Back on the road to Maine, we “shuffled off to Buffalo,” 7-hours away from Indianapolis to visit Islandwalk neighbors at their Upstate NY lake home. I had so far managed to get in a walk every morning, but only a mile on two occasions. My leg continued to bother me, particularly when I first got out of bed, so this limited exercise was not nearly enough to counter all the tenderloins, tacos, candy, wings, cookies, and alcohol consumed. On the way, we passed through Cleveland with memories of visiting the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
21,750 was our starting odometer reading from Venice. It was about 1100 miles from there to Indy and another 500 to Buffalo (23,170). The side trips to Rochester, Kokomo, and North Vernon added 400 more, and by the time we reach Acadia National Park another 800 will pass. It was already the 9th day of our journey. The next stop will be Maine, my 50th state to visit.
Once we left Buffalo and dined at Johnson’s Landing on Lake Erie, we experienced miles of new countryside for both of us. Rochester was about as far north and east I’ve been in New York state. Lake George took us close to Vermont where my travel was limited to ski areas. I did fly into Burlington, but the scenery was mostly snow on the bus ride to Stowe (3,625 ft.). Mount Washington (6,293 ft) is the highest point as we continue east towards New Hampshire and Portland, Maine. This will complete the Portland, MA (43:40 latitude) to Portland, OR (45:30 latitude) circuit, the two cities, one named after the other, are more than 3,000 miles apart but at similar northern points.
We shared what I called a “Buffalo sampler” at dinner that included wings, pizza, and beef on weck. It was great to spend time with our former neighbors that also spend their summers in NY, the first of two such overnight visits in a row. I managed to get a 2-mile walk in before our next 5-hour segment in the car.
While driving in the rain, it had struck me that our current travels had taken us from Rochester, Indiana to Rochester, NY, once home to my Indy friends. Years ago, I came on two occasions to nearby Lake Canandaigua (Can-You-Dig-It?) for a week of partying at their family summer “cottage” of at least twenty small bedrooms, once a fishing lodge or most likely a bordello. I remember a ghostly presence – maybe a result of the drugs and alcohol?
We arrived for Happy Hour at the beautiful Grosso Camp House, constructed of pine, on Great Sacandga Lake, just west of Saratoga Springs and south of Lake George. They made us a delicious salmon dinner before the bourbon put me to sleep. The next morning, I stumbled through a short, hilly walk before we all stopped to take-in a majestic view of the Adirondack Mountains on our way into Vermont.
A 9-hour drive took us from Atlanta to Indianapolis, followed by short jaunts to New Castle, North Vernon, Scipio, and Rochester over the next four days to sample as many breaded tenderloins as possible. The only delays so far had been heavy rainfall in mid-Kentucky and brief, mysterious computer glitches with the rear hatch. We stopped at Cracker Barrel for dinner as we passed into the Hoosier state – “Back Home Again!”
My addiction to baseball cards was evident, as we rolled along, squandering $50 here and there on upcoming Topps Chrome breaks. Lady Luck was not on my side with the cards but kept us safe throughout this journey. I proceeded to devour breaded tenderloins at a Moose, an Elks, and two other casual restaurants with expectations of wings when we finally got to Buffalo and of course Lobster in Maine. I “wandered” the back roads of Indiana, while visiting local landmarks and the homes of two half-sisters. My wife took advantage of my absence and dined with her old pals. We next headed north to her big high school reunion at another small-town Elks Club, passing more cornfields along the way and spending the late night in Kokomo.
I expected to meet many familiar faces from our past while in the Hoosier state, greeting nearly 50 at the Mousetrap, with more to come at the HS reunion gathering. Along the way I had already amassed a collection of gifts including cookies, caramels, a numbered bottle of Field of Dreams bourbon, a glass sculpture made from my birth father’s ashes, and one of his controversial swastika-labeled golf balls. I never knew the man but enjoyed hearing stories about him. He liked to call himself, “Bad News Banister.” I’m glad I wasn’t raised by him. Four of his daughters and I gathered at the Brick House in North Vernon, once the local train finished going back and forth, blocking the way there. You can always expect to be delayed by trains in Indiana.
Six days in Indiana before the next long drive to Buffalo. Before we left, we got to meet our newest family member, as I became G.U.M (Great Uncle Mike) once again. We also lunched with friends from our Egypt trip at Dick’s Drive-In, my wife’s hometown favorite (another tenderloin and Spanish fries). She grew up not personally knowing these Rochester neighbors until we were in a foreign country under coincidental circumstances. 78 classmates then attended my wife’s reunion at the Country Club (in reality just another Elks), near where my Mother-In-Law once lived on Lake Manitou. I dutifully manned the bar and tried to stay out of the way. 25-years prior to the previous reunion, I proposed to my wife on a lake pier.
We bypassed another Tropical Storm with our travels. This was the third time since we moved to Florida three years ago, including Ian, Idalia, and now Debby. Chicken legs on the grill and the houseful of young, rambunctious boys (Cole, Carter, and baby Calvin) kept G.U.M. entertained on Sunday, along with more Olympics action. Our last full day in Indy included Torchy’s Tacos for breakfast and a fill-up of the tank at Costco on our way back from Kokomo. We spent the night there at the Courtyard after the RHS reunion, taking advantage of Marriott Rewards Points. It was time to “Shuffle off to Buffalo.”
It all started with a busy morning of making last minute preparations for the drive to Maine and back. We dropped the dogs off at Schnauzerville, picked up the Nissan Rogue rental SUV, and packed for 19-days on the road. Our first leg was essentially a straight shot up I-75 to Atlanta. My wife’s niece was home for the 2024 Olympics after years of coordinating all the torch runs, so we were able to stay with her for the night and watch the events on TV.
It was the first road trip when I didn’t even bother to pack my running gear, replaced with a cold pack and heating pad. Hopefully, I can do some walking and gym visits along the way while still battling a sciatica issue in my left leg. I took along three last days of steroid medication, but beyond that was expecting pain and frustration. Lunch was at Freddy’s in Ocala, before I took over the wheel, just another pound added to my already overworked, under-exercised and growing frame. Fortunately, traffic was not an issue even in the typical rough construction spots like Sarasota and Tampa. I was pleased with the rental upgrade, offering plenty of room for hanging clothes and survival supplies like water and Diet Coke. A chocolate shake was my Freddy’s splurge on top of the cheeseburger and fries. My wife’s app got her a free burger.
Our first Georgia stop was a rest area, followed by a brisket sandwich at Buc-ee’s – no road trip is complete anymore without a stop to visit “The Beaver.” That put us just a little over an hour from our overnight stop for manicotti, Buc-ee nuggets, and the Olympics. Vodka, wine, ice cream, and Limoncello made for a restless night’s sleep with an upset tummy. I got up for a walk before we made our way to the next Buc-ee’s for breakfast kolaches.
My thigh feels like it’s on fire this morning and my stomach uneasy. Taking both dogs out was a painful chore. The doctor prescribed another round of steroids that I will pick up today, hoping that it will give me at least a few days of relief like the first batch. I feel like I’m being penalized for all those mornings when I could get moving with relative ease. I even slept on the heating pad last night and reapplied the cold pack on my way out the door, both with minimal effectiveness. Sitting down to write is the only normal part of my mornings these days.
Yesterday, we went to the beach, sitting in the back yard of 32-Gasparillo Island billionaires. We were with friends who shared a fried chicken picnic lunch. It was a great day, but moving in and out of the water was a chore for me. I spent a half-hour on the phone with the doctor, confirming the need for an additional prescription. I’m concerned about the upcoming long drive to Maine and being without my chiropractor for three weeks. Floating in the salty water should have taken the strain off my back and legs, but fighting the current and getting back to my beach chair was exhausting. I stumbled trying to get back on my feet, feeling like a Weeble-Wobble. I’m more than frustrated with this recovery process.
Tonight, we go to the Englewood Moose for dinner and tomorrow evening we celebrate my son’s belated 50th at Pinchers. Monday morning we hit the road in our rental car with an overnight stay in Atlanta. Tuesday we’ll arrive in Indiana. As this Friday morning wears on, I should get back enough flexibility in my leg to go to the gym. Fortunately, the pain slowly subsides as I sit upright and let the cold pack numb my thigh. My wife is headed to the beach again, a luxury thanks to where we live, although I hadn’t been there for six long months until yesterday.
The Olympic Opening Ceremonies are tonight from Paris. I’m, of course, not eligible to participate again due to steroid ingestions these past two weeks, but I wish my fellow Americans good luck. It will be good to have some fresh TV to watch, having caught up on all our current series including The Land of Women, Presumed Innocent, and House of the Dragon. Some of these finales will be put on hold until we get back home in three weeks. See you on the Road!
Getting ready for a long blog blackout. Three weeks without my computer on the road to Maine. The less packing at each stop the better – at least ten different beds along the way – only two Marriott Hotels. Lots of stories to tell when I get back. I’m getting all my home banking squared away in preparation for the journey. It will be at least 3,500 miles of driving, but I’ll return with the glory of having visited all 50 states.
The dogs will go to “Schnauzerville,” their home away from home. However, when my wife goes to visit her daughter in Oakland this November, we’ve decided to divide and conquer. I will stay home, weary of traveling, to take care of the pups. They’ll be disappointed with “Mom” gone. Thankfully, this will be the extent of this year’s holiday travel for both of us since both of her girls will be here in January. Our next adventure will likely be the Florida Keys in February or March. We’ll get our discount tickets for the high-speed ferry in December.
Most everything is booked in the Caribbean next year, after looking into potential Marriott Vacation Club opportunities. We’ll need to get a head start on 2026 for Costa Rica or St. John’s. Next year should be quiet on the travel front, with the priorities being substitute teaching for my wife and a potential part-time job for me. Above all, I need to stay away from medical care! We need to take advantage of all the amenities we have here at Islandwalk, for once. After all, we do live in paradise – there’s no need to travel thousands of miles for sunshine, palm trees, and sandy beaches. I’m prepared for a long staycation, no packing and unpacking, as we think about our 25th anniversary and a potential trip to China.
I’ve just taken my last steroid tablet with mixed results regarding its purpose in relieving my leg pain. There have been moments when I’ve felt like I could conquer the world, followed by cramps and discomfort in my calf muscle. I feel like I’m making progress one hour, followed by despair the next. I will soon have a follow-up with the prescribing physician to determine the next steps. The big question remains: Will there be anger in the withdrawal stages – ‘Roid Rage?
I honestly don’t feel very well – a bit light-headed and achy, but unrelated to my visit to the Urologist yesterday, other than it just added to my seemingly endless medical woes. I’m now trying the drug Finasteride to relieve an enlarged prostrate with the side benefit of keeping my hair from falling out. Fortunately, that’s one problem I’ve never had, but certainly my bladder issues need help, substituting one pill for another.
When we return from travel, I will need an MRI for my continuing sciatica problems, alongside back-to-back appointments with the cardiologist, urologist, optician, chiropractor, and neurologist. What more could possibly go wrong? It’s been a heart-stoppin’, pill-poppin’, leg-hoppin’, eye-droppin’ medical rollercoaster that I would like to get off. Tylenol, vitamins, baby Aspirin, statins, blood pressure, steroid, prostrate, heartburn, and allergy pill bottles now fill my medicine cabinet. Routine blood pressure checks and three kinds of eye drops keep me busy. At least, I’m not on anti-depressants, even though my entertainment dollars are spent on co-pays. Sadly, too many of us old farts can relate to this retirement regimen!
I still find time to go to the gym, but even that is less satisfying than running used to be. Chair Yoga is only once a week and walking still limited to the treadmill. I ride the bike, but don’t go anywhere. There are fifteen bags of mulch to put down, but I can’t seem to find the strength or energy. I’ve fallen but can’t get up – even sit-ups and push-ups are no longer a habit. I’d be sorry for myself, but too many of my peers are in worst shape. However, I feel every bit like the father of a fifty-year-old! Will ‘Roid Rage be next?
As we head back to Indiana in a week, I’ve prepared this poem for a group of eight media friends celebrating their 70th birthdays:
Six Ad Chicks and Two Dicks
As we enter old age,
We honor six Ad Chicks,
And a couple of sales pimps,
Known as the “Two Dicks.”
We forgot a few,
I have no doubt.
But like so many buys,
Some were just left out.
We party at the Mousetrap,
This family of Media friends.
And will blow out the candles,
Before the evening ends.
England, Kaiser, Albrecht,
Reilly, Flora, and Roman Chicks,
You all don’t look your age,
Warner, Harbin Birthday Dicks.
Septuagenarians unite,
No, I didn’t say SEX.
Back then, it was calls,
Not e-mails and texts.
“The client has needs,”
Numbers to crunch.
Settling our differences,
Over a cocktail lunch.
Agencies and Media,
Never on level ground.
One rounds up,
The other down.
Arbitron ratings,
Were still a thing.
Stuck at our desks,
Ring, phone, ring.
It wasn’t as though,
We could take it along.
Plugged in the wall,
The cord not so long.
The phone was your friend,
Or the nagging enemy.
What’s my share?
Came the desperate plea.
Billboards and print,
Added so many choices,
Does the client prefer,
Pictures or Voices?
Let the Buyer Beware,
And the Seller prepared.
Or those promised spots,
May not get aired.
Your insert or display ad,
Might not be placed.
Then a disgruntled buyer,
Had to be Faced.
Being Queens,
And dealing with Jokers.
It often led,
To heavy smokers.
There once was no cable,
Podcasts or streams.
We all had comp tickets,
To follow our teams.
Events and concerts,
Payola galore.
Trips made the bad buys,
Hard to ignore.
Another powerpoint,
Stacks of Media kits.
But If you agree,
I’ll get you in the Pits.
And in retirement,
There’s no front row seats.
Back Stage passes,
Or fancy suites.
So glad we got together,
Before more of us departs.
And those who couldn’t make it,
Are forever in our hearts.
Happy Birthday to you….
I won’t be eligible for this year’s Olympics again, this time due to steroid use. I doubt that I could hit 70-home runs or break a world record in the 100-meter dash, but I sure feel better. Finally, after months of chiropractic treatment, trying to relieve a pinched sciatica nerve near my spine, I can move again. The doctor hooked me up with an accident injury specialist who prescribed a week’s worth of Methylprednisolone tablets. I’m half-way through the dosage and was able to walk comfortably, at a fast pace, last evening. Even my wife, who typically is two steps ahead, commented that I needed to slow down.
I’m still a bit stiff and sore in the morning, sitting on an ice bag as I write this. The pain my hip and leg are not debilitating like previous days. After warming up, I feel great – full of energy – full of steroids. I honestly hope that after the 7-day period, I’m not hooked and that it continues to heal naturally. I had a little trouble working with a doctor whose card reads, Florida Injury?” but the chiropractor, who I do trust, can’t prescribe drugs. I can now comfortably continue the rehab from my open-heart surgery, six months ago without pain.
I have been going to the gym every day, but I’m limited on what I can do. I initially thought that I would simply be replacing the daily runs with long walks. However, I would get cramps and Charlie Horses. Medication changes helped some. I next tried the pool to take the pressure off my back, along with the stationary bike, rowing machine, weight machines, and treadmill where I could hold on to the side rails. Last night, with the support aid of Tally’s dog stroller we walked Fosse. For the first time, I felt like I didn’t need to hold on tight.
My attitude and patience suddenly improved. I spent the day sorting baseball cards and could actually bend over and lift the heavy binders without pain. The question remains: Is it actually healing or just numb from the steroids? Will I be back to normal once the drugs wear off? Or, will I seek the dark back alleys in search of a steroid dealer?
Paydays always make for a beautiful day in the neighborhood. I like it when there’s money coming in instead of out. However, it quickly goes back out to bills with little left over – the current cycle of life. My son’s 50th is quickly coming up and our drive to Maine – more money going out! It’s my brother-in-law’s birthday today but we rarely exchange gifts, but I will see him next week or so as we make our way through Indiana – “Back Home Again.” I’m on a tenderloin quest, with that being my suggestion when I lunch together with my half-siblings, as well, in Columbus, Indiana. It will be the first time that I meet Kristi, who was not present at our initial gathering in Scipio. Four remaining Bannister sisters.
My wife has her tap class today, while I go to the chiropractor for my third visit this week. She’s active and I’m currently not, maybe the result of our 4-plus differences in age? I’m particularly sore first thing in the morning, but still manage to get to the gym. I’m sitting on an ice pack as I write this. I may take it with me on the long drive ahead. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get in some walking on our adventure north, despite the fact that it’s uncomfortable. Treatments don’t seem to be working.
The dogs are headed to the park, as is the morning ritual. Fosse spent the night in “good bed,” rather than the cage. There were no accidents, so it looks like she quickly learned her lesson. She’s a smart dog, but I struggled trying to get her to do her business last night before bedtime. My wife takes her on a long walk – maybe a bit too soon before her last outing. “Ham Time” did not seem to inspire her, as Tally waited impatiently for her reward while her sister continued to doddle. It’s usually the other way around, the slower Tally lollygagging and dillydallying along. Doddle, dillydallying, and lollygagging – three words you don’t see very often in the same paragraph.
Two more chair yoga classes and I’m on my way to Maine, as I continue to struggle with my left leg. I’m getting just as tired of writing about it as limping on it. Yesterday, I made two trips to the chiropractor seeking relief. It loosens up as the day “stretches on” with the worst time being that first outing with the dogs. However, I look across the street at my neighbor leaning on his cane and realize that it could be worse. Everyone has their aches and pains, so mine aren’t unique – just frustrating.
Speaking of pains, our puppy, Fosse, is now a chewing machine. This morning, she went after another TV accessory but settled on destroying a plastic pen. The feisty little thing, three pounds heavier in just the last month, recently tried eating the remote for our living room TV to the extent where I had to replace it. I can’t even set something down for a second within her reach. Plus, her territory has extended to climbing up on my office chair to get at things on my desk. I have to carefully put everything away or she immediately takes possession. Tally went through this stage years ago, and the corners of our coffee table still bear the scars of her teeth. We called her the “Talligator.” Fosse’s new nickname is often now just a string of expletives!
One big positive in my life is eyesight improvement. As my vision continues to get better after cataract surgery a few weeks ago, I may not even need glasses. This was certainly a higher-priced option, but I elected for the standard procedure. At this point, there seems to be very little difference in clarity with or without my spectacles. Next month, with my follow-up exam, I’ll know for sure, but I’m certainly encouraged by the progress. “I can see clearly now,” the tune Johnny Nash used to croon.
