together movie of our weekend later this week. In the meantime, Yesenia is out of the shower, the cat is curled up at the foot of the bed, and I'm still in a fuzzy, vacation-y frame of mind. See you tomorrow. For some of you riders, I mean that literally.