Williamstown, Mass: Photo journal

Just 34 miles consisting of one right-hand turn: Bromley, VT to Williamstown, MA in less than an hour.

Nice weather (not really) is in the works, so we are embracing the day trip. Our version of an approachable, recession-resistant vacation that does not require a cat sitter, much planning, or more than a quarter tank of petroleum distillate —perfect. What brought us to Williamstown was a common bond we shared with the place from our childhoods. Carey began a summer bike trip up the Cape there, and I went to tennis camp there for 4 or 5 summers. Both of us crashed in some dorms at one point in the summer of our 7th grade years, unbeknownst to us that our future spouses were perhaps yards away.

 

It’s a neat little town; very collegiate-seeming. [Editor’s note: humor doesn’t get more Saharan than Rob’s.]

[Lunch at the Purple Pub. We felt old being surrounded by co-eds in boat shoes. Most of the college girls at the table behind my substantial head were topless and very giggly—you just can’t see it because of my aforementioned head, but my smile tells the tale.]

[I used my Google Places app to help navigate us 800 feet from the restaurant to West’s Wine & Spirits, which we walked past on our way to lunch. If I hadn’t known where I was going we would have overshot the front door by 289 feet.]

[West’s had a nice selection of French and Italian wine. We honed in on a couple Beaujolais picks from Jean-Marc Burgaud and a Côtes du Rhône Villages from Domaine Grand Veneur. Onward.]

Welcome to the Toonerville Trolley. I was quite shocked to find it still standing and open for business. The last 15 years hasn’t been exactly gangbusters for the physical record business. But this place is different. It’s more about the experience, the lifestyle of music, and getting the opportunity to once again to flip something around in your hands.

Some vintage George Jones in vinyl? Done. Or perhaps the soundtrack to Last Tango in Paris? Yes, with assurance, by the owner himself, that you’ve made a damn good choice. I remember my first purchase at Toonerville, close to 17 years ago; it was Bob Dylan’s Desire. I channeled the Hurricane that summer, hated on whitey a bit, but ultimately moved on.

Here we are again. This time attempting to check in on FourSquare. I felt pretty much the same. A bit older, a bit more married, and more interested in Hank Williams than Dave Matthews, but more or less the same Rob.

[Bobby Bland surround by lycra in what may or may not have been his finest moment—we will let you decide.]

We wrapped up our day with a stop at an abandoned and incredibly creepy Greyhound race track. There was also an abandoned Greyhound bus in the parking lot, but I didn’t pick up on the irony until we were almost home and too late to document it with a photograph. More on this to come.

Our next day trip: destination, Rutland! Just kidding, we are going to coastal Mass. for an overnight. I’m desperate to hear a fog horn—I discussed this with Carey last night.

-Rob.

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