Fishing Trip, part 2

Now we had loaded the van with the coolers and blankets and tackleboxes, and we were on our way to New Hampshire. Dad drove, following well-known routes and only occasionally helped by the GPS system; Bill sat in the passenger's seat, drinking from his travel mug; Sam and I huddled under our respective blankets in the first row of seats; and Mike lay in the second row, asleep. In fact everone except Dad was soon nodding off. Every once in a while I would jerk into semi-wakefullness to see the yellow lights of a gas station go by, or the bright beams of a passing trailer, and then sink back into an uneasy oblivion. Somehow, two and a half hours spent themselves this way until Dad guided the van into the parking lot of a Dunkin Donuts. Apparantly we were near the border of New Hampshire or had just crossed it.



"Okay, let's grab some coffee and a muffin or something," Dad said as he parked. We went through our second ritual of yawning and stretching and stepped into the bracing air of the parking lot and toward the brightly lit interior of the store. Five forty-five A.M. and already a line was forming. A few policemen and a police woman in smart uniforms were adding cream and sugar to their coffees on the side, and a couple of workmen in paint-spotted jeans and denim shirts deliberated over the breakfast menu. The cashier looked tired but resolute.



"Well, I guess I'll take the number two," said one workman carefully, eyeing the enormous photos of stuffed egg sanwiches above the cashier's head. "If it has bacon in it."



"No, number two doesn't have bacon, it's the egg and ham," said the cashier, who was a young man with glasses and an expression that said, I am almost finished and I will NOT lose my patience. "Number five is the egg and bacon."



The workman squinted at the menu. "Huh! But number five doesn't have the McPattie potatoe things. Can I get those on the side?"

"You could," said the cashier with heroic calmness, "but it would be easier to get them already with a meal. Or you could order everything separately." He glanced anxiously at us as we gathered behind the mulling customer. Finally the worker ordered and moved on to the recieving booth with the police people. As a reward for the cashier's imperturbability we all ordered quickly and painlessly and soon had gathered up our coffees, muffins, bagels, assorted cream cheeses and butters, and went back to the van. Breakfast was undertaken as the first light of morning stole over the parking lot. Then Dad drove off on the last leg of the trip.

As the road began to pass through the fields and marshes that signalled the proximity of the ocean we noticed that the morning light was not as bright as it should be; the sky remained dark with angry-looking clouds, and the wind whipped the tall grass in the fields. Dad turned on the radio.

"Looks like a storm," he said.

We all sat up. Mike tossed his blanket to the floor and rubbed his eyes. "That would be too bad if the boat can't leave shore," he said. "If the waves are too high then they'll never let anyone go out on the water."

"Oh, I'm sure people would still go out," Bill remarked. "You know -- 'Look at me, I'm fishing in a Grade Two Storm, haha!' Doosh."

"Let me listen to the weather report," Dad said, peering out the windshield at the approaching Shoreline town and the ominous overhanging storm. A few raindrops pattered on the glass. Sam and I looked at each other. Would the boat be leaving the shore - or would we be doomed to an entire morning in the seaside diner with Trudy the waitress and mountains of hashbrowns? Soon we would know for sure.