The Curse of Greencastle

Two years ago I made the ill-fated trip to Greencastle, Indiana to attend the Fiber Event. I generally have the love for fiber festivals as you can find independent dye artists’ yarns, things you don’t see at your local yarn shop, and all things spinnerly. My first trip to Greencastle I nearly froze to death and had to employ all my good humor and sense of adventure to survive. I was so traumatized by this trip that I did not go last year.

So, this year, I was determined to have a good time. I invited my mom because she needed a break from all the current family drama. We were going to meet some of my knit friends at the event.

First clue it was not going to turn out as I had hoped was that the Fiber Event fell over Easter weekend.

Second clue it was not going to turn out as I had hoped was that there was no good way to get there from here – here being Louisville.

Third clue it was not going to turn out as I had hoped was that I forgot to put the Indiana map in the rental car.

My mom and I got up early and headed out. It was a gorgeous day, I had loaded up the iPod with my Diana Krall cd’s (I haven’t put my entire cd library on my iPod, yet, but that is a whole other post), I had water, I had given my mom a fiber festival kit, and the weather was phenomenal without a hint of snow, sleet, rain, hail, freezing rain, or frogs.

I had printed out the Google Map instructions for several different ways of getting to Greencastle. We decided to go through Bloomington as we weren’t in a hurry and the weather was good.

We got to Bloomington without a problem, until we tried to access the local Starbucks. I am all for restricting access to the main drag from the little strip malls every block. What I am not for is having to be psychic and know that there is a Starbucks at the far end of the strip mall a block away and that I need to turn NOW to be able to get there. That was the beginning of the end of the trip.

We got back on the road and followed the directions. I was driving along and got this sense that something wasn’t quite right, had looked at the odometer and determined how many more miles I would go before I called someone to find out just where in the hell we were. My mom, however, had arrived at freak out point much sooner because we didn’t have an Indiana map and she couldn’t follow along on it.

It is true in rural America that not much attention is paid to signage or to accurate signage. Directions tend to be more by a combination of landmarks and historical, yet, now invisible landmarks. Roads are called by the colloquial name and those bastards at Google Maps have yet to see fit to ensure their directions are locally, instead of globally eye in the sky, accurate.

After a call to Hubby and enduring a series of smug insinuations that I a. didn’t know how to type in the from and to directions accurately; b. had chosen the dumbest way to get where I was going; and c. interrogations as to why the Indiana map was in the car with him and not in the rental car with me and my mom, we got things straightened out and back on the road.

Incidental Aside: Smug Hubby went home and Google Mapped it for himself and came up with the same directions. I made him admit it after hearing his sheepish voice on the other end of the line later that evening.

We got to the Fiber Event without additional incident. I bought my Briar Rose straight away because I was not going to see a colorway I loved only to have it bought by someone else in the “thinking about it phase.” I also bought a drop spindle and a small amount of fiber to spin.

We had dinner with my knit friends at the scene of the cobbler scramble two years ago. We had a great time.

The hotel was okay. It met my expectations, which was good, because with some chains you never know. At least there were no bed bugs, no mold in the shower and things were clean.

Breakfast was not as pleasant. First they had Fox News on the television in the dining area. I think I heard the word socialist or some variation there of about 100 times in five minutes. Worse still were the two geezers pontificating about the horror of it all. They expressed horror and disgust at the suggestion the United States might possibly become like continental Europe. I felt like saying, “Yeah, I really don’t want to be like those poor bastards in Europe. I want to pay out a week’s pay each month in health insurance. Free university is for dilettantes. Public transportation is for hobos. Please, for the love of the saints and all that is holy, spare me all the old, hairy fat guys in speedos and women with nipage pointing due south at the beach."