rsc

pinkfish has posted about Dance Camp, so I don't have to say much more about it, except that it was wonderful as usual, and perhaps it's just as well that the weather is lousy today so we're not tempted to go to Gloucester and slave away in the garden, since we both have just about enough energy to move.

But getting there had its unexpected aspects. The place is dead simple to get to -- out the Turnpike, down the Taconic, and you're there. We did have to make a 30-mile detour early on because the person who was supposed to bring the cookies to Camp called

jwg at the crack of dawn to say that her car was dead and could we possibly detour to her office to pick them up. That was OK.

The thing is, once we got out of radio range of Boston, we switched to CDs of contradance bands, of which there were several in the car. The thing is, the space under the CD player only holds three disks, and we only wanted to listen to one of them, so once that one was over

jwg, who was driving, had to fish one out of the door pocket on his side so we could effect an exchange. Shortly after this, I began to wonder why we hadn't gotten to the exit for the Taconic yet. Shortly after that, we got pulled over for speeding -- the cop insisted that we had been going 88, which

jwg doubted, but there's no point arguing with a cop.

And then a few miles on, we came to an exit that was clearly the one after the Taconic; while we were fiddling with CDs neither of us was watching for road signs (I'm assuming that John was paying enough attention to avoid hitting other cars), so we must have passed it. Which means that the speeding ticket occurred on a stretch of road that we shouldn't have been on in the first place.

It was only later on that I realized this had all taken place on Friday the 13th.