My time at the RAC has been anything but boring. I remember my first day passing by a few charming used book shops, a second hand clothing store with a statue of the headless horseman, while the smell of incense drifted from a psychic parlor into my nostrils. Because of its quirks and oddities, Tarrytown feels like a village that has been trapped in time. As I drove up the long-winding roads to the Archive Center, I felt a sense of calm in the still air.