Apple IIe Road Trip
Toronto to Philadelphia and back in 30 hours
September 5-7, 2004
This is a recap of my trip down to Philadelphia to pick up a vintage Apple IIe computer. I left late, I arrived late, and I got home very, very late -- but along the way I ate in a barn, saw someone levitate, watched a telethon, got lost in corn, got lost in the mountains, ate frozen custard on ice, saw god's billboard, and crossed an item off my list of things to do before I die. All in all, a good way to spend 30 hours.
Some of my first computers were Apple II models, and I'd recently come down with a case of computer nostalgia. (Which begs the question, how much more of a nerd could I possibly be? The answer to which, of course, is "none more nerd.") I decided to pick up a vintage Apple IIe computer, and I found one offered up on an Apple II mailing list.
The tricky bit was that the computer was in Philadelphia -- almost 900KM away from my hometown of Toronto, Ontario.
Another man would have the computer shipped to him. Another man certainly wouldn't drive almost 2,000 KM round trip to pick up a free piece of early 80s technology. Of course, that's only because that other man is boring and sane and clearly has more friends than me.
With the Labor Day long weekend approaching, it seemed like a great time for a road trip. I'd have a few days to enjoy the drive and see what adventures I could get into. But at the last minute, work and family obligations ate up all day Friday.
And all day Saturday.
And all day Sunday.
You'll note that doesn't leave a lot of weekend left in the weekend. That other man I mentioned before, he would have postponed the trip (cf. “sane” above). But not me. Instead, I thought: "Well, it's 8 o'clock Sunday night. If I left now I could be in Philadelphia by noon, and be back tomorrow night. No problem."
I tossed a change of clothes into a bag, burned some audiobooks to CD, and grabbed some music to give the journey a soundtrack. I hit the road at about 9 o'clock. I had about 800 KM to drive to get the computer ... then another 800 KM to get home. That is, provided I didn't go wandering in search of adventure, or get lost in the wilds of Pennsylvania.
Or both.
The trip to the border was uneventful. I crossed into Buffalo a little after 10:30 PM. My spirits were high, and my gas gauge was full (but of course, it lies).
When the border guard asked me the purpose of my trip, I wouldn't say I lied. Not at all. But you might argue I was ... minimally honest. I was certain that a North American built vintage computer would be covered by NAFTA. So why get into a debate about the philosophy of tarrifs when it would be so much easier just to decide I'm right?
Since I started out so late, I decided the best plan was to try to make it as far as I could as fast as I could, then pull over for a nap. I had arranged to pick up the computer at noon, which meant I should have 5 or 6 hours of extra time on top of the driving time required. That left lots of room for naps, or a side trip if something caught my eye. To cut through New York State quickly, I took the I-90 (even though that always feels like “cheating” somehow).
I've blogged before about how impressed I am by the futuristic roadside technology to be found in the middle of nowhere. I think it's our incredible self-flushing toilets and automatic faucets that most inspire jealous rage in the rest of the world. On this trip, too, I found myself impressed by improvements to washroom technology:
Jet Engine Hand Dryers [204K WAV]
The big advantage of road tripping at night on an interstate is you can make excellent time because of the lack of other vehicles. The big disadvantage is there's nothing to see. (Thus the lack of photos so far.)
Bring audiobooks is my advice for night-trippers, and it's advice I follow myself. I listened to an abridged reading of The Liar, my favorite of Stephen Fry's books. It's a fantastic book, and was well read by Fry himself. But unlike most books, which can be greatly improved by the merciless editing of an abridgment, Fry's book suffered under the knife. I treated the audiobook like a quick recap, a reminiscence of the novel, and it was a great way to pass the time.
Eventually, the storytelling was done and I switched to radio for a while. I found a classic rock station, and raising my hand out the window in a devil's sign I head banged all the way into Pennsylvania:
Excellent Omen [92K WAV]
Excellent Omen, Part 2 [16K WAV]
Later I switched to CDs, and popped in the classic Three Feet High And Rising disc by De La Soul. As I was singing along to "3 Is The Magic Number" I noticed a car had pulled level with me. I kept on singing, and flashed three fingers at my audience to encourage them to join in. One of them returned the sign, but turned sideways in Gangsta style. I'm not as cool as him.
A little after 4:00 AM I made it into Pennsylvania. I started to get sleepy, so I played it safe and pulled into the next rest stop for a nap. I always feel a little guilty when I pull into one of those because my headlights inevitably shine down the rows of parked cars and I worry that I'll wake up my fellow road trippers. If my car had a stealth mode, I would use it. Then I'd be as cool as Mr. Gangsta Sign, oh yes.
I keep a pair of blankets in my trunk -- as any good road tripper should -- and I blanketed myself in one of them. The other became an impromptu pillow, and I grabbed 40 winks.
Which became 400 winks. Then 4,000 winks. I'm sure I would have beaten my personal best of 28,219 winks if I wasn't awakened by a minivan's alarm going off.
You Snooze Button, You Lose [140K WAV]
A short while later I pulled into a service area to buy breakfast (orange juice and a banana muffin, in case you're wondering -- which I know you know you were even if you won't admit it, so just drop the “oh, I don't care what you had for breakfast” pose because you're fooling nobody, dear reader).
Walking back to the car, I was a bit startled by what I found on display in a small rack of brochures for local attractions.
Kids Under 10 Shoot Free [192K WAV]
Driving down through Pennsylvania, I came across a tunnel. From the outside, it had the appearance of something that goes deep into the bowels of the Earth (yuck -- bowels), but in reality it was quite short. While I was still bracing for my own Journey to the Center of the Earth I snapped a photo of the tunnel entrance.
The lines of fluorescent lights gave me a nice “James Bond launches the mini-jet” feeling, and I'm not ashamed to admit that there may have been some vroom-vroom noises heard inside my car that day.
After having slept in I knew I was going to be late for my noon appointment to pick up the Apple IIe. Luckily it wasn't a firm deadline. While I had planned to arrive around noon, I had already cleared the idea before I left that I might be tardy by a few hours given that I was starting so late. I wanted to get there on time, though, because the sooner I picked up the computer the more time I'd have for adventuring on the way home.
I planned to drive straight to the pick-up without getting deterred. I turned my nose up at signs boasting of interesting roadside stops. I refused to be attracted by attractions, or sidetracked by sidetractions.
And all was going according to plan until I was mere kilometers from my destination and spotted an wholly irresistable summons:
I hadn't bargained on the siren call of a corn maze. I pulled off the road and partook of the leafy labyrinth. Yes, this meant I would now arrive an hour later than I'd planned, but It would take a far stronger man than me to pass up a five acre corn maze. And if there's one thing I am not it's a far stronger man than me.
Here's my report on the corn maze. I think you'll agree, the Travel Channel needs a reporter like me and it needs it now:
My People Call It Maze [60K WAV]
Refreshed by my introspective wanderings on the Path of the Cob (I'm so zen it hurts), I made the last hop to the home of Pete and his wife Mary. Pete is the very kind fellow who'd offered me the Apple IIe, and both he and his wife are delightful people. I arrived shortly after 1 o'clock, and loaded up the new/old computer along with the rest of the Apple goodies Pete through in.
I actually took this photo later, but here's my new piece of early 80s joy packed in the trunk of my car:
Bottom-right is the computer itself, an enhanced Apple IIe. Above that is an Apple color monitor, and beside the computer is an ImageWriter printer. Above the printer is a collection of manuals, some software on 5.25" floppy disks, a 14.4Kbps modem (although the Apple IIe will only support up to 9600 baud, bless it's single-MHz soul), and if you follow the cables you can spot the two floppy drives just visible under the blankets. The yellow thing to the left, by the way, is emergency fuel -- a must have for people like me who road trip at night, without maps, without a compass, and without the sense to stay on highways.
I was very excited to pick up the computer. I was somewhat less excited to discover I had four tiny, angry stowaways:
A IIe and 4 Bees [180K WAV]
I pulled over and convinced the bees to hitch a ride with someone else. Admittedly, my convincing mostly took the form of frantic shooing motions and leaps away from the door when the little bumblers flew too close, but it's hard to argue with success. (“Success” in this case is measured in the number of stings I imagined but didn't get, which were many.)
Working my way back north, I ventured off the interstate and on to the smaller highways. I prefer the sights on the more out of the way roads. Nobody who sticks to interstates ever stumbled across the World's Largest Lobster Trap or a Black Forest Ham That Looks Like Jesus.
While I didn't stumble across those (more's the shame), I did find a little ice cream stand selling something called a “gelati:”
It had frozen custard on the top and bottom, and lemon ice in between. Ice ice baby! As I ate my yummy treat, I hopped from highway to highway working my way northwest.
Or so I thought. About an hour later I was surprised to discover I hadn't gone west at all, but somehow had ended up straight north of where I'd started. I was in Scranton, PA.
The initial impression the city gave me was that it was just winding up, as if everyone but me knew they were all moving away in a couple of weeks so they shouldn't bother putting things away or repainting signs. If there had been a dozen fewer people milling about I would've thought I was on the set of The Andromeda Strain.
I turned on to Main Street, because that seemed like a safe bet to find something of interest. I was primarily interested in finding a place to eat, and ideally also a movie theater. One of the items on my list of things to do before I die is to see a movie in every state, and this was a chance to scratch off Pennsylvania.
I didn't spot a cinema on Main St. What I did spot, however, was far more exciting:
It was a small Houdini museum. I had seen the Houdini display in Niagara Falls years ago, but alas that had long since burnt down. This Scrantonese museum looked quirky and, much to my delight, it sounded like an ice cream truck. Honestly, the building played music just like something being bicycled down the street full of frosty treats. How could I resist such a thing? I couldn't, and frankly I didn't try.
It's a small museum -- just one floor of a converted house, really -- but it's packed with interesting stuff to see. There were lots of Houdini collectibles from all throughout his life and career, everything from handcuffs and straight jackets to a box he was nailed into before being dropped into the ocean.
But the best parts of the museum are the curators. They are Dorothy Dietrich and Bravo the Great, magicians themselves, and they don't just show you around the Houdini collection. Oh no, dear reader. They first give you a two hour magic show! Because it was a sunny holiday afternoon, it was a very small (but very enthusiastic) crowd. The show itself was fantastic, and I had a great time. I volunteered to be the shill for one of Bravo's card tricks, and here's Dotty and Bravo levitating another member of the audience:
Bravo acts as host. His patter is hilarious and very polished: every single trick is the first one he learned that got him into magic. Just good old fashioned hucksterism, right down to the fact that his entire act is comprised of things they sell in the souvenir section. I joined him on stage to be the shill for one of his card tricks. Much fun, that.
And as for Dotty, she was easily the best magician I've ever seen in person. She made doves and bunnies and a pink puppy appear and disappear, and she even levitated a member of the audience. A fantastic performer. The entrance fee to the museum was around ten bucks, and it was worth every penny.
After the magic fun I set out to find a movie theater so I could tick the box beside “Seen a movie in Pennsylvania.” In most cities, finding a cinema is an easy task, but in Scranton it proved to be very difficult.
Tell Me More Of This Earth Thing Called Movies [140K WAV]
Then, just as I was ready to give up, I finally spotted a cinema:
Across the street from the cinema was what appeared to be a mall, so I rounded the block to look for mall parking. That seemed a safe place to dump my car while I spent a couple hours staring at the silver screen.
After parking, I walked back to the cinema to take a better look at the available films.
I opted for Without A Paddle, and I bought a ticket for the early show. I had some time to kill, so I went for a walk. There was nothing of interest to see except two gaggles of hormone-addled teenagers shouting threats and taunting each other across a road, and before they broke into a scene from West Side Story I gave up on the local sites in favor of browsing the mall.
Like every mall everywhere, it was sterile and characterless. There was some sort of bridge or walkway that jutted out over a railway yard, but access was closed for the night. The only thing that held my interest was a mid-mall Labor Day telethon:
It was amazing that people would stop to gather and watch this thing. (I don't count myself -- my interest was purely anthropological, and had nothing to do with the fact that the people answering the phones were mostly gals in cheerleader costumes.) I just caught the tail end of the broadcast and then the oh-so-phony post show hugs that everyone was giving to everyone else. (Again, I don't count myself because I only got slapped when I tried, damn those snobbish cheerleaders. And damn those humorless mall security guards for that matter.)
I headed across the street and watched the movie. I love watching movies in new cities. There's something wonderful about seeing a movie in an unfamiliar cinema: everything from the popcorn counter to the wall decorations seems so interesting. Well, at least to me it does. There's a reason why I usually do this stuff alone.
After the film I retrieved my car from the mall's underground lot and headed north. I was pretty sure I was on Route 6. Or maybe 106. Or, actually, maybe it was 107. I'd seen signs for all three earlier on, but no signs at all for quite some time.
At times like this I start to question the wisdom of travelling without a map. I don't stop and get a map or anything radical like that, I just question my wisdom and keep on driving.
I hopped from route to route for a while, getting thoroughly lost. I kept hoping to see a sign, but when I finally did it wasn't quite what I had in mind:
The sun was setting to my left, so I knew was facing Canada. That would have to suffice. I drove on, making my way vaguely north-ish until I stopped for a late dinner. I wasn't sure what town I was in, but I was fairly sure I was still in Pennsylvania. I ate at The Barn Room, which was across the street from a karate dojo where I could see the locals punching and kicking their way to Freedom. It's moments like these that make me love small town America: it's like a huge, terrifying, fascinating theme park.
By this time it was quite dark. I thought I should start to concentrate on getting home directly as I probably still had a long way to drive. Not knowing where I was made the drive ahead seem alternately easy and endless.
I had been listening to CDs, but now I scanned across the radio dial to see what the airwaves held for me. I found a “History of Rock” show, much like the excellent history of rock show played locally in Toronto on CFNY. Except that this one wasn't actually excellent. And, also, it wasn't actually about rock:
Boy George, Hair Metal Rocker [188K WAV]
The roads became increasingly empty as I rode on into the night. Soon it was once again just me and the trucks and the radio. I found myself on a series of increasingly small, increasingly winding roads. The darkness was increasing, too. Clouds blocked out the stars and the moon, and there were no street lights, so the only lights were my own headlights and those of the rare other car or truck. I don't travel with a map, preferring to navigate by dead reckoning and guesswork, but I was repeatedly foiled by “highly unique” road planning:
Roads To Nowhere [60K WAV]
I'm not discouraged that easily, though, nor would I be so easily bullied into finding an open gas station and buying a map. I didn't need a map. I needed a plan.
A Foolproof Plan [116K WAV]
I believed in the Plan. The Plan was the Way. But I was a young and foolish road tripper who underestimated just how “highly unique” road planning could get. In less than a half an hour, I was (a) more lost, (b) at the end of the World's Longest Dead-End Road to Nowhere, and (c) even more lost than implied in (a).
Wandering there in the darkness, alone and getting short on gas, I thought about the fact that I didn't have a map. I thought about how much help a map would be, and how much time a map could take off my journey home. I thought long and hard about that map, and I came to the only sensible conclusion:
I needed a new plan.
An Exciting New Plan That Can't Fail [72K WAV]
Doubt if you will, but the New Plan worked better than you would have guessed. Better, in fact, than I would have guessed. It wasn't too much later that I spotted the word "Canada" on a road sign. Could it be? Could it really be? As you can imagine, the news that The Exciting New Plan That Couldn't Fail didn't actually fail was something I greeted with no small delight. Clearly, I was meant to learn nothing from being lost in the dark without a map for so long.
Surprise Success [64K WAV]
A little after 2AM I finally crossed the border back into Canada. I was in the home stretch. My time driving around lost was finally at an end, I hoped. In my favor was the fact that there's only one major highway along the border, so I had a 50% chance of going the right way.
Okay, so I was going the wrong way. I took the first exit, crossed over a bridge, and headed back the correct way on the highway.
The last 100 KM were uneventful. I listened to Wall of Voodoo's classic album Call Of The West, which brought back some Apple II memories of it's own. I remember listening to that album over and over while playing Lode Runner on my old Apple IIe computer years ago. I played both the CD and the game so long that I now inevitably link the two together: I think of the game whenever I hear that CD now, and I'm sure I'll have that music in my head when I play Lode Runner again on my “new” Apple IIe.
At the 1,866 KM mark I finally arrived back home. By this point I was quite tired, so I left the computer in the trunk and went straight to bed. It wasn't until later that I brought my new 1MHz toy inside and set it up. I connected the cables, slid in a Nibble Magazine sampler disk, and reached for the power button:
It's Alive! [20K WAV]
Hearing that sound in my own home after almost two decades was itself worth the trip. Bring on those Infocom games!
