Hey Misfits,
Due to interruptions, obligations, activities and surprises, this chronicle is a week late. Not much board work or computer work this past week. I hope the delay doesn’t take away any impact, just pretend it’s last Monday morning when you read this.
Saturday afternoon brought more hot humid conditions to a band of intrepid Misfits meeting up at the old Water Company location in Claremont. A grouping of eight cars prepared to motor down to Hopkinton for a cruise night at Beech Hill Farm. In a double reverse, Jim, with his red Corvette, took up the highly unusual lead spot while Paul and Ann, piloting their Chrysler 330, served as first-time tail-gunners. Jim’s daughter Christine along with her family, husband and cycle racer Steve, Sydney and Cailey, suggested and planned the event so Jim led us from the head of the line.
Following Jim was Rick and Elwin riding in Big Dog. Ed had his white Monte Carlo along with Bill and Benny enjoying the air conditioned comfort of the brown El Camino. Larry accompanied by Arlene, fresh out of work, brought the 36 Ford sedan. Audrey and I took up our position in the TR-6 and Bob and Ellie came in their low slung Corvette.
We followed Jim out onto Maple Street through down-town Claremont, on to Newport and past the Elvis show at the Fabulous Fifties Diner and their new miniature golf course addition. Newbury Harbor was next. The local constable patiently sat in front of the fire station for our passing while keeping a close eye on Jim, ready to spring into action. He had a look of disappointment and I know his hand was poised over the switch ready to activate the blue lights in anticipation but all eight cars proceeded through his little town well mannered and without obvious infraction.
The entrance to I-89 was next up at Warner and then a few miles at interstate speed to the Hopkinton off-ramp. It was here that we discovered Jim was reading his computer generated map sideways which had us in the center of Hopkinton wondering where the hell Beech Hill Farm was. After a well-executed eight car U-turn, we ended up back at the other end of town mulling over the now correctly orientated map. A kindly couple walking their dog stopped to lend a hand by telling us to go right out of the driveway, turn at the next right to a dead end and then turn right and keep going until we get there. Kind of sounds like the dubious instruction to turn right at the last stop light. They also recommended the maple walnut flavor ice cream. As it turned out, they were right on with their description, including brand new asphalt most of the way. The only problem was an announcement over the radio from Jim that he had just driven right by the driveway. It was easy enough to do as the name Beech Hill Farm was appropriately used because it really is a farm. After a bit of confusion, we pulled to the top of the small rise overlooking the buildings and parking lot to take up our positions. Here we were immediately given tickets for a free sundae and our door prize ticket.
The first thing we noticed was it is a working farm. There were mature cornfields almost touching the parking lot. There were three different plantings with three different mazes cut in them for those of you who need to get lost. It looked a bit like Stephen King’s Children of the Corn as all the kids seemed a bit bent on killing all the adults at the farm while maneuvering through cow-shaped maze. I thought it might be an opportunity to bump into Shoeless Joe Jackson in there somewhere too. I watched people entering the nearest maze to see if they faded away after a the first few rows of corn stalks. I guess you have to be an old baseball player to do that trick. For a place out in the woods, they sure were busy. The long line waiting for ice cream and the make-your-own-sundae array. They also had goats, a family of peacocks, rabbits, a couple of little horses and assorted other animals to pet and feed for the kids and a country band of some sort for the adults crowded into the church pews filling the ground level of one of the barns.
Other than the Misfits, there was a generous selection of high powered Mopars, a 32ish Ford sedan primer black hot rod that was built for action, a smooth British Rolls Royce Silver Cloud, a black Prowler, a Model A Ford sedan with four occupants, a Camaro, a Chevelle, and a Falcon convertible among others and a star emblazoned army truck painted Paul’s favorite shade of brown. While mingling amidst the displays, it was announced that it was time for the lucky driver raffle drawing. While interrupting the music, four lucky Misfits won a large portion of offerings consisting of snacks, seedless jelly and a woven basket last seen making its way through the parking lot carried by an excited Sydney.
Jim led us out just in time for a beautiful mid-summer sunset reflected in the pond under the power lines that were the missed land mark reference for our arrival. Our first right hand turn found us at the same spot we had executed the eight-car U-turn earlier in the evening. It turned out to be just short of our previously intended turn to Beech Hill. We’ll know next time. After a leisurely moonlit drive through the New Hampshire country side we arrived at the Boat Landing just across the bridge in Springfield. This was an opportunity for under-car light displays. Jim’s Corvette, lit in bright red (what else) sat behind Bill’s El Camino awash in a bright purple glow while Larry’s Ford came alive with his new computer aided multi-functioning lighting effects. He had the sedan literally breathing and pulsing sequential combinations that resembled everything from heart beats to strobe lights. The only thing missing were Rick’s bright blue ticket inducing underlights that he defiantly activated all the way through Newport. Rick and Elwin split off from the line at the end of the Old Claremont Rd.
Sunday evening brought another trip to Real Twist for a cruise night and free sundaes. The skies looked a bit threatening and even a light mist on Clinton Street didn’t deter us. A contingent of Misfits met at Pickle Park for a departure of 5:30 The skies looked to be lighter south of our position. Paul and Ann led Bill’s fowl weather El Camino. Dave and Teresa choose the red Chevy pick up. Teresa was engrossed in what she called a good cowboy and Indian novel as a substitute for sweater knitting because of the heat. Saying it was just a western, she denied waiting to get to the usual paperback smut that begins about two thirds of the way through. We followed in the TR with Jim taking his familiar tail-gunner spot. Just as we cleared the park, Ed’s voice crackled over the radio asking if any Misfits could hear him. Paul told him to look up as we were just passing the end of Lover’s Lane as he approached the intersection. Pretty good timing.
As we came out of Charlestown, the hills of Vermont were now obscured with heavy rain that were approaching from the west. Paul, with his top already up, asked if we needed to stop to put our tops up. Hating to drive with the top up and being such a chore to get in the up position, I hesitated but with Audrey sitting in the passenger seat watching the rain getting closer, I thought better of trying to out-drive it. It took both of us to get the top up and secured as the rains got heavier. In hindsight, it was a good thing as the rain started in earnest at the organic farm and continued through North Walpole. The precipitation lightened at the cruise site as Jim lowered his top. Now some serious sundae eating could commence.
Ed Foster showed up in his 70 Chevelle. His first mission was to secure a chocolate sundae with whipped cream. As he sat down to begin the feast, a spoonful of whipped cream innocently dropped to the table top. Ed calmly attempted to scoop it up only to find the elusive quarry sliding around the cup and away from the pursuant spoon. After a few minute chase, Ed finally corralled the slippery condiment. Slightly annoyed, Ed attempted to splat the cream back onto the heap sitting on top of his sundae. The dab of whipped cream, being what it is, slid off the waiting pile and back onto the table again. Once more, Ed started the chase including a route over and through his napkin rendering it mostly useless for any upcoming clean-up.
Now completely irked, he grabbed the troublesome wad with his fingers and threw it onto the waiting desert only to see it again slide off the side and back onto the table for the third time. Now completely discussed, Ed took his spoon between his thumb and index finger, drew back and let it fly at the offending lump, now starting to melt back into it’s original cream state, resulting in a spray of white globs spattering from the table onto the pea-stone ground cover. Finally, after the exasperating experience with the wayward topping, Ed was able to settle down and enjoyed the chocolate, whipped cream and vanilla concoction.
While we were finishing our ice cream, Don Taylor arrived in his appropriately named Geo Storm. As he walked up and down the line of display cars, an ominous looking sky was broiling up from the west. It was rapidly approaching and getting more threatening by the minute. Just a quickly, a large hill easily visible from the patio area fell victim to the storm and became completely obscured as sheets of rain overtook the entire northern vista. A cold wind blew across the field of cruise cars and drivers prompting the management to retract the beach umbrellas and the Misfits to prepare to leave. All the while that we remained dry, North Walpole was getting hammered. As quick as the storm approached, it subsided its grip on the twin state valley and continued its march across New Hampshire towards an unsuspecting Alstead and beyond.
Although we never really got wet leaving the cruise night, we found that the way home wasn’t eventless. After lending a radio to Don for the ride home, the line of Misfits approached the nearly completed road rebuild project in North Walpole. An electronic flashing warning sign alerts motorists that work is being conducted on driveways and storm drains. We found the sign to be lacking the true warning of flooding as an announcement from the lead car that there was standing water in the newly paved road. The work on the storm drains obviously wasn’t yet completed. Looking ahead we could see Paul and Ann encounter a stretch of road awash in at least a foot of water running at least the width of a moderate sized river. As Paul’s Chrysler was being submerged, Bill dove in and Ed followed. Paul called back on the radio warning us that it was deep and I’d better make it because he didn’t want to wade in to rescue us. As the flood consumed three of the Misfits, I could see a large SUV approaching for the opposite direction at a rate of speed that was generating a wake high enough to swamp a large yacht. Not wanting any part of that action, we waited on the southern shore of the flood as the Misfits and the speeding SUV encountered each other. One by one, the Misfits disappeared in the onrush. Then as Ed was engulfed, he radioed to announce they got him through his open window. He claimed the female operator had a smile on her face. Bill said it appeared she was on her cell phone. Of course Dave and Teresa had no problem with the high rise Chevy Pick up. Still waiting for the geyser to subside, I couldn’t even identify the make of vehicle except that it was large and going fast. As the sea calmed and the traffic subsided, we ventured into the abyss. We took a deep breath and powered in head first. The flood was deep enough that the dauntless TR was pushing water with the front bumper. Nearing the far shore, we heard Don ask our location over the radio. After replying we just cleared the depths on 12 north, Don, fortunate enough to have avoided the tidal action that certainly would have completely engulfed the little Geo, stated he was on 5 north on the Vermont side just leaving Bellows Falls. He was with us but on the opposite side of the Connecticut River.
After passing On the Run opposite the prison in Springfield, all attempts to raise Don with the radio, who should have been at the same location, failed to generate a response. We arrived home, emptied the car and had time to wipe it dry when Don showed up to return the radio. He stated he waited for 10 minutes in Charlestown for us. Now dry and warm, Don agreed over a cup of coffee to help me replace the front brakes on Brian’s idled Saturn while he finishes up his summer in Belgium. We suspect his offer was more out of concern for Brian’s safety than to make it easier for me. In any event, we appreciate the offer. Now it’s time for another cup of coffee and to see what we can come up with for this week’s chronicle.
Tom and Audrey
