Thursday, November 04, 2004

The Road Not Taken 

Monday, October 4, 2004

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood near a house where Robert Frost once lived and where there is now a ‘poetry trail’. Sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could.

To the left, a fallen tree creaked as it leaned precariously against another. If I chose that way and was extremely unlucky, it might crash down at that precise moment, killing me inconveniently.
A fat couple - eating ice creams and not showing the slightest interest in the poem on display - walked straight past and hung a right.

I shall be blogging this with a *sigh* somewhere ages and ages hence: two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one that the fat couple didn’t, and that has made all the difference.

After snooping round the house for a bit, we rode our bikes back to the hotel. We’d already spent the morning on Sugar Hill, which was as knackering to ride up as it was hair raising to whiz down again. I loved it.

That evening in the bar, we chatted with Harry who was enjoying a swift beer while his wife got ready for dinner. Today was their first anniversary. He told us about their wedding in Savannah, and how it was the happiest day of his life. They’d driven here from Atlanta - one hell of a drive, especially considering they both worked for an airline and could, I suggested, have bought discounted flights.
“Nah, we love to travel this way. We’ve got an SUV with a fridge, so we don’t need to make long stops,” he said. “Katie reads me stories from the newspaper while I drive. We’ve got everything we need.”

Meanwhile, Dick the competitive bartender may have met his match with Laura, the feisty Californian.
She was asking him where she could go for a jog in the morning. All his suggestions were rejected as unsuitable.
“I’m Dick, by the way,” he told her.
“I’ll say,” she replied, sharp as a pitchfork.

In the games room Laura held my arm and whispered in my ear “Come on. Let’s whup their asses!”
We were playing doubles. Girlfriend and Dick beat us convincingly.
She said she’d be back after dinner with her parents. I’m not too perceptive in this area, but I think there may have been flirting going on. She had the waitresses passing him notes making jokes about the wine. He went up to their table to demand his belt back. That sort of thing.

We seized our chance to escape for a stroll and some fresh air. We told Dick we may be back for more table tennis but, erm, retired instead.

Some time later, there was a knock at our door.
I looked at Girlfriend, and she at me. We don’t usually get knocks at the door in the night when stopping in hotels. We’re not that kind of bloggers.
It was Dick wanting to know if we were coming out to play again. Laura was back. We politely declined.

Later still, while Girlfriend was asleep, a mysterious shadowy figure slid a note under our door. I stared at it for fifteen minutes in a state of mild alarm, wondering what it might say, or who it could be from.

I’m too ashamed to tell you what I dreamed about.

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