In June of 1967 my father, brother and I drove across country in our brand new blue Jeep Wagoneer that we had named Commanche. It would be the first of seven jeeps so named. I was thinking of this as our noble Metalkic Granite Jeep Grand Cherokee braved Noah like rains on our trip northward. I had never named this Jeep, only because the indigenous peoples I would have named it for, the Utes, seemed to big a pun. (I know, what is too big a pun) but considering the mileage I do a year it never seemed necessary. But now in the rain, with two sleeping passengers, I recalled that Steinbeck had named his truck Rocacinte after Don Quixote’s noble steed. What should we name our faithful (hopefully) transportation. Since both my co conspirators on this trip were off in the land of nod I was forced to make the decision by myself. I chose Winnetou after the indigenous leader of Karl May’s western sagas not only because he was smart and wise but because my father loved these books. I would like to think he would have approved of this trip.

The day did not start particularly well. On our way out of Dodge (sorry still in the Western mode, New Jersey) I stopped at the NJ DMV to get a new license with Real ID. I had completely studied the requirements of 6 pt of identification. I placed them deliberately in a manilla folder including a copy of my SS card that I have had at the back of wallets for a 50 years. It was with a sense of confidence that I presented myself to the examiner. Hubris. Stupidity. The lovely document examiner promptly told me that I had not presented to her a SS card. It was a receipt for their card. I questioned that. It was an official document after all. I was wrong she said and needed to come back when I could get an appointment. Maybe June.

The good news. It made me happy to leave NJ.

After suffering 2 hours of rainy superhighway I thought it would be great to enjoy something Super Duper. That is Super Duper Weenies just off 95 in Fairfield. It is a place I have visited many times before and they serve some of the best dogs in America and hands down have the best t-shirts. Besides, as I explained to Rosie, isn’t it funny that we were stopping at a hot dog stand on a Ramble with Rosie. She was not delighted with my humor. You can find their menu  here https://superduperweenie.com/ Elaine went for a New Yorker (of course) and I chose a New Englander. She had a shake and I chose a Boylan Red Crème Birch Beer because why not. We split fries. Rosie abstained but watched with interest as we gobbled down the unbelievably good franks and near perfect fries.

You may be wondering why that Winnetou chose to point us in a northern direction. As I said, he was very wise. Going south would have meant running into Spring Breakers and Rosie is too young for bod shots and beer bongs. Going west would have been fun but Winnetou was from Oklahoma and it lacked real interest. However, Elaine had never been to the Cape and I have nothing but fond memories of the place so we decided are first stop would be Hyannis.

Even though the rain was near torrential and constant we managed to make it to Hyannis Port by 4 in the afternoon. I was pleased to see my uncanny sense of direction prevailed as I managed to make it off the mid cape and to the destination without a hiccup. It was much as I had last seen it a decade ago and I was glad for that. It is always nice when a place remains as it is in your memories. I decided that Rosie could use a walk so I we drove to the public beach by the Yacht Club and went for a little jaunt in the pouring rain. Rosie spent most of her time nose down in the sand. Too many new smells including old rope, decaying horse shoe crab, and seaweed but I kept my head up. It was a beach much favored by my dog Yankee and I half expected him to round the bend and come flying down the beach to me. At one point I thought it did happen but that turned out to be rain drops on my glasses.

A group decision was made, due to the inclement weather we would cease walking about and head to the hotel. Best Westerns are not Mandarin Orientals but this one allowed puppies so it was just fine for us. It turns out their dog rooms are tiled not carpeted which makes hauling things in from the car with wet feet qualify for hazardous duty pay. And there was a lot to bring inside. In addition to Elaine’s and my rollaboard suitcases, Rosie had a bag full of treats and food. Additionally, she had a travel bed courtesy of my sister and a few other accoutrements to make sure she a mint on her pillow experience. This was after all her first hotel room. Additionally, also coutesey of my sister we had a Levolt portable air filtration system designed to keep us safe from ultra violet light pathogens that were likely lurking everywhere in our room.

When everything had been toted inside I decided that it was a good time to check out the quality and firmness of our King Size bed. I thought that after 7 hours on the road that I probably had earned a visit to napland. Rosie did not think so. Her anxiety was palpable. She kept pacing around the room sniffing and then looking at us like we were going to give her all the answers. Then she did something that she has been trained not to do. Not that. She put her feet on the bed and begged to come aboard. I was more than willing. She could sleep with us every night in Chatham as far as I am concerned but Elaine has deemed our Queen size bed too small for all three of us. Elaine, being suitably moved by her anxiety gave her permission for Rosie to be on the bed.

Which is where she stayed all night. Happily stealing the covers and hogging the bed. But what could I say. It is her ramble.