Navigating the Terriple Trip to Washington, D.c.

 When people talk about Washington, D.C., the conversation inevitably turns to traffic. They complain that it’s terrible. They’re right.

 

We must have driven 10 to 15 times a year back and forth to South Boston (VA) when we were here part time. Now we hardly go to D.C. at all.

 

The only traffic jam we face now is when the train chugs through town.

 

When we do go to Washington, we feel likecountry bumpkins, forgetting our old routes and becoming thoroughly confused by new ones.

 

A recent study found that Washington was second only to New York in travel delays for commuters. Worse than San Francisco and Los Angeles.

 

I’m told that downtown Washington has gotten easier to get through as more people work from home. But the beltway and outlying roads are still a mess.

 

Over time, I learned some coping mechanisms in traveling north and south across state. Interstate 95 is at its worst in the summer on Friday and Sunday afternoons and evenings. But backups at other times can be unpredictable. Once we were stuck for hours when a helicopter airlifted someone from an accident on the road.

 

Here are some alternatives:

 

U.S. 15: A favorite alternate route from South Boston D.C. was: Take U.S. 360 northeast until U.S. 15. at Keysville. Follow it all the way north to Culpeper. Then switch to U.S. 29 until we get to Interstate 66 at Gainesville. Follow that the rest of the way. The same route works in both directions. The GPS hates this route, wants to send you from Orange to Richmond.

 

The scenery is beautiful. There’s not a lot of traffic on this two-lane road, even on weekends. I don’t like driving it at night or in the rain, though. There isn’t much good food on the way, but the Mexican restaurant in Dillwyn isn’t bad. It takes maybe a half hour longer than I-95when I-95 is clear, but it can be shorter on summer weekends. (Oh, but don’t take on Columbus Day weekend—too many people are heading for the Blue Ridge Mountains to see the leaves.)

 

U.S. 29: Either from Danville or Lynchburg. Traffic is lighter than on I-95, but the stop lights in Charlottesville are maddening.

 

U.S.  1: It works from Ashland to Fredericksburg but is too slow north of there.

 

U.S. 301: Taking it from Richmond north isn’t a bad alternative if your residence or destination is east of Washington.

 

Interstate 81: Forget this. It’s too far out of the way and it gets back-ups too.

Biting the bullet and taking I-95: New express lanes near Fredericksburg may ease things somewhat, but it will cost you. In the past traffic has jammed up at the south end of these lanes. When that happens, the price goes up. We usually get to I-95 from South Boston by taking either U.S. 360 or Interstate 85 from South Hill, which is farther.

Amtrak: It’s a wonderful option if you don’t mind driving to Danville or Lynchburg and going without a car in Washington.

Bus: I suspect that the Virginia Breeze bus line would be a great option, but I haven’t tried it yet. There aren’t many stops.

 

Staying home: Of course, this is the easiest option.

 

 

 

Shameless Name Dropping: I Plead Guilty

The best thing about being AP’S Las Vegas correspondent was all of the musical performances I saw. Most of the casino/hotels invited the press for opening night. I felt a little guilty, as if I was taking a bribe, but they invited the local radio stations. Why not me?

 

My bosses wanted me to write more about news native to Las Vegas, but how could I avoid seeing these stars?

 

So indulge this old man a little as he recalls watching some of the greatest names in show business from 1968 to 1970.  Here is what I thought of them:

 

Dean Martin: His music was not to my taste, but I really don’t think he was the free-wheeling drinker that was his persona.

 

Liberace: He laughed along with the audience about his flamboyant costumes and kitschy act. A great entertainer.

 

Little Richard: He called himself the “Bronze Liberace,” but he lied to me about this age in an interview.

 

Hair, the Musical: A pastor reprimanded me in later years for seeing this innovative show four or five times. But the nudity only lasted five seconds, and I was sitting too far back to see much.

 

Frank Sinatra: There was nobody better. The city came alive when he was in town. He was obviously rested and well rehearsed.

 

Ella Fitzgerald: Why was the greatest jazz singer in history the opening act for Bobby Goldsboro, a flash in the pan?

 

Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington: These other African-American greats were relegated to second-rate lounge shows.

 

Wayne Newton: He was terrific, but he kept trying to show he was no longer the kid with the soprano voice who used to sing on Jackie Gleason’s show. 

 

Tony Bennett: Though he was one of my favorites, maybe he had an off night (or I did.)

 

Jack Jones: I loved it when he sang to my date at the table during one show.

 

Peggy Lee and Marlene Dietrich: They were still sexy in old age.

 

Elvis Presley: I attended his debut as portrayed in the movie “Elvis.” He wasn’t the Fat Elvis yet in 1969, though he did get a little winded at the end. Great show!

 

Tom Jones: If women really threw room keys and underwear onto the stage during his show, I never saw it.

 

Nancy Sinatra: There was not much there, but her father staged a great party afterward that I attended with Elvis present. My date was so impressed!

 

 

The Supremes: Their final concert together brought tons of celebrities, including Bill Russell.

 

Jose Feliciano: Time magazine profiled him after I wrote up my interview. When he caused a stir with his national anthem at the World Series, he told an AP reporter, “Say hello to Mike Doan for me.”

 

If it was just the music, I could have stayed in Vegas forever, but the Nevada media demanded too many local stories I didn’t care about. Real news was happening elsewhere. As soon as I left for San Francisco, management decided my successors could not go to those shows for free anymore.

 

But as Sinatra would sing, “They Can’t Take That Away from Me.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Than you, Miss Hiramoto!

Have you ever wished you could thank a teacher or mentor who contributed so much to your life?

 

I felt that way about Keiko Hiramoto, my El Cerrito High School Spanish teacher. At the time, in 1957, I thought: Why learn Spanish anyway? What good is it? Well, it was  quite good for me.

 

At first it was useful on trips to Mexico and Spain. “Quiero ir al aeropuerto, por favor,” I could say to the taxi driver. Of course, I couldn’t understand anything he said back. Years later, the Spanish helped me ask for directions as we traveled the Camino de Santiago in Spain.

 

It was especially useful when we went to Honduras to adopt our daughter Sara in 1990. My wife, Pickett, was well versed in Spanish, having spent a year in Spain as a student. But when she broke her leg on the trip, it was up to me to negotiate with hotels, food vendors and government authorities.

 

And when we left the country, waiting for the adoption to go through, I had to figure out how to pay a Honduran baby-sitter who spoke no English. It was quite difficult to talk to her about currency exchange rates in Spanish!

 

Later, when we wanted a foster child to be with Sara, none were assigned through the Arlington office. But when they found we could speak Spanish, we were assigned one whose family originated in El Salvador. And then came a big challenge: A 14-year-old from Guatemala, whose primary language was a Guatemalan indigenous dialect. She could speak some Spanish, though, and we conversed that way for six months at the dinner table.

 

Her father had paid a “coyote,” or immigration smuggler, lots of money to sneak her into this country. She had hoped to find a job but was really too young. The girl  went to stay with a relative, who abused her, and she just wanted to go back to Guatemala when she lived with us. She was miserable the whole time and was eventually flown back.

 

Amazingly, I can remember an awful lot of Spanish today, even if I can’t recall where I put my wallet or my phone.

 

I had forgotten about Spanish and Miss Hiramoto when I showed up at my 55^th high school reunion in 2014. When a few teachers were introduced, all of a sudden—there she was, only a few years older than her former students!

 

I explained what I had done with my Spanish and thanked her wholeheartedly. 

 

How often do you get to do that?