NY-Ohio

After leaving Beth's on Tuesday, we started the long, long, loooong drive through the length of New York State. It looked a lot like this for much of the time:

We were surrounded on all sides by corn. And occasionally there were dilapidated barns:

Once we were in Ohio, the skies cleared, and we decided to stop for some Roadfood for dinner. In good midwestern style, it was 5pm. The White Turkey Drive-In is an institution in Conneaut, Ohio. The on-the-ground directions in the book are non-existant, and of course our Rand-McNally atlas doesn't exactly have a city map of Conneaut, so our first step was to find the place. After driving from the highway to Lake Erie and back by the historic train depot, we gave up and called. A chipper, high-school cheerleader answered, and gave us one-step-at-a-time directions, promising to "stay with us" until we made it. ("OK, are you headed toward the lake?" "Um, yes" [we weren't]. "OK, so, you'll have to turn around." "oh, ok... [believable pause] Done." "Have you passed a Big K?" "Sure." [we hadn't] "OK, well, we're on the other street, so you'll have to make a left until you see a mobil station." "...Great. Fine, we're there..." and so on.)

It was kind of miraculous that we made it at all, actually.

The White Turkey Drive-In is a summer-only ... drive-in ... with stools at the counter and picnic tables around the back. They're schtick is a "secret-recipe" turkey, sort of like a juicy pulled-turkey sandwich, as well as root beer and tons of types of ice cream fountain drinks.



And cheerleaders.



Matt got a Turkey Sandwich and I got the "Large Marge," which is a turkey sandwich plus cheese and bacon. Because really, what can't be improved by the addition of cheese and bacon? And I got a root beer float, which was made with a huge swirl of soft-serv vanilla, and bubbled over the frosted mug when I stirred. It is unclear what the process of turkey preparation is, but according to the menu, the owners and 8 workers spent all of January preparing 8,000 pounds of turkey for consumption during the 2007 season.



We spent more time finding the place than scarfing down our turkey sandwiches, but we were satisfied that we'd experienced a bit of Americana by the time we'd left. The main street, decorated at intervals with flags, lead us back to I-90.



And as the sun set, the tops of the corn were illuminated by the horizontal light, and the white farmhouses glowed orange, a bald eagle kept pace with the car for a split second, and then veered left, out of sight.



No shit.