By Sallie Satterthwaite
Lifestyle Columnist

When we travel, we do mornings as though we were home: a brief walk, then breakfast of cereal, orange juice, and coffee in the motor home before continuing our journey. But on a recent venture through the Northeast, Wednesday morning caught us on I-84 in Connecticut, and nothing would do but Dave's ritual Wednesday breakfast out.

Waffle House has not made it this far north, so we looked for a local diner or Mom & Pop establishment. Finding none near our campground, we climbed back onto the interstate and passed several interchanges with no suggestion of an eatery. At Exit 74, as both my stomach and my husband began some serious growling, a serendipitous sign announced that The Traveler Restaurant was just ahead, in Union, Conn.

We pulled off and into a small parking lot. The Traveler met our down-homey criteria, with no particularly distinguishing characteristics on the outside except a sign indicating that this unobtrusive structure also sheltered a book store.

Although Union claims it is the smallest town in the state, the increasingly busy interstate highway has assured the success of Marty Doyle's Traveler Restaurant since its founding in 1970. But one day in 1983, Doyle had an even better idea.

Whether in spite of the pressures of the business, or perhaps because of them, Doyle was an avid reader and collector of books. He decided to thin his collection, by offering used books to the patrons of his restaurant free.

The idea caught on. Diners loved it, and brought Doyle their own surplus. He got boxes of books at flea markets and estate sales, book fairs and library sales. Schools and libraries contributed books they could no longer use or sell, and many are donated by people like us who hate to see books gathering mildew, unwanted. Sometimes boxes of books are on the restaurant's doorstep when the staff arrives to start cooking breakfast.

Books are everywhere. The entryway itself is an L-shaped wall of bookshelves blocking the main dining area from New England's frosty breath. Loaded shelves ring the room just above eye level; occasionally, where space permits, they fill a wall from ceiling to floor.

A staircase in one corner of the dining room descends to The Book Cellar, established in 1985, where second-hand books are for sale. According to information on the menu, there are about 20,000 books down there, organized into 100 subjects, prices beginning at 25 cents.

I stayed on the restaurant level. I have to steal moments furtively when exploring interesting eateries Dave thinks we're there for one purpose only, and browsing through non-food items is not it.

Nearly all of the books are old hard-covers, with only a few paperbacks among them. There were collections of Nancy Drew mysteries, travel guides, romances, old copies of The New Yorker and Time magazines, books by Charles Kuralt and Peter Jennings, even a few stacks of musty encyclopedias. The quality and variety of subjects were extensive; many were simply junk novels that their owners knew they'd never read again.

The walls below the book shelves were papered with plastic-protected letters, autographed photos, occasionally cartoons, and publication lists. Richard Bach ("Jonathan Livingston Seagull") had sent a photo, and there was a biography of Pulitzer winner John Toland. Dr. Seuss sent a drawing of the Cat in the Hat, with a jingle that ended, "If I were sure they'd let a cat in, I'd come there myself," and there were pages listing the works of Charles Schultz.

Faced with so many choices, my usual reaction is to freeze in indecision, and that would have happened on this hungry morning, but for my discovery of a notice: "Wednesday is 3-book day." Dave selected a bacon and egg sandwich; I chose for myself "Sunday Punch," described on the cover as a "delightfully funny tour through an imaginary world of American sport." Boxing is not my favorite sport, but witty Edwin Newman is one of my favorite wordsmiths.

I also picked up a 1940 American literature text, the flyleaf of which bears the names and addresses of its previous owners, students at the Oxford School in Avon, Conn. Built on a theme of eight noble values, the 600+ pages of "Highways" include short works by Jack London, Shakespeare, R.L. Stevenson, Lincoln, Carl Sandburg, Emerson, Hawthorne, O.W. Holmes, M.R. Rinehart, to name just a few. This treasury to dip into and read aloud will live in the camper.

I chose the third book for Dave, since he was obviously not going to neglect breakfast long enough to find one for himself. It's called "Inland Passage," by mystery writer George Harmon Coxe, the story of a 74-foot cruiser making the trip from Miami to New York via the Intracoastal Waterway. Dave covered much of that route himself a couple of years ago, and I knew that the locale, as well as the book's 1940s setting, would interest him.

Lucky for me, he had struck up a conversation with a couple at a nearby table. That's all that bought me enough time to eat breakfast myself.

The Traveler gives away nearly 2,000 books a week. That's about 100,000 a year, or an estimated 50 tons. We accounted for about five pounds' worth that August morning, and resumed our journey feeling well-nourished in every sense.

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