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Road Trip – New England and Eastern New York

Sunday, September 6th, 2015
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Road Trip – New England and Eastern New York Cover

I’ve just added a PDF of “Road Trip – New England and Eastern New York” assembled from out of copyright images on the New York Library Digital Archive to my Trail of Cthulhu resources.

The idea I’m toying with is one or more scenarios for Trail of Cthulhu (or I may go with Call of Cthulhu) in which the  Investigators find a damaged copy of “The Ideal Tour New England Road Trip 1920” with notes by an aquaintance. I’ve not deciced yet if the aquainance turns up dead in suspicious circumstances or simply disappeared. I’m working on the damaged version which will have margin notes, torn out pages, burnt parts, (blood) stains, inserted notes, some receipts and other clues.

I’m going to use “Road Trip” as a secondary source both for myself and the Investigators. They can come across a copy of “Road Trip” quite easily – getting it from the library, buying it in a book store, finding it in the aquaintances flat (I’ll be using one of the apartments from “Worlds Loose Leaf Album of Apartment Houses 1910” for that) or being given it by a helpful NPC.

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One Response to Road Trip – New England and Eastern New York

masodo Wednesday, August 16th, 2017

Hey Mark, thanks for all the hard work in preserving this book. I have downloaded this resource and have to smile as I turn through its pages.
I was taken by the poem on page three and was curious of its author and learned that what is presented is the first and last stanza from "The Cry of the Dreamer" by John Boyle O Reilly - And since I have gone this far let me share with you the poem in its entirety for your amusement:

The Cry of the Dreamer - John Boyle O Reilly


I am tired of planning and toiling
In the crowded hives of men;
Heart-weary of building and spoiling,
And spoiling and building again.
And I long for the dear old river,
Where I dreamed my youth away;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.

I am sick of the showy seeming
Of a life that is half a lie;
Of the faces lined with scheming
In the throng that hurries by.
From the sleepless thoughts' endeavour,
I would go where the children play;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a thinker dies in a day.

I can feel no pride, but pity
For the burdens the rich endure;
There is nothing sweet in the city
But the patient lives of the poor.
Oh, the little hands too skillful,
And the child-mind choked with weeds!
The daughter's heart grown willful,
And the father's heart that bleeds!

No, no! from the street's rude bustle,
From the trophies of mart and stage,
I would fly to the woods' low rustle
And the meadows' kindly page.
Let me dream as of old by the river,
And be loved for the dream alway;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.

impworks © Copyright Mark Caldwell 1996 - 2018