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wallpaperpainter · 4 years

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sartorialatlantan · 7 years

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When Traveling to Plattsburgh

This has to be said about Plattsburgh, New York. Unless you live close and I mean close, within a handful of hours tops, take a plane. This is not an easy town to get to. You cannot fly directly there. You have Montreal as an option; get your passport updated though. You can fly into Burlington, Vermont and take the ferry over. I think there's a ferry ride from Montreal too. I wouldn't know though. I drove. I drove with my wife and two daughters, 3 years old and 1-year-old from Atlanta, Georgia. Alpharetta to be exact, which is a touch north of the city. We left early, 5 in the morning, and started our two-day journey. My kids hadn't ever been in a car this long so this was definitely going to be interesting, an experiment in patience for us no doubt. We bought a Jeep Grand Cherokee a year prior for the occasion, something large and spacious to make the trip as comfortable as possible. It's no "land yacht" but it's big enough for two adults and two small children. We were scheduled to drive through several states on day one. We would make our way out of Georgia and into both the Carolinas and into West Virginia and not stop for food or real rest until we hit one of the many "burgs" of Virginia. To my surprise, the girls were doing quite well. It's amazing what a dual screen DVD player will do for your sanity. They had a regular rotation of their favorite movies and my oldest had mastered the art of interchanging the discs; only after the end credits, of course, she likes the music that plays while the words scroll up the screen.

Our first stop of any notable length was for lunch at southern roadside staple Cracker Barrel. I felt fried, eyes burning, stiff back, mild headache from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. You can go to bed as early as you like, it doesn't mean shit when your one-year-old is teething. When you've been driving for 7 hours and finally stop you're literally buzzing. We ate lunch with my wife's parents. They were on this trip with us riding in tandem from this point on. After the meal, I told my oldest daughter she could have something from the restaurant's general store. So naturally, we left with our bellies full and a pretend waffle maker. Waffles, butter, and syrup included. The plan from this point was to press on to Hagerstown, Maryland. There was no alternative, the town of Hager had to be our destination; our hotel reservations for the night were in said town. We would not arrive on time though. We weren't on the road ten minutes after leaving the Cracker Barrel parking lot when the tire pressure light came on. A little backstory on this tire…this damn tire. The low-pressure warning light had been coming on for weeks, maybe a month. My wife drives the Jeep and would routinely stop for air, only every time she'd stop and manually check it, the pressure would read normal. We figured maybe it's a bad sensor in the tire. Days before leaving, just to play it safe, we take it to the service center. They check it, do whatever it is they do and give it a clean bill. Must be a bad sensor… As it would turn out on the trip, there was a nail in the tire. Thanks to the Internet, and the scattered Jeep dealers up the east coast, we were only delayed one hour and back on the road, free of charge. It meant arriving well past dinnertime, but we made it.

The second day we covered all the New England ground. I guess it was NewEngland. It's all a highway blur at this point. From Maryland we were back into West Virginia then into New Jersey, then Pennsylvania, or was Pennsylvania first, then New Jersey? Then finally we crossed into the state of New York…with an eternity to go. I haven't checked this on the map but from what I can tell Plattsburgh is the farthest tip north on the right side of the state and we drove straight up the side. I feel bad for people from New York State because, well, the rest of us just assume if you say you're from New York, you mean the city. I'm here to tell you, New York State is huge and open and full of country. There are hillbillies in Plattsburgh that could be from deep South Georgia just based on looks alone. But I'll get into that later. After a nine-hour second day drive, we arrived. And here I thought I felt fried the day before.

The whole time leading up to this trip my mother-in-law had been warning me to brace for an ugly town. "It's not a pretty town, it's old and rundown, but the lake is nice". She was really selling it (he said with jest.) She wasn't wrong. The town is old and rundown, but there was a certain charm to it. The house we stayed in was on Lake Champlain; if it weren't for the islands in view you'd swear it's an ocean, and I'm told that it's not even as big as the Great Lakes. The house is on the same street my wife's father and his six siblings grew up on. This is their hometown, and what an interesting hometown to have. The lake is gorgeous, and with it still being early June at this point, it's still freezing cold. I swear there must've been an un-thawed layer of ice down deep out there still. Nevertheless, we got in, we meaning my three-year-old (a child who has no issue with freezing temperatures apparently), me, and my soon-to-be brother-in-law. My daughter didn't go every day, but I did. My future brother-in-law Drew and I would routinely do shots of tequila and then carry a plastic bag full of beers down to the water; it's a classy look. You can get day-buzzed all you want but when you go waist-deep into 58-degree water, you sober right up. These day drinking lake days gave way to a food run that can only be done in this town.

Clare and Carl's. You've never heard of it, and that makes sense. Clare and Carl's is a sinking hot dog shack. Well, from what I could tell it's made of white bricks, maybe cinder blocks, but it is literally sinking. The ass of the store is literally going into the ground. I didn't look but the lore around the bathroom is that the rim of the toilet bowl is now ground level, like something out of Eastern Europe. I'm sure whomever I heard that from was exaggerating… then again it is possible. Naturally I asked, "Why not fix it?" but apparently, the shack owners don't own the land and have to "play it where it lies" so to speak. Clare and Carl's is famous, at least with my in-laws who no longer live in the town, for their Michigan's. (Michigan Red Hots as they're known.) I cannot describe the bun, I have tried and the closest I can come is that it looks like a miniature bread loaf that's been hollowed out in the middle, only the edges resemble something closer to a piece of white bread folded in half. But that's not really accurate either. I don't know what that damn thing was, but it was good. The Red Hot is a hot dog, and it is RED. It did not look like any dog I'd had before. The standard Michigan comes with meat sauce on top with raw diced onions. If you want to sound like you know your shit you order them buried. I would routinely order a brown bag's worth of "buried" Michigans. The onions go underneath the dog, meat sauce on top. The meat sauce is close to a no-bean chili sauce; only the meat has been ground and pounded into almost a paste, like wet sand. Delicious wet sand. I cannot recall now, but I believe they're finished off with a stroke of yellow mustard. They're individually wrapped and rolled tight in wax paper and off you go. They're locally known as Michigans, I call ‘em Plattsburgh Heroin; I ate a lot of those. Beer-fueled and hungry we would venture there routinely, about mid-day, warming up after a lake plunge. I never went over my head, Drew, and cousin Ben, did, they even swam out over their heads. I chose to keep my heart above the water line. Did I mention how cold the water was? A Michigan Red Hot will warm you right up.

There is not a lot to do in this town, aside from drink, swim, and eat. I'm told the locals, more so in the old days, also fought. I think that's common in isolated places, particularly hockey towns. You eat, drink, play and fight. I've never been so bored that I wanted to fist fight a stranger, or a friend, but I could imagine in the dead of winter in a town like Plattsburgh, you do what you need to, to pass the time. The military used to have a big presence in the town. Two branches I believe. I heard stories of the blue collar locals giving the Air Force guys shit for one reason or another, routinely causing fights to break out. There's a SUNY college in the town, I think that's what keeps it going now. The literal town was usually lively and buzzing with young people out to eat and drink. I'm sure there is more to do than what I experienced though, I don't want to seem like I'm putting the town down. We were there for a wedding. In this family, weddings also function as an excuse for a full family reunion. It's never quite everyone, but this visit only left us short three cousins. This being a reunion of sorts for my Irish-Catholic family-in-law, there was drinking, usually by lunch, and dancing, and socializing and eating and also drinking, did I mention drinking? No one gets out of hand, there are too many small children to look after, but the beer and wine flows.

Everyone in this family is unique. They've all got interesting lives, and do interesting things. Some more than others, but everyone's got a personality for sure. Everyone inevitably breaks off into groups for doing various activities. Drew and I routinely break away when we're in the same place. He and my sister-in-law live on the west coast. On one day, early into the trip, he and I decided to venture into town for liquor and cigars. The tequila was easy to come by, but we had to go into the old city for the cigar hunt. We first wandered into a smoke shop. Smoke shops, ironically, no longer specialize in smoke. It's just wall-to-wall vape accessories. The pipes and water bongs are on display in glass cases like relics from the past. Do you want to feel old? Get a conversation going with a young millennial about how they take in grass or nicotine. They're into some space-age tech. They don't even carry lighters. We quickly realized that this was not where we needed to be and proceeded down the street to a real cigar shop. We were not prepared for how real it would be. The buildings in this town are old, really old, and this cigar shop was the ground floor of one of the many old buildings. I don't know if they had a ventilation system for the air, but if they did it must've been broken. I like cigars, I like the smell of cigar smoke, but this…this was awful. You couldn't breathe. The air was brown. There were 4 or 5 old men sitting in a circle just puffing away, I guess they were used to not breathing. Our eyes instantly watered, I caught a buzz within seconds. I was taking short shallow breaths, trying my best not to cough and look like a total wimp. We quickly escaped to the humidor, the only smoke-free safe haven in the store. It was here where Drew said, "I don't think I want one anymore…" I was in agreement, but I knew both A. that I didn't want to leave empty-handed, tail between my legs and B. that I would want one at the wedding reception the next day. We made our selection, took a deep breath, then headed back into the store; we did our best to make little to no small talk at this point. That smell stayed with us and on us the rest of the day. You would have thought we rolled in tobacco leaves in a burning barn. Nevertheless, I smoked mine at the reception. We would later share the other near the end of the trip, late at night sipping tequila and whiskey, talking about David Foster Wallace with Ben and the advantages of Fresco wool in the summertime. (That last part was all me.)

When we weren't having a family hang at the rental house, we were out eating. One or two nights after the wedding a group of us, about 7 or 8, went to the famous Monopole dive bar. A place I'm told was home to many fights back in the day, the kind of bar where elbow room is a luxury no one can afford. On this particular night, it was dead. Some of us were buzzed, the rest were getting started and we were there to eat pizza and hot wings. The pizza was decent, a Sicilian-style pie, mostly bread with some sauce and cheese on it like an afterthought. But the wings, my god the wings! The sauce the majority of us agreed on was the Stoner Sauce. A spicy, honey mustard-based BBQ style sauce, holy lord was this good, so good that Drew and I ordered a second basket. They were so good, Drew and I returned the next night to get more, 40 or 50 more to take back for the group. There were too many family members who had not gone on the trip the first night, too many relatives who didn't know what they were missing. Even my father-in-law's brother Mike, who said he didn't like hot wings, ate and enjoyed them. Outside of my favorite wing establishments in Atlanta, these were the best wings I've had in a long time. I ate very many. I will again when we go back.

Another food-related highlight of the trip was the cold cheese pizza, again with Drew. Naturally, we assumed we were being pranked when cousin Mathieson told us to order a large pie with a side of cold cheese from Pizza Bono. It was 2 in the morning, and as drunken luck would have it, they were still taking delivery orders. Getting the order placed was a bit of a chore. I don't think the girl working the phones knew how to use one, or to talk to people, or take food orders. She damn near hung up on us before Drew even gave her the address. He said she seemed very confused when he asked for a side of cold cheese, (put off even) like she suspected we were pranking her, when in reality if this was a prank by Matt, she was a 3rd generation prank victim. We decided to wait out front for the driver, it was now past 2 a.m. and we didn't want to wake the whole house with a pizza delivery. There was an ongoing uncertainty as to whether or not this food would arrive. The way the order went, the suspicion that the whole thing was a joke, the time of night, the general deadness of the small town we were in. We hoped for pizza, but I think we were prepared to go to bed hungry. It was a very happy moment indeed when the driver pulled up, large pie in one hand and a take-out container filled with thick shredded fresh mozzarella cheese in the other. Turns out, this was no joke. You sprinkle a heaping pile of cold fresh mozzarella on your slices and go to town. It doesn't add anything noteworthy to the slice, but it's great. I recently had this confirmed by a native Upstate New Yorker who cuts my hair, that yes, cold cheese pizza is indeed a thing and it was no joke. You could probably get this anywhere; you just might get looked at funny. Try it though if you're ever in Upstate.

One of the first things that struck me in Plattsburgh is its overall lack of air conditioning. I'm southern, Atlanta southern, I hate humidity and heat and deal with it far too often. Plattsburgh, though, is lucky to get six weeks of summer before it's jacket weather again, so AC is not a priority. This was an issue for me. To keep from sweating I need a cool, dry 72 or below. Anything above that and I start to melt. Fortunately for me, our room had a spot cooler, so it stayed relatively cool in there. Everywhere else though…I was bordering on miserable. I was alone in this though, I usually am. The lack of AC made my trip to local grease trap, Homestead, interesting. The food there was superb. I just had to eat while simultaneously wiping my forehead. This was basically a Yankee Waffle House. The crowd though could've easily been transplanted from Griffin, Georgia. I saw teased-up bangs on a woman that I haven't seen since my late 80s childhood. It's a total head scratcher to see red necks with northern accents. I was with my father-in-law, who has always said they were from a red neck town, turns out he was being serious. We both ordered the corned beef hash and eggs. I don't love corned beef hash, I generally like it, but this hash blew my mind. It was so tightly minced and just about over-fried, crisp and connected on the outside and soft and delectable in the middle. That, with some buttered toast to dip into my sunny-up eggs, I was in heaven, sweating and ready to leave, but heaven all the same.

I have to apologize now to every in-law relative who didn't get mentioned. There was a lot more on this trip and I could go on for pages and pages, though there are some things best left out. This was my first trip to their hometown and while I didn't love the drive the destination was great. I'm not pushing people over to go back tomorrow, but I will go back, maybe when my kids are out of diapers and my pockets are deep enough to afford the airfare. Funny enough, some of the selling points for visiting didn't even happen. You're an hour from Montreal; you can day trip to another country for crying out loud! We didn't make the journey though, no passports for the kiddos. Then, there's all of Burlington, Vermont, the Ben and Jerry's factory too. We didn't do any of it, just talked about it and ultimately decided to relax on the porch instead and have another beer. So when visiting Plattsburgh, New York, take a plane and go on an empty stomach. If you find yourself desperate to do something to occupy your time, there's great food, great beer at Valcour Brewing, you can swim in Lake Champlain, even if it's cold, and I guess if it comes down to it, head to the Monopole and pick a fight with one of the many grizzled, pickle-nosed regulars. You'll probably lose the fight, but oh what a story you'd have.

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