Tuesday
Guns and Rain
Well, it's August, and with that flip of the calandar's page comes the usual seasonal nonsense: a shaggy lawn because it's always too rainy to mow, incessant back to school ads for Staples, and the end of the boy's camp. Of course for me it also means it's time for my Lovely Bride's "company summer outing". Actually, I have no right to moan about it, as my habit of becoming violently ill on boats has kept me from the magic of the last three outings to Fire Island. And the magic of interminable rides in weekend traffic through the alien world of Long Island. And again on the way home.
But anyway, this year's excursion was a group bus tour of West Point, to be followed by brunch at the Hotel Thayer, which is on the academy grounds. "Outstanding!" I said. Well, perhaps it was more of an "Ok...", but in any event it sounded like a classic tourist spot about which I had only heard great things.
The big day arrived, dutifully bringing with it storm clouds as laden with rain as prose laden with unwieldy metaphors. Or similes. Whichever. In any case, the family and I made it up there in no time, got ourselves settled in, and waited for the fun to start. (I must note here, that despite the ridiculously chaotic turn the rest of the day took, it was taken in great stride by everyone involved; a thoroughly amiable bunch indeed.)
So... we began with a little bit of standing around in a light drizzle while it was decided which bus we would be riding. Once aboard, we sat for a bit while a rather impressive looking National Guardsman with a really big gun ran through a manifest of guests, checking, sort of, picture IDs as he went. Eventually, we were greeted by our tour guide, Ava, and our driver, Al. Ava is a perky woman of some middle years, who, despite her mysterious eastern European accent, seemed to have a firm grasp on the day's proceedings. For all of about a minute.
It seems that some fresh road construction had just begun, and once we started out Ava was as confused about where to go as was Al the driver. They proved dauntless, however, and with a minimum of bickering, they chose a new route. A mere two checkpoints later, we found ourselves standing in the rain, admiring a monument that was never accounted for, as Ava had been waylaid by yet another of the ubiquitous national guardspersons with really big guns. It seems that the guardsperson had been alerted that there was an irregularity in our manifest that would have to be resolved back at the visitor's center.
Back aboard we went, grateful to be out of the rain really, until Al discovered that, near the end of the maze of detours that plagued him, our bus couldn't negotiate the last turn onto the main road. So we sat. And sat some more. (All the while, though, our boys were mercifully patient.) After much discussion with various impressive looking national guardspersons, Al decided his passengers needed a little excitement, and began backing up through the narrow, snake-like parking lot in which we had gotten ourselves wedged. I couldn't look. People outside the bus honked. People inside the bus gasped. And yet, we made it safely all the way back. Ava returned after only a few seconds with a soggy copy of our manifest and suddenly everything was ok again. I shrugged and tried not to giggle.
So once again we were saddled up and on our way. Now of course the air conditioning on the bus had been running all this time and had long since fogged up the outside of the windows, ensuring that our view of the sights was rather like that from the inside of a ping pong ball. Then, and this is true, the only thing left that could possibly befall us happened: the bus stared leaking. It was no surprise then, when poor Ava, all the while trying to remain upright as the bus rocked and she dodged water, gave us the choice to cut the whole thing short and see either a rain soaked field of monuments or the Cadet's Chapel. The chorus that rose up from the bus was as sure as it was unanimous: "Chapel. We want to see the chapel."
As it turns out, the Cadet's Chapel is truly a beautiful site, and well worth the trip. It's modeled on European gothic cathedrals, and settled on a hillside with a spectacular view of the Hudson highlands as they fade away to the north. The inside is as beautifully detailed and steeped in tradition as any cathedral, and one can only imagine what a wonderful experience it would be to attend one of the weddings that the chapel constantly hosts.
But, time was short, so in a snap we were back on the bus headed for lunch, with trusty driver Al grumbling and shaking his head the entire way. At this point, the day's obstacles were nearly done. Having arrived at the hotel, we were seated in short order after getting surprisingly few blank stares from the help when we tried to explain who our group was and why we were standing there looking hungry.
In short, the day wrapped itself up pretty well. The food was good, the rain only sporadic during our walk back to the visitor's center, and the surprisingly well stocked and expensive gift shop was air-conditioned. As I stood there in line for my chance to pay for a stuffed moose and a Go Army kickball (imagine, if you will, a Disney store where most of the logos and mascots scowl at you) I thought about the day. Well, I mused while surrendering my credit card, at least we're not on Long Island.
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Well, it's August, and with that flip of the calandar's page comes the usual seasonal nonsense: a shaggy lawn because it's always too rainy to mow, incessant back to school ads for Staples, and the end of the boy's camp. Of course for me it also means it's time for my Lovely Bride's "company summer outing". Actually, I have no right to moan about it, as my habit of becoming violently ill on boats has kept me from the magic of the last three outings to Fire Island. And the magic of interminable rides in weekend traffic through the alien world of Long Island. And again on the way home.
But anyway, this year's excursion was a group bus tour of West Point, to be followed by brunch at the Hotel Thayer, which is on the academy grounds. "Outstanding!" I said. Well, perhaps it was more of an "Ok...", but in any event it sounded like a classic tourist spot about which I had only heard great things.
The big day arrived, dutifully bringing with it storm clouds as laden with rain as prose laden with unwieldy metaphors. Or similes. Whichever. In any case, the family and I made it up there in no time, got ourselves settled in, and waited for the fun to start. (I must note here, that despite the ridiculously chaotic turn the rest of the day took, it was taken in great stride by everyone involved; a thoroughly amiable bunch indeed.)
So... we began with a little bit of standing around in a light drizzle while it was decided which bus we would be riding. Once aboard, we sat for a bit while a rather impressive looking National Guardsman with a really big gun ran through a manifest of guests, checking, sort of, picture IDs as he went. Eventually, we were greeted by our tour guide, Ava, and our driver, Al. Ava is a perky woman of some middle years, who, despite her mysterious eastern European accent, seemed to have a firm grasp on the day's proceedings. For all of about a minute.
It seems that some fresh road construction had just begun, and once we started out Ava was as confused about where to go as was Al the driver. They proved dauntless, however, and with a minimum of bickering, they chose a new route. A mere two checkpoints later, we found ourselves standing in the rain, admiring a monument that was never accounted for, as Ava had been waylaid by yet another of the ubiquitous national guardspersons with really big guns. It seems that the guardsperson had been alerted that there was an irregularity in our manifest that would have to be resolved back at the visitor's center.
Back aboard we went, grateful to be out of the rain really, until Al discovered that, near the end of the maze of detours that plagued him, our bus couldn't negotiate the last turn onto the main road. So we sat. And sat some more. (All the while, though, our boys were mercifully patient.) After much discussion with various impressive looking national guardspersons, Al decided his passengers needed a little excitement, and began backing up through the narrow, snake-like parking lot in which we had gotten ourselves wedged. I couldn't look. People outside the bus honked. People inside the bus gasped. And yet, we made it safely all the way back. Ava returned after only a few seconds with a soggy copy of our manifest and suddenly everything was ok again. I shrugged and tried not to giggle.
So once again we were saddled up and on our way. Now of course the air conditioning on the bus had been running all this time and had long since fogged up the outside of the windows, ensuring that our view of the sights was rather like that from the inside of a ping pong ball. Then, and this is true, the only thing left that could possibly befall us happened: the bus stared leaking. It was no surprise then, when poor Ava, all the while trying to remain upright as the bus rocked and she dodged water, gave us the choice to cut the whole thing short and see either a rain soaked field of monuments or the Cadet's Chapel. The chorus that rose up from the bus was as sure as it was unanimous: "Chapel. We want to see the chapel."
As it turns out, the Cadet's Chapel is truly a beautiful site, and well worth the trip. It's modeled on European gothic cathedrals, and settled on a hillside with a spectacular view of the Hudson highlands as they fade away to the north. The inside is as beautifully detailed and steeped in tradition as any cathedral, and one can only imagine what a wonderful experience it would be to attend one of the weddings that the chapel constantly hosts.
But, time was short, so in a snap we were back on the bus headed for lunch, with trusty driver Al grumbling and shaking his head the entire way. At this point, the day's obstacles were nearly done. Having arrived at the hotel, we were seated in short order after getting surprisingly few blank stares from the help when we tried to explain who our group was and why we were standing there looking hungry.
In short, the day wrapped itself up pretty well. The food was good, the rain only sporadic during our walk back to the visitor's center, and the surprisingly well stocked and expensive gift shop was air-conditioned. As I stood there in line for my chance to pay for a stuffed moose and a Go Army kickball (imagine, if you will, a Disney store where most of the logos and mascots scowl at you) I thought about the day. Well, I mused while surrendering my credit card, at least we're not on Long Island.
