You're taking your life in your hands to drive diagonally across Connecticut on the Wilber Cross and Merritt Parkways, with their narrow, shoulderless lanes, entrance ramps that dump right into traffic, and lunatic Nutmeggers who change lanes with neither sufficient space nor a signal to let you know their evil intentions. Still, the route is worth the dangers for one reason: the 68 magnificent old bridges--all different--that traverse the old parkway. Here's one of them:
and you can see some more of them here. If you happen to be driving on the parkway during the morning rush hour, don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to look at the bridges.
I've never cared for Connecticut much. Partly I guess because the gas there is more expensive than anywhere else and that always seems to be where I need some. Or maybe because I got a speeding ticket there once that cost far more than the minor infraction was worth, and the cop who bagged me on an empty highway at 6 AM approached my car with his weapon drawn. One of our sons feels the same way about Pennsylvania. I suspect if someone tells you he doesn't like a particular state, it's a good bet he got a ticket there.
Pulling into a gas station we noticed the car making a bit of a squealing noise. Some folks might become concerned about a thing like that, but we believe that until wheels fall off or the engine won't start, we really don't have a problem.
We arrived in Charles Town, West Virginia, early in the afternoon and after checking in to the Holiday Inn Express and lunching at Applebee's, we wandered over to our favorite little Casino, Charles Town Races & Slots.
We didn't win a bundle, but we didn't lose much, either.
Back at the hotel, we discovered I had forgotten to pack only one thing: my CPAP machine, which has powered my breathing at night for the past several years. Oh, hell, I'd been wanting to wean myself off that thing anyway.
Tomorrow, off for Lexington.
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