Dartmouth is in a cute little New England town on the boarder between Vermont and New Hampshire. Kind of the middle of nowhere. We had a nice burrito and wandered about for a little while. One thing I noticed was all of the women appeared to be anorexic. There must not be any fish in the White River. 
I enjoyed the old Bob Newhart show, the one set in Vermont, not the one set in the City. Earlier this month I spent a day in Vermont, every time things went quiet the theme song started playing in my head. I kept looking around and never did find Larry and Daryl and Daryl.
It felt a bit like home, 32 degrees, a steady 40 mile an hour wind, and dense fog with visibility of around 25 feet. Last Monday I took the steam train to the top of Mt. Washington in New Hampshire. I didn't know it was possible to have dense fog when it was 32 degrees with a mountain shaking wind, but the locals just shrugged and said "what weather?" 
I stopped to warn her that Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Being a Turkey, she ignored me and rapidly disappeared into the north Michigan Woods. 