Road trip The second week of Sarahs road trip proved to be problematic. Even though she had voiced concerns about her boyfriends 'great idea’ of buying a used van to travel around in, she wasn’t about to say ‘I told you so’ when it broke down halfway across Kentucky.
She did, however, sigh when Josh asked if she would chip in for repairs. ‘I’m going to have to call my parents for this, you know,’ she said in a patient yet admonishing tone.
So the pair of them, accompanied by Sarah’s sister, Michelle, and a friend, Shane, were stranded for the next couple of days in Bardstown, population 11,700. They scrabbled to find something to do to entertain themselves while they waited for the engine part to arrive. They’d made sleeping arrangements at a quaint bed and breakfast near the historic district. It was either that or the row of bog standard, characterless motels out on the interstate highway that Sarah had convinced the others to avoid. ‘The mechanic said we should check out Bardstown. It might be pretty dull, but how bad can it be?’ she urged the group, not fully convinced they’d find something better. Michelle, who usually argued for the sake of it, was for once on board. The guys agreed.
Once the accommodation was taken care of, they set out for the bit of sightseeing that Bardstown had to offer. They perused the main road, with its dozen or so buildings that had survived from the town’s days as an early trading post. Each one had its own version of a knick-knack shop. They were charming, and contrary to Sarah’s gut feeling from before, there were much worse places to be stranded in.
They decided to enter one of the shops. Although more spacious than the others, it was still jam-packed with stuff. ‘Howdy, folks,’ the shop owner said as they entered, which was not so much ‘Welcome to Bardstown as ‘You break it, you buy it.’ Sarah suspected it was an age-appropriate comment, as they didn’t look like the most responsible bunch, despite the opposite being true in her case.
The shop was filled with the typical antique shop items: odd, mismatched china sets, silverware, wooden furniture, lampshades. The walls had dozens of old paintings only the painter could love and more stuffed birds than Sarah cared to see. The shop was void of people, eerily quiet, and even though she and Michelle found humour in the items, they kept their comments to themselves. The guys admired the old hunting rifles. ‘I hope there aren’t any bullets left in those,’ Michelle quipped, the words jarring the silence.
Less interested in gazing at objects, Sarah decided to strike up a conversation with the owner. ‘Have you lived here all your life?’ Sarah asked, imagining the answer to be ‘Yes.’
‘My parents were even born here. In fact, there might be more people in town I’m related to than not,’ the owner said, straight-faced. Sarah didn’t know what to make of that comment, but she politely laughed. ‘Where are you guys from?’ he asked. ‘Certainly not from around these parts.’
‘We’re from New Hampshire. On a road trip across America. We’re going to California,’ she said, wondering if she offered too much information, little as it was.
‘Oh, too many earthquakes out there for me,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay put.’
‘We were wondering where we should get something to eat. Any recommendations?’ she asked genuinely, but also because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘Everything’s safe to eat around here, except the burger joint out on the highway, next to the mechanic. Worst place to eat around. Worst mechanic in town, too.’ |