As we drove down Peninsula Drive, a sign for PRESQUE ISLE PARTNERSHIP DONATIONS appeared.

We looked at each other.

We’d loved this place. We couldn’t not make a donation.

I pulled in.

“How much should I give?” I wondered aloud.

“Enough so that it makes a difference, but not so much that we’re negating the savings from charging for free,” Ben suggested.

That seemed fair.

We pulled up to what appeared to be a line of senior citizens underneath a tent. These were definitely volunteers. I wondered what they did at Presque Isle when they weren’t collecting donations at a drive-thru.

“What’s Stage IV mean, sweetie?” the woman who was standing first in line asked me, pointing to my license plate.

We’d decided to have breakfast on the beach that day. We’d purchased a number of beachy snacks and pastries at Walmart that morning, with plans to head over to Beach #8 to charge the car, use the facilities, toss out our trash, and enjoy what was left at the sunrise.

But first, a mission. We’d been informed that Krispee Creme was giving out a free donut to anyone who had proof of their vaccination shot. Ben was bound and determined to get his - he’d been vaccinated upon his return to the US, shots not yet available in the country he was coming from, and he’d earned himself that donut, dammit! We had to find out if what we’d been told was true.

“I think I heard something about that months ago,” I told him. “That promotion probably ended by now…”

“No! Not yet! I wasn’t even here yet! I want my free donut!”

“Um, Chris…” Ben finally spoke. “This place has everything. Free car charging. Bathrooms. Trash. The beach. Chris… why would we go anywhere else?”

I explained that we were on a road trip. We had to hit the road again. We’d come to see this place, and we’d seen it. Maybe we could charge the car a bit and go for a swim… maybe we could even spend the night somewhere and explore a bit more in the morning. But we had to continue… we couldn’t allow ourselves to be lulled into a long-term stay in the first beautiful spot we found.

“But… it’s really beautiful,” Ben interrupted. “And, I mean… free charging…”

“Well, where do you live?” she asked me.

“In upstate New York,” I replied, not fully aware that we hadn’t hit the PA border yet. (It seemed like we’d been driving for hours!)

“What part?” she asked me.

“Geneva.”

“Well, why don’t you just say Geneva, then?”

The old man was laughing some more.

“Do you know Geneva?” I asked her, surprised. Of course she knew Geneva, she told me. Geneva was beautiful. I should be proud of being from Geneva, and should lead with that - not “upstate New York.”

We ended the conversation with a discussion of our later route, and then they left. Later, I wished I’d offered to join her at her Rotary meeting - I think that would have been fun.

Ben had never seen Niagara Falls before. We arrived at 9:15 p.m., and though the sign said that there should be a charge until 10, there was nobody at the ticket booth and the gate was open. Score! Mike, Will, and Rob had been here many times before and knew all of the good viewing spots, so we got to see the falls from nearly every angle…

In the weeks leading up to the trip I’d have a chance encounter with a fellow Tesla owner at the Supercharger in Liverpool, NY. He was a young man with a Model 3 performance edition. With its dark tint and chrome delete kit, our cars could have been twins in appearance. He’d been on a road trip of his own for a few weeks, heading up from the southern states back to his home city, Chicago. He invited me to come over and check out his car.

A few months back I let a good friend, Benjamin, know that I’d begun planning a ‘road trip’ journey for my new Model 3.

I figured that Ben would want to join me in some strategizing for my upcoming quest. I never expected he’d want to join me on it. But when I told him what I was planning, his first concerns were whether, with my health, a trip on the road was something I’d be able to handle. When I told him I was going to do a few shorter ones first, to try to find out, he asked me to wait until he visited the US in a few months.

“Let’s go together,” he suggested. “I can help you if you need help along the way.”

Dog Mode has become a daily part of our lives this year. Trojan doesn’t like being left behind on the boat - major FOMO for this puppy - so I try to bring her for walks even for mundane things like using the bathhouse. No puppies allowed in there, of course - so Trojan takes her position in the car, occasionally in her ‘puppy duffel’ but sometimes up on her seat, and stares intently at the bathhouse door until I come back out. I give her a crazy wave and she stands up and wags her tail, probably counting down the seconds until we’re reunited. Dog Mode makes that possible.

As a kid I remember spotting them for the first time. They adorned the back of a Mercedes convertible that belonged to the founder of a chain of drug stores, Henry A. Panasci, Sr. He’d tool around town with the top down, FAYS splashed across his license plate - the stores were named for his mother, Faye - and everyone in town immediately knew who he was. I remember how impressed everyone on the school bus was, watching this captain of industry pass us…