Tag Archives: glens falls

Stories from the Road

Well, it wasn’t pretty, but it’s done.

The giant (and I mean giant) pile of junk behind the house is gone. It was muddy, smelly, dirty, wet, heavy, and disgusting. And it filled a 15 yard construction dumpster, plus 10 contractor bags. We started working Saturday when the rain cleared. And then it started again. By that time I was already wet, so I decided I didn’t care, and kept going. At sundown it was still raining, it was cold, and I was covered in mud.

We totally bugged out to the Microtel in Plattsburgh. There are times when you simply deserve electric light and a hot shower. This was one of them. (On a side note – When you’re on Route 3 in front of the Microtel, there’s a good view of both the Adirondack Mountains to the West, and the Green Mounatains to the East.)

But the real weekend war stories came from the food battlefield.

We ate at “99” twice. I don’t know why we like it so much there, but we do. Luckily, we dodged the waiter that I absolutely cannot stand because he thinks he’s a comedian. This guy bothers me so much, we would probably get up and leave if we were put at a table of his. (Better than saying, “Oh, I’m sorry. Can we move to another table? I hate you.”) But, we had two nice times at 99. We considered an Indian restaurant called Karma, but as I mentioned to TourPro, it sounded too much like a dare. I kept thinking, “You’ll get what you deserve if you eat at Karma.”

Also learned not to go to the more westerly Dunkin’ Donuts at 8pm. Total donut penal colony. They had three maple cake donuts, a jelly stick (whatever that is), and a single vanilla frosted. We hightailed it to the more easterly DD. Boston Cream. Glazed. Old Fashioned. Chocolate Cake. What a difference a mile makes.

In other amusing food news – On the way home, we stopped at the Target in Glens Falls, and I wanted some popcorn. I step up to that mini-food-court sort of thing they have, and I see that my server’s badge says, “New Team Member.” And she’s alone. “Well,” I figured, “How badly could someone screw up scooping popcorn into a bag?” So, she rings it up, I give her my $1, and she puts it in the register. And then the drawer opens again, and she stares at the thing for a full two minutes. Silently. She then disappears into the back for a while … clanging, things being dropped … comes back out, and (again, silently) walks right past me.

My travel partner comes by, wondering where I am, and asks me what’s going on. “I have absolutely no idea.” Five minutes go by. I look her way, and she says, “It will be right out.” The fact begins to dawn on me – This all sounds a little grandiose for a bag of popcorn. I start giggling to myself, and I am totally going to wait this out to see how it turns out. More crashes and banging from the back. She comes back out. “It’s almost ready.” At this point, I realize that there is a popcorn popper, with popcorn in it, right behind the counter. I seriously consider that maybe they pop the real popcorn in the back, and this is just propcorn.

By this time, fifteen or twenty minutes have easily gone by. More crashing and banging. I see shadows. I see a reflection in the stainless steel. She’s coming this way. She rounds the corner and she’s back. Well, guess what? She made me a pizza.

She smiles and holds out the pizza box and says, “Sorry for the wait.” And I hardly have the heart, but I reply. “I just wanted a bag of popcorn.” I’ve never seen someone this horrified in my life. Ever. I’ve destroyed this girl. She stares, mortified, for another full minute, and keeps repeating, “Of course. I’m so sorry,” as if she dropped the Thanksgiving turkey or something. There’s a good possibility she may cry. But she doesn’t. And I get my Thirty-Minute Popcorn.

And I have to admit, the moments of road humor more than make up for the trash pile. Saturday, I was wallowing in mud; but today I am wallowing in a job well done and an amusing weekend. I took lots of pics! I’ll post the play-by-play photos tomorrow, but in the time being, here’s a few fun ones.


Being able to climb the junk like a mountain is a sign that you should probably do something about it.


Found this old sign in the pile. I’m told that RH Lyon was a building contractor in Bloomingdale. I put it up over the back door for the afternoon.


This is underneath the back of the house. They built the back porch/shed thing right over the old steps! Would it have been that hard to take the thirty seconds to kick them out of the way?


Old, rusted-out kerosene tank. Yep. Even to the salvage guy, some things really are completely worthless.



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