Subject: Dead President Transportation
Author: Greg Smith <gsmith@westnet.com> at Internet
Date: 3/19/98 11:11 AM
Yesterday just would not end. After my long stay at the George Washington bridge in the morning, I decided that
a) I would leave work at a resonable hour, and
b) No way would I cross that bridge again for a while
Both decisions dovetailed nicely with a tentative plan to stop by New York City Pub Night (http://www.cat.nyu.edu/piltch/pubnight/). I decided to head through the Midtown tunnel, drive to the bar, and continue on home after having some dinner. Since this week's bar was on Greenwich Ave, a barely accessible stretch of road, I had to drive around for half an hour in order to find the right way into the street and locate a legal place to park.
Since starting on alcohol with the mood I was in would have been a bad move, I had four Cokes to get a good caffiene rush going while eating and chatting with the other attendees. After exchanging a longing glance at the bartender (he signed our check with a smiley face, so I know he felt our special bond, too), I hit the road at 10:30 and headed toward the Lincoln tunnel, hoping to be snoozing by 11.
In retrospect, I should have used the bathroom before leaving.
The backup to get inside old Lincoln stretched the length of Dyer Ave, all the way to 34th street. It took me a full hour and fifteen minutes to traverse the tunnel. And there aren't even toll booths slowing things down.
The things people do to entertain themselves while waiting in a very slow moving line always amuse me. Mauro tells me that the last time he was stuck in the spot I was waiting at, he sent out his passengers to forage for chips and beer. His car had moved all of ten feet by the time they returned, and he ended up giving some chips to the guy in the car next to them. Last night I somebody behind me who decided to start honking his horn. I wondered how exactly he expected everyone to react to this; were they supposed to clear a path let him pass as if he were Moses parting the tunnel? Dissatisfied with that reaction, this fellow proceeded escalate his request by rolling down his window and shouting "get the fuck out of my way!". Oh, we're sorry your majesty, we didn't realize we were halting your egress from Manhattan. Pardon us as scurry away so your royal ass can meander through without interruption.
I resisted the temptation to become satisfied on two fronts by walking to his car and relieving myself upon it. "I'll give you something to honk about!"
Hoboken was, of course, devoid of parking spots. I circled once and had to stop to service my bladder interrupt before continuing my search. Eventually I located a spot and druged upstairs, discovering that the stop and go traffic had left the knee on my clutch leg hurting as badly as when I used to play soccer. The totals for the day were just rediculous; I had spent over 6.5 hours on the road, which doesn't sound so band until you realize that almost four of them were spent going less than four miles.
When the easiest unit for my forward progress becomes hours/mile, I really need to reconsider my choice of roadway.
--
* Greg Smith gsmith@westnet.com Hoboken, NJ
* http://www.westnet.com/~gsmith/ for Make Your PC Fast!, CD-R,
* Progress RDBMS, CD shopping, speaker building, rock music remasters
* http://www.soundstage.com/ SoundStage!, the high-end audio magazine