Two of our grandparents live in Boston, and I can safely say they are the most hospitable couple I know. Grandpa Norman and Grandma Pauline offered us a place to stay before our trek down to Mississippi. We spent a day of heartwarming conversation, and a knock-out Mexican restaurant. A visit only occurs every few years, so each time is a blast. Before we left they set us up for our trip, and hand-made almost twenty sandwiches for the road. It was a definite cherry on top of the trip so far.
I have to give credit to Joshy’s Stat Page, because I think he set a record. Dad kind of killed our spark when he informed us that today would be our longest day, and before it was done Joshy’s page sported nine new pictures of us standing in front of state signs. In one shot we hit Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York (we were flipped off), New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia (a state I haven’t been to before), and Virginia. We stopped by the Gettysburg National Cemetery during the drive, and parked in a “Reserved Bus Parking”. The white washed tombstones–many without names–lined the dewy green slopes in an eerie silence. It was difficult to imagine that in this calm touristy graveyard was once a commotion of canyons, guns, and men. A guide told us that at least seven thousand died in this one battle. That means that in just three days more soldiers perished on the fields of Gettysburg, than in the entire 30 years of the Middle East Conflict. On our way back to the parking lot, a tow truck was parked in front of our camper, which made our hearts skip. As soon as the truck drove off, we swiftly and discretely darted away and back on the road. At the end of the energy-draining crusade we were all tired and collapsed the second the car came to a stop.