Monday November 19, 2001

I woke up that morning to the sound of Howard getting ready for work. His coffee strategy must have worked, because he had managed to get through most of his morning routine without waking me. I lay around for a while, but I really wanted to get going myself, so I got up, got dressed, and got my stuff together.

I was ready to leave at just about the same time that Howard was. We walked out of the building, Howard headed off to his subway, and I went around the corner to my car.

As I started loading up my stuff I decided to fold the back seat down and make room for the jag's computer so I wouldn't have to fuck with it when I had the big, heavy, bulky unit in my hands. At this point I *really* just wanted to get on the road without the detour into Harlem. I had my route all planned out to between where I was and the Henry Hudson Expressway. I could just zip across the George Washington Bridge and be on my way, but I had committed to taking this computer away. In fact it was one of the reasons I drove the car instead of taking the bus. Truth be told I did want to take possession of the computer anyway.

As I got in the driver seat, strapped myself in, I reminded myself how glad I was I had this trusty, reliable, almost-new car to travel in. I started it up, put it in gear, and as soon as I pulled away from the curb the engine temperature warning light came on. That was the first time I'd ever seen it illuminated in this car.

A shock of adrenaline went through my system as I contemplated what to do. My first thought was that the engine was still stone cold, and there was no way it could be overheating after having just been started up. I felt like I should be hearing Scottie in The Naked Time saying, "I cannot change the laws of physics!" It was probably just a malfunction in the sensor. But even still I had AAA and a special VW emergency service number I could call just in case. I decided to pull over to the curb and make sure that the radiator wasn't somehow bubbling over.

I drove to the end of the street and pulled to the curb. By that time the engine temperature light was back off again. I knew it was a crazy, idiosyncratic bug, but it still filled me with doubt and anxiety when I had a considerable travel distance ahead of me.

My pre-planned route back to the Henry Hudson the was panning out nicely. As before, my NYC driving experience wound up being 99% waiting for red lights. The few times I was in motion I had behaved like the locals and constantly changed lanes in a never-ending quest to get to point B a few seconds more quickly. Some times it paid off. Some times it didn't. At one point I dodged into the right lane. I was behind a van. Everyone was waiting for a red light, but then it looked as if the van might not continue moving with traffic. I looked up, and the van was directly beside a "No Standing" sign. But as traffic started moving again, doors opened and workmen started getting out of the van. I was pissed. I was so pissed, in fact, that I violated my own doctrine. I'm always complaining that drivers in NYC use their horns to express their emotions rather than for any practical purpose, as they're constantly being sounded in situations where they'll have absolutely no impact on the particular circumstances. Well, I figured I'd act like a typical New Yorker and I let my horn blast for a couple seconds before finally getting past him.

I was quickly back on the Henry Hudson Expressway heading North. The congestion at mid-town was nothing like it was on Thursday afternoon. Before long I was on the elevated section moving at highway speeds.

I wasn't sure where to get off to get to the jag's apartment on 119th Street. I saw an exit for 95th street, but decided to see if I couldn't get a little closer. I drove on for some time, but the next sign I saw was for 125th. I took the exit and emerged onto surface streets. I looked around quickly to see if it was evident how to get back on the expressway. I didn't see any on ramps. Hmm.

I crossed over a couple of avenues and then started heading South. Soon I was in the right range of street numbers. I had chosen exactly the correct avenue to go down, because any more to the West and it would not have directly intersected with the jag's street. It would have been better if I had gone a couple more to the East, as 119th was one-way going the wrong way. But I just darted down 118th a couple of blocks and headed back on 119th.

To my amazement there was a parking space available directly in front of the jag's building. I ran to the door and buzzed him. It was actually a nice sunny day. I didn't even need to wear a coat. Actually the weather the entire weekend had been very mild, even warm. Although I was enjoying the sunshine, it was taking the jag an unusually long amount of time to respond to the buzzer. I began to fear that there was some mix-up and I'd made this detour in vain. But eventually his voice came over the intercom, saying, "Be right down..." He emerged with his face totally covered in shaving cream.

I ran up to his apartment and grabbed as much of the old Mac Performa as I could. He picked up the remaining stray items like the keyboard and mouse. We ran back down and loaded it up no problem. I ran back up to the apartment for one last visit to the bathroom before I got on the road in earnest. I gave the jag a kiss goodbye (wiping the shaving cream off my face), and was off. Since I didn't see any on ramps at 125th I decided to go back downtown to the 95th street interchange with the expressway. It was a bit of a drive, but it was all along Central Park West on this fine sunny day. I got to 95th and the access to the Henry Hudson was clearly marked.

As expected, the transition from the Henry Hudson Expressway onto the George Washington Bridge was a breeze. There wasn't even a toll in the outbound lanes! I literally got out of town scott free. Once over the bridge I started flying West on Route 80 at a high rate of speed. There was a massive line of cars crawling the other direction, waiting endlessly to get into Manhattan. With the stress of the city behind me I decided to play the Henry Rawlins monologue that I didn't have the constitution to listen to on the way in.

Soon I decided to get off the highway and fill up at that time, even though I still had almost half a tank, just so that I could get it off my mind. I managed to choose an exit with a gas station just a few yards from the ramp. The only thing was that I forgot that self-service fill-ups are not allowed in New Jersey. I have no idea why, but it had been that way since I used to ride my motorcycle from Washington DC to visit my old college friend in East Rutherford.

As I stepped up to the pump the attendant yelled, "I'll be right with you sir," from across the lot. "There's no self-serve in Jersey." Suddenly it all came flooding back to me. I used the delay as an opportunity to change the CDs in the trunk-mounted changer.

Once I got back on the road I continued non-stop all the way back to my house. I was getting some cramps in my legs by the time I got close. When I finally pulled in my driveway and got out of the car I could barely walk.

It was still fairly early in the day, but I decided to lay down and take a snooze. As I drifted off to sleep I reflected on another wonderful trip to the MIX festival.

done | next story -->