The Art of Racing Home in the Rain
Aug. 23rd, 2009 05:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
captainsblogI have no idea why I'm using Pete Townshend for this entry, other than having listened to half of Quadrophenia on the way home.
But yeah, like, wow. Six days, almost 1,300 miles, spent in at least parts of four states (if you count the stretch of 17/I-86 that dips into Pennsylvania and is known as the "DMZ" because NYS troopers can't write tickets in it), and at least yesterday and today, spent in almost a constant state of precipitation when, but only when, I was driving.
It almost got to be comical after awhile. From the time I began my journey out of Massachusetts at about 11 yesterday morning, until the moment I pulled into our driveway about an hour before I started writing this, it rained. Not constantly, but consistently. Every. Freakin'. HOUR. Usually coming down in direct proportion to (a) the amount of traffic, (b) the amount of construction equipment, and (c) the amount of dark. Yet for the roughly 12 of those hours I was awake but not driving, either on a train or at the game, there was nary a drop. By far the worst of it was the half-hour after returning from the Metro North train, as I headed to settle in at a hotel I've stayed at in the past just past the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge. All three of the above variables were in play, I was exhausted to beat the band, and if the hotel had been sold out (as it was, I got the handicapped room on the third floor, which I presume was the last single left), I would've slept in the car rather than risk any further driving at that hour.
Even with all that, though (plus an annoying detour off 390 on the almost last leg of the trip), I made it from Hudson to home in just over five hours.
----
The only sadness in the mix is that I cannot report a Mission: Accomplished with someone that most of you know as "Gladys" from either my reports or Eleanor's. Struck out, not even swinging, without anyone even getting to say a kind or unkind word face to face. Still, I discovered Salem as a town far more profound than the witchery tourist trap I'd assumed it to be. It's full of good food, fun shops, a serious museum with amazing (mainly) Asian art
-yeah, like that- plus, if you act now, pirates!
Despite Gladys going (we now think permanently) missing on me, I spent most of those waking Massachusetts hours with some of the finest friends one can have, all just as absent in recent years, one for more than three decades:
Who better to bless this mission of friendship to the far corner of a state than someone named Hope? (She wound up treating me to lunch, thereby killing my joke about leaving the tip at Gulu Gulu so I could honor Obama's nearby visit with "Hope and change.") She's as sweet as I always remember, and we shared many a story old and new.
As I did, that night and yesterday morning, with the best man from my wedding (Gladys had been on Eleanor's side):
It's hard to believe I only lived with Jim for three years of my life (much of them with his wife Jean also living with us). Three years out of 50 don't amount to much on the calendar- six percent is a sales tax or a realtor's commission in most places- but those times stayed with me and built a base of friendship that neither time nor distance can alter. We picked up with so many things we'd left off with as far back as a decade ago- friends from then, family on both ends from more recently. And although I didn't succeed in reconciling with Eleanor's friend, I wound up present as Jim and his nearest brother wound up melting some recent and unfortunate ice.
Alas, I could not help the Red Sox until I left the state; but then, I didn't help the Mets bloody much, either. I won't repeat the stories or pictures I've already put up on my baseball blog and linked, mostly, to FB; it's here if you care. Suffice it, though, that I connected far more with memories from 40 years ago than I ever would have expected or even dreamed about. Even so, I'm home in the best place of all now- even if today would have produced a Citi Field replica rather than a t-shirt I've already got ketchup stains on, and one of the few baseball experiences I've still never experienced: an unassisted triple play. Against the Mets, of course.
Back to work, and relative normalcy, tomorrow.
But yeah, like, wow. Six days, almost 1,300 miles, spent in at least parts of four states (if you count the stretch of 17/I-86 that dips into Pennsylvania and is known as the "DMZ" because NYS troopers can't write tickets in it), and at least yesterday and today, spent in almost a constant state of precipitation when, but only when, I was driving.
It almost got to be comical after awhile. From the time I began my journey out of Massachusetts at about 11 yesterday morning, until the moment I pulled into our driveway about an hour before I started writing this, it rained. Not constantly, but consistently. Every. Freakin'. HOUR. Usually coming down in direct proportion to (a) the amount of traffic, (b) the amount of construction equipment, and (c) the amount of dark. Yet for the roughly 12 of those hours I was awake but not driving, either on a train or at the game, there was nary a drop. By far the worst of it was the half-hour after returning from the Metro North train, as I headed to settle in at a hotel I've stayed at in the past just past the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge. All three of the above variables were in play, I was exhausted to beat the band, and if the hotel had been sold out (as it was, I got the handicapped room on the third floor, which I presume was the last single left), I would've slept in the car rather than risk any further driving at that hour.
Even with all that, though (plus an annoying detour off 390 on the almost last leg of the trip), I made it from Hudson to home in just over five hours.
----
The only sadness in the mix is that I cannot report a Mission: Accomplished with someone that most of you know as "Gladys" from either my reports or Eleanor's. Struck out, not even swinging, without anyone even getting to say a kind or unkind word face to face. Still, I discovered Salem as a town far more profound than the witchery tourist trap I'd assumed it to be. It's full of good food, fun shops, a serious museum with amazing (mainly) Asian art
-yeah, like that- plus, if you act now, pirates!
Despite Gladys going (we now think permanently) missing on me, I spent most of those waking Massachusetts hours with some of the finest friends one can have, all just as absent in recent years, one for more than three decades:
Who better to bless this mission of friendship to the far corner of a state than someone named Hope? (She wound up treating me to lunch, thereby killing my joke about leaving the tip at Gulu Gulu so I could honor Obama's nearby visit with "Hope and change.") She's as sweet as I always remember, and we shared many a story old and new.
As I did, that night and yesterday morning, with the best man from my wedding (Gladys had been on Eleanor's side):
It's hard to believe I only lived with Jim for three years of my life (much of them with his wife Jean also living with us). Three years out of 50 don't amount to much on the calendar- six percent is a sales tax or a realtor's commission in most places- but those times stayed with me and built a base of friendship that neither time nor distance can alter. We picked up with so many things we'd left off with as far back as a decade ago- friends from then, family on both ends from more recently. And although I didn't succeed in reconciling with Eleanor's friend, I wound up present as Jim and his nearest brother wound up melting some recent and unfortunate ice.
Alas, I could not help the Red Sox until I left the state; but then, I didn't help the Mets bloody much, either. I won't repeat the stories or pictures I've already put up on my baseball blog and linked, mostly, to FB; it's here if you care. Suffice it, though, that I connected far more with memories from 40 years ago than I ever would have expected or even dreamed about. Even so, I'm home in the best place of all now- even if today would have produced a Citi Field replica rather than a t-shirt I've already got ketchup stains on, and one of the few baseball experiences I've still never experienced: an unassisted triple play. Against the Mets, of course.
Back to work, and relative normalcy, tomorrow.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 10:11 pm (UTC)What is: what people in the UK do 9 times out of 10?
Speaking of your title..
Date: 2009-08-24 08:41 pm (UTC)Re: Speaking of your title..
Date: 2009-08-24 09:01 pm (UTC)Re: Speaking of your title..
Date: 2009-08-24 09:29 pm (UTC)And thanks for reminding me that I need to put Merle's Door on my list.