Let's get back to my adventures, shan't I? After a night of dignified conversation down at the local house of ales, we awoke the next morning and greeted the day with a journey to Ritter's, another diner in a city that, seemingly, when confronted with the question "is there any end to the number of diners in your fair vicinities?" would answer with a firm and confident "no, good sir or madam, there is not." Ritter's was not 60's themed, as Pamela's was, but it had also not changed in a number of decades, and its seats were filled primarily with septuagenarians.
While Kyle fancied himself a steak-and-eggs gentleman that morning, Grant and I figuratively embraced our proletarian sides and chose to tuck in to corned beef hash. When said hash arrived, our platters were so brimming that I thought I might have to run down to the local zoning board office and obtain the proper permits to construct in Grant's yard an old-fashioned hash shack, which were originally built by those peculiar Irish to store their excess hash. However, as I was getting up to head over to said office, Grant informed me they were closed on Sundays, so I gathered up all of the gusto I could, and sat back down to the challenge before me. Did I mention that the challenge was delicious? It most certainly was!
After our journey through the fortification of our breakfasts, we decided to take a journey of an entirely different and more literal kind. Our three-strong band of weekend merrymakers set out on a merry drive across the fiery fall-colored countryside, to pay a visit to Frank Lloyd Wright's merriest of domiciles, Fallingwater. It was a delightful excursion, marked notably by the swift and thorough education in cantilevers that our tour guide provided us with. Now, when passerby on the street inquire to me about cantilevers, as they are often wont to do, I will no longer have to hang my head in shame and make haste in the opposite direction from which said passerby approached me! I can answer with utmost confidence: "why my good fellow sir or kind madam, it is a diving board, of course."
Here is the house as it was on the day of our journey. As you can see, these Boy Scouts of America have all been cantilevered:
And here is the photo you are required by Pennsylvania state law to take before you leave:
On a disheartening note, this is the outdoor bathtub that the eight-hundred-and-fifty pound Frank Lloyd Wright died in at the age of ninety-two, whilst enjoying his favorite activity, bathing outdoors:
Needless to say, appreciating fine architecture leaves a gentleman feeling quite peckish, and thus it was time for us to depart back to the "Steely City," in search of our next hopefully-not-steely-at-all meal...another cliffhanger! Ding Dong!
