Watery gloom
Yesterday (Wednesday, February 22, 2012) The Keed used the automated car-wash at Auto-Wash in nearby Canandaigua, first time ever for an automated car-wash.
Auto-Wash is the place we have our two cars dolled up every year. Auto doll-up seems to be beyond the ability of us old geezers. Doll-up would take us all day, or even two days; whereas Auto-Wash can do it in a couple hours.
I think Auto-Wash is also doing doll-ups for nearby auto dealers.
They have a single-lane automated car-wash, plus spray-booths (which I used to do until I heard they were reusing salt-water) and a vacuum-station.
We’ve come to personally know the owner, a mere kid, who’s very much a car-nut like me. His greatest pleasure is driving home some of the BMWs and Corvettes he’s supposed to doll-up.
Last Sunday morning (February 19, 2012) I took my younger brother and his wife, who were visiting from northern Delaware, down to Cartwright’s Maple-Tree Inn, about 50-60 miles south of where we live.
It’s way out in the middle of nowhere, and is only open a few months each year, when maple-sap is running.
They serve all-you-can-eat buckwheat pancakes with the maple-syrup they make.
Plus sausage, ham and/or eggs if you want.
And coffee.
I’ve been there a few times myself, with retirees of Regional Transit Service.
But my wife had never been, nor my brother, of course.
The place is world-famous, it attracts patrons from all over the planet.
When we arrived in the crowded parking-lot, we noticed a Tennessee license-plate. On weekdays with the Transit retirees, the parking-lot is full of glitzy tour-buses, disgorging creaky geezers with walkers and full oxygen rigs.
Maple-Tree Inn had just opened February 14, and it was Sunday morning.
A line was outside, and it got longer after we got inside.
It’s located high in the outback of the eastern slope of the wide Genesee river-valley.
The Genesee river-valley was this nation’s first breadbasket, primarily because of canals.
A canal went down the Genesee valley. It connected with the Erie Canal in Rochester.
At that time Rochester was known as the “Flour City.” The Genesee river flows through Rochester, and changes in river-elevation could be harnessed to mill flour.
Maple-Tree Inn is in the town of Angelica, but far from the actual village of Angelica.
More Angelica township, except in New York State they’re called towns.
The village it’s near is Short-Tract, little more than a couple crumbling 19th-century farm-houses, and a junction of two roads.
Blink and you’ll miss Short-Tract.
The standing joke I always had was if the Governor of New York State actually knew where Short-Tract was.
A coworker at the Messenger newspaper did. He drove through Short-Tract to get home.
Maple-Tree Inn is at a high enough elevation to get more snow, which accumulates on roads.
Those roads were apparently sanded as well as salted, so our van returned filthy.
Normally I accept the winter road-filth, and wash it off come Spring.
It’s usually not too bad.
But after Maple-Tree the van was extraordinarily filthy.
It’s white, so the filth showed.
I didn’t wanna leave it until Spring, so I decided to try the automated car-wash at Auto-Wash.
Quite naturally, I drove up to the car-wash entrance from an exit-lane.
A kid came out.
“As you can see,” I said; “I’ve never done this before.”
“You have to come in past the pay-station,” the kid said. “Just drive around and I’ll join you.”
That pay-station is new. It wasn’t there last November.
“We’ve had it about two months,” the kid said.
“Welcome to Auto-Wash,” it said. A pretty blonde was smiling at me from a glaring touch-screen monitor.
“We want to make your car-wash experience pleasant.”
“Oh for heaven sake,” I said.
The kid laughed.
“Which car-wash do you want, ‘basic,’ ‘intermediate,’ or ‘the works?’”
I pushed “basic.”
“How do you wish to pay?”
I pushed “credit-card.”
I inserted my credit-card after various fumbling, but it didn’t read.
“Here, let me try it,” the kid said.
The machine charged me eight bucks, a gate raised, so now I could aim at the car-wash.
The kid parted two huge clear-plastic curtains and waved me into the misty maw.
I closed my driver-window as the kid unholstered a spray-wand.
“Use the Force, Luke!”
He sprayed the van’s filthy flanks, just like I used to do in the spray-booth.
Um, it’s not fully automated if a human has to do that.
“Hands off steering-wheel, foot off brake, transmission in neutral.”
My van’s left tires were negotiating a narrow channel which apparently had some gizmo to advance my car.
That channel was not wide enough to accommodate the tires of a Corvette.
But I doubt a Corvette-owner would submit his pride-and-joy to an automated car-wash.
We disappeared into the watery gloom, kid spraying the van’s rear.
A gigantic eight-foot drapery of three-inch wide towels started doing the shimmy-shake from the ceiling.
Water was gushing from all over.
There also had been something about retracting my radio-antenna, which I can’t do.
I hoped it would survive.
A second shimmy-shake started to boogaloo.
Large puff-balls started rotating to clean the car-sides.
Still not done, we exited the deluge into what I guess is the drying area.
I heard giant motors revving up.
Giant ducts appeared above and beside the car, still moving slowly.
A gigantic blow-dryer.
It was blowing droplets off the windshield, and also lifting the wiper-blades.
Finally, into the daylight.
“Have a nice day,” the kid said, after toweling off the mirrors.
Our van was spotless when I looked at it later.
No filth at all.
It looked like it had just been dolled up.
• “The Keed” is of course me, Bob Hughes.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and its environs.
• The “Genesee river” (“jen-uh-SEE”) is a fairly large river that runs south-to-north across Western New York, runs through Rochester, including over falls, and empties into Lake Ontario.
• The “Messenger newspaper” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger, from where I retired six years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)
Auto-Wash is the place we have our two cars dolled up every year. Auto doll-up seems to be beyond the ability of us old geezers. Doll-up would take us all day, or even two days; whereas Auto-Wash can do it in a couple hours.
I think Auto-Wash is also doing doll-ups for nearby auto dealers.
They have a single-lane automated car-wash, plus spray-booths (which I used to do until I heard they were reusing salt-water) and a vacuum-station.
We’ve come to personally know the owner, a mere kid, who’s very much a car-nut like me. His greatest pleasure is driving home some of the BMWs and Corvettes he’s supposed to doll-up.
Last Sunday morning (February 19, 2012) I took my younger brother and his wife, who were visiting from northern Delaware, down to Cartwright’s Maple-Tree Inn, about 50-60 miles south of where we live.
It’s way out in the middle of nowhere, and is only open a few months each year, when maple-sap is running.
They serve all-you-can-eat buckwheat pancakes with the maple-syrup they make.
Plus sausage, ham and/or eggs if you want.
And coffee.
I’ve been there a few times myself, with retirees of Regional Transit Service.
But my wife had never been, nor my brother, of course.
The place is world-famous, it attracts patrons from all over the planet.
When we arrived in the crowded parking-lot, we noticed a Tennessee license-plate. On weekdays with the Transit retirees, the parking-lot is full of glitzy tour-buses, disgorging creaky geezers with walkers and full oxygen rigs.
Maple-Tree Inn had just opened February 14, and it was Sunday morning.
A line was outside, and it got longer after we got inside.
It’s located high in the outback of the eastern slope of the wide Genesee river-valley.
The Genesee river-valley was this nation’s first breadbasket, primarily because of canals.
A canal went down the Genesee valley. It connected with the Erie Canal in Rochester.
At that time Rochester was known as the “Flour City.” The Genesee river flows through Rochester, and changes in river-elevation could be harnessed to mill flour.
Maple-Tree Inn is in the town of Angelica, but far from the actual village of Angelica.
More Angelica township, except in New York State they’re called towns.
The village it’s near is Short-Tract, little more than a couple crumbling 19th-century farm-houses, and a junction of two roads.
Blink and you’ll miss Short-Tract.
The standing joke I always had was if the Governor of New York State actually knew where Short-Tract was.
A coworker at the Messenger newspaper did. He drove through Short-Tract to get home.
Maple-Tree Inn is at a high enough elevation to get more snow, which accumulates on roads.
Those roads were apparently sanded as well as salted, so our van returned filthy.
Normally I accept the winter road-filth, and wash it off come Spring.
It’s usually not too bad.
But after Maple-Tree the van was extraordinarily filthy.
It’s white, so the filth showed.
I didn’t wanna leave it until Spring, so I decided to try the automated car-wash at Auto-Wash.
Quite naturally, I drove up to the car-wash entrance from an exit-lane.
A kid came out.
“As you can see,” I said; “I’ve never done this before.”
“You have to come in past the pay-station,” the kid said. “Just drive around and I’ll join you.”
That pay-station is new. It wasn’t there last November.
“We’ve had it about two months,” the kid said.
“Welcome to Auto-Wash,” it said. A pretty blonde was smiling at me from a glaring touch-screen monitor.
“We want to make your car-wash experience pleasant.”
“Oh for heaven sake,” I said.
The kid laughed.
“Which car-wash do you want, ‘basic,’ ‘intermediate,’ or ‘the works?’”
I pushed “basic.”
“How do you wish to pay?”
I pushed “credit-card.”
I inserted my credit-card after various fumbling, but it didn’t read.
“Here, let me try it,” the kid said.
The machine charged me eight bucks, a gate raised, so now I could aim at the car-wash.
The kid parted two huge clear-plastic curtains and waved me into the misty maw.
I closed my driver-window as the kid unholstered a spray-wand.
“Use the Force, Luke!”
He sprayed the van’s filthy flanks, just like I used to do in the spray-booth.
Um, it’s not fully automated if a human has to do that.
“Hands off steering-wheel, foot off brake, transmission in neutral.”
My van’s left tires were negotiating a narrow channel which apparently had some gizmo to advance my car.
That channel was not wide enough to accommodate the tires of a Corvette.
But I doubt a Corvette-owner would submit his pride-and-joy to an automated car-wash.
We disappeared into the watery gloom, kid spraying the van’s rear.
A gigantic eight-foot drapery of three-inch wide towels started doing the shimmy-shake from the ceiling.
Water was gushing from all over.
There also had been something about retracting my radio-antenna, which I can’t do.
I hoped it would survive.
A second shimmy-shake started to boogaloo.
Large puff-balls started rotating to clean the car-sides.
Still not done, we exited the deluge into what I guess is the drying area.
I heard giant motors revving up.
Giant ducts appeared above and beside the car, still moving slowly.
A gigantic blow-dryer.
It was blowing droplets off the windshield, and also lifting the wiper-blades.
Finally, into the daylight.
“Have a nice day,” the kid said, after toweling off the mirrors.
Our van was spotless when I looked at it later.
No filth at all.
It looked like it had just been dolled up.
• “The Keed” is of course me, Bob Hughes.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and its environs.
• The “Genesee river” (“jen-uh-SEE”) is a fairly large river that runs south-to-north across Western New York, runs through Rochester, including over falls, and empties into Lake Ontario.
• The “Messenger newspaper” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger, from where I retired six years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)
posted by BobbaLew at 11:44 AM
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