Top 10 Moonkey Calls

Prequel to the adventures of Canadian rum bacon, The Crumpets go vocal with monkey calls documenting the road-weary journey up the Eastern Seaboard to Canada.

Moonkey Call #1: The moonkey—a cross between a donkey and a moose—was invented over the delirious course of several 10+ hour driving days eventually resulting in the call of the moonkey, characterized by bellowing braying: Mooooon-key, moooon-key (to the inflection of the traditional donkey bray “heee hawww”).

Moonkey Call #2: The first natural stop for any good roadtrip is Lynchburg, Tennessee for a tour of Jack Daniels. While the distillery is in a dry county without enough voters to reverse the liquor ban, thankfully Jack’s newest product line Tennessee Honey Whiskey can in fact be purchased (and was purchased) in Knoxville.

Moonkey Call #3: New England is a smorgasbord for the discerning munchkin connoisseur as Dunkin’ Donuts are in ample supply. Though one begins to realize that perhaps it is not donuts that are necessarily more popular but coffee.

Moonkey Call #4: Along with an increase in Dunkin’ Donuts, vanity plates suddenly multiply in droves once one hits Maryland and D.C. They certainlyl do make sitting in morning traffic more entertaining.

Moonkey Call #5: There is little else in the world so detestable as driving through New Jersey—Newark/Hoboken—on a Monday morning. Not only does New Jersey seem rather fake at times with its “planted” agricultural fields to make itself appear to have green spaces near its urban megalopoli, but its horrendous signage for tunnelage near New York is a heinous travesty. Road signs looking like coiled snakes with poking arrows misaligning every which way cost poor Bertha a good hour of disorientation, though to the crew’s credit, most toll roads/bridges/tunnels were avoided.

Moonkey Call #6: Free from the trappings of smog and confusion that is infernal New Jersey, pristinely coiffed Connecticut is a refreshing Paradiso—or at least Purgatory. For the weary and hungry travelers, the small (deserted) town of Wallingford seems a likely choice for a rejuvenating lunch stop. Though the centerpiece of the town is a decrepit cemetery surrounded by abandoned businesses and empty streets save for a young mother and a stroller who darted away down an alley upon our approach, the Wallingford Pizza House is a beacon of repute by comparison. That is of course until the employees asked if cheese was needed. For a cheese pizza.

Moonkey Call #7: Apparently the wrath of New Jersey is vast as it can detect when a group of dissenters burn the hallowed New Jersey map for marshmallow-roasting fuel even all the way in New Hampshire. Jersey exacts her revenge by sending a raging storm with low lightning and thunder that shakes the ribcage to torment all dwellers of the open field.

Moonkey Call #8: Driving Maine’s interstates is a generally barren experience. Driving Maine’s coastal highways at dusk into nightfall is a generally foggy experience made more exciting by playing games with the rain spritz on the windshield. How long can you take it with the mist coagulating before you succumb to the windshield wiper? Exhilarating game. Try to top 45 minutes.

Moonkey Call #9: One of the most iconic lighthouses in Maine—the Bass Head Lighthouse—is in truth rather run-of-the-mill as far as lighthouse collecting goes. However, just north of the lighthouse is a trail that winds its way along the coast eventually to a secluded beach that rolls in the smoothest of rock pebbles. It is a beach full of dinosaur egg-like wallowing rocks, perfect for rock petting whilst listening to the incomparable sound of the sea pulling and culling the clocking rocks. Bliss.

Moonkey Call #10: If one is ever entering Acadia National Park in Maine after dark, be advised navigation will be an issue. The town of Bar Harbor is situated in such a way as to be accessible from the park via loop roads that cuts in and out of the park at various points that all look strangely similar. The National Park is itself on an island, making everything quite circuitous as it is. All of this, complicated by rain, windshield wars, starvation, a long drive, nightfall, texts from parents saying we’ll never make it and should get a hotel, general delirium, and (lovely) impromptu ukulele recitals from the backseat makes winding through a desolate national park pre-tourist season in the dead of night slightly surreal. But with a generous 17 minutes to spare before campground closure, we rolled up to our first night of camping at 9:43 to pouring rain in which a tent was raised (despite the initial lack of poles), the propane stove was ignited, pasta was cooked, appetites were assuaged, and the saving remedy of the night—Tennessee Honey Whiskey—was partaken of by all.

Most Wanted List: Moonkey/Moose/Moonquixote sitings

Crump It Up List: (see Rum Bacon crumpets)

Acknowledgements: Gratitude is owed to the following generous souls who made this leg of the Cajun Migration possible: to Scott Dowd, keeper of the dynamite, rounds-maker, and difference-splitter who recommended a lovely hike to Great Head and whose memory we sustained throughout the migration’s entirety, to the Girl Scout leaders who gave us kindling for our fire and who patiently aided us in getting it lit without contacting my Girl Scout council to report Girl Scout camping ineptitudes, to the Boy Scout scoutmaster who also aided us with our fire in another location, to Megan and Tom who so magnanimously provided hospitality, showers, and beds for our Philadelphia stay despite our delirious mental states, and finally to Lucia and Tomas for the fascinating psychology of your working relationship and advocacy work.

Peace out, Moonkey scouts. (Thanks for indulging the Crumpets, once again.)

Stay tuned for the ultimate sequel with tales of the last leg of the journey—Rivendell/Buffalo.