My friends, it is a gorgeous day out, my cows (aka "The Girls") are all healthy and content, and tonight is "Date Night" with my fiancé. It is only Jan. 9, but 2009 already is a good year. We will conclude the series on World War II in due course, but first let's talk about the holidays. You know, a funny thing happened on the way to New York City. ...
If there is one thing I truly enjoy, it is a road trip. Whether I am racing across the countryside with motorcycle riding compatriot Stewbert, or cruising down the interstate in my faithful Dakota, the feeling of putting on miles is truly exhilarating. This New Year was no exception, and after months of planning and weeks of preparation, my fiancé and I hit the road, New York City bound. Now, I always have believed that getting to a destination is half the fun, and this trip proved no exception. On such a drive, there are countless sights to see, and humor is always just around the corner.
For example, it has been said that you can learn a lot about a person by studying the type of vehicle they drive. On the highway we pulled alongside a pickup truck, the type that so richly deserves to be caricaturized in some twangy country music song. No shortage of chrome here, and big tires kept the cab elevated to the stratosphere. Let's see, yup - plenty of Cowboy stickers adorned the window, and come to think of it, the only thing missing was; wait - there it was! Sure enough, the truck's manhood dangled freely from the hitch receiver. Folks, I have to wonder - who on earth feels so threatened and challenged that they feel compelled to advertise their manhood by hanging some from their vehicle? Is there some sort of doubt? An audible laugh erupted from both parties in my Dakota when the hick-up truck braked, and yes - the dangling edifice actually lit up.
Now, there is one thing that I have noticed in the 80,000 miles I have logged on the Dakota. Wisconsin truly has the best roads in the nation, which is rather shocking considering the lack of tollbooths. Ohio and Pennsylvania seem to be obsessed with tollbooths - and potholes - and Indiana has Gary, which is like one big city-sized pothole. Additionally, Pennsylvania has this excruciatingly annoying habit of suddenly reducing the interstate speed to, get this, 45 miles per hour. As if Pennsylvania is not big enough in the first place.
At any rate, we made it! Ashley and I started seeing signs for Jersey City, and then New York City. Then, just when all seemed perfect, we came to a grinding halt, five miles from Manhattan. Folks, I have never seen traffic like this, bar some disaster movie. Think of New York City as the hub of a wheel, with interstates as spokes running into it. Only, these spokes have five lanes, and all converge over, under and into each other in a rather intestinal mess of traffic jam. Intersections no longer existed - just serpentine lines of brake lights. Not even the cowboy's manhood would have survived this.
Slowly, ever so slowly, we inched forward at the rate of 5 miles per hour. A lane would merge into ours, only to give way to others, all attempting to merge. Then, going around a corner I saw the problem - a car had broken down in an underpass, and traffic was literally bottlenecked into one lane. Think of that! One lane going into New York City - Monroe has twice as many! I did not feel better when I noticed that the car was a Chrysler product from out of state.
Then, explicitly, we were there. Crawling up and out of a tunnel, the Manhattan skyline stretched brilliantly in front of us. No city in the world compared to this. Not Chicago, not Sydney, nor London, Paris, Rome or Zurich. Certainly not Gary, which thankfully was nearly a thousand miles to stern.
After a brief mouths-agape moment of awe, we were plunged forward, pushed by traffic that suddenly surged forward rather violently. Now it was time to take the Holland Tunnel into Manhattan, which I realized too late required a toll - joy! Six lanes fed the underground expressway, and too late I realized that I occupied one of five EZ-Pass Only lanes. Of course I do not have an EZ-Pass; I'm from Wisconsin, a state that does not require tolls to have vastly superior roads! Like a fighter pilot diving through bursts of flak I cringed - and tore through the EZ-Pass booths without stopping. I changed lanes to confuse followers as we plunged beneath the Hudson River.
As quickly as traffic had shoved us into the tunnel, we were out, having crossed from New Jersey into Lower Manhattan. I grabbed the FDR, and with the priceless benefit of a hands-free cell phone was directed to a parking garage on East 3rd Street, just southeast of Midtown. Standing at the sidewalk was Chris, who would be our esteemed host for the next several days. I instantly realized the difference between New York and the Midwest - free space is at a premium in the city! I watched, impressed, as an attendant took my keys and proceeded to park the Dakota. He expertly squeezed the truck into a spot most folks would have difficulty parking a Segway.
Did I not say that getting there was half the fun?
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
If there is one thing I truly enjoy, it is a road trip. Whether I am racing across the countryside with motorcycle riding compatriot Stewbert, or cruising down the interstate in my faithful Dakota, the feeling of putting on miles is truly exhilarating. This New Year was no exception, and after months of planning and weeks of preparation, my fiancé and I hit the road, New York City bound. Now, I always have believed that getting to a destination is half the fun, and this trip proved no exception. On such a drive, there are countless sights to see, and humor is always just around the corner.
For example, it has been said that you can learn a lot about a person by studying the type of vehicle they drive. On the highway we pulled alongside a pickup truck, the type that so richly deserves to be caricaturized in some twangy country music song. No shortage of chrome here, and big tires kept the cab elevated to the stratosphere. Let's see, yup - plenty of Cowboy stickers adorned the window, and come to think of it, the only thing missing was; wait - there it was! Sure enough, the truck's manhood dangled freely from the hitch receiver. Folks, I have to wonder - who on earth feels so threatened and challenged that they feel compelled to advertise their manhood by hanging some from their vehicle? Is there some sort of doubt? An audible laugh erupted from both parties in my Dakota when the hick-up truck braked, and yes - the dangling edifice actually lit up.
Now, there is one thing that I have noticed in the 80,000 miles I have logged on the Dakota. Wisconsin truly has the best roads in the nation, which is rather shocking considering the lack of tollbooths. Ohio and Pennsylvania seem to be obsessed with tollbooths - and potholes - and Indiana has Gary, which is like one big city-sized pothole. Additionally, Pennsylvania has this excruciatingly annoying habit of suddenly reducing the interstate speed to, get this, 45 miles per hour. As if Pennsylvania is not big enough in the first place.
At any rate, we made it! Ashley and I started seeing signs for Jersey City, and then New York City. Then, just when all seemed perfect, we came to a grinding halt, five miles from Manhattan. Folks, I have never seen traffic like this, bar some disaster movie. Think of New York City as the hub of a wheel, with interstates as spokes running into it. Only, these spokes have five lanes, and all converge over, under and into each other in a rather intestinal mess of traffic jam. Intersections no longer existed - just serpentine lines of brake lights. Not even the cowboy's manhood would have survived this.
Slowly, ever so slowly, we inched forward at the rate of 5 miles per hour. A lane would merge into ours, only to give way to others, all attempting to merge. Then, going around a corner I saw the problem - a car had broken down in an underpass, and traffic was literally bottlenecked into one lane. Think of that! One lane going into New York City - Monroe has twice as many! I did not feel better when I noticed that the car was a Chrysler product from out of state.
Then, explicitly, we were there. Crawling up and out of a tunnel, the Manhattan skyline stretched brilliantly in front of us. No city in the world compared to this. Not Chicago, not Sydney, nor London, Paris, Rome or Zurich. Certainly not Gary, which thankfully was nearly a thousand miles to stern.
After a brief mouths-agape moment of awe, we were plunged forward, pushed by traffic that suddenly surged forward rather violently. Now it was time to take the Holland Tunnel into Manhattan, which I realized too late required a toll - joy! Six lanes fed the underground expressway, and too late I realized that I occupied one of five EZ-Pass Only lanes. Of course I do not have an EZ-Pass; I'm from Wisconsin, a state that does not require tolls to have vastly superior roads! Like a fighter pilot diving through bursts of flak I cringed - and tore through the EZ-Pass booths without stopping. I changed lanes to confuse followers as we plunged beneath the Hudson River.
As quickly as traffic had shoved us into the tunnel, we were out, having crossed from New Jersey into Lower Manhattan. I grabbed the FDR, and with the priceless benefit of a hands-free cell phone was directed to a parking garage on East 3rd Street, just southeast of Midtown. Standing at the sidewalk was Chris, who would be our esteemed host for the next several days. I instantly realized the difference between New York and the Midwest - free space is at a premium in the city! I watched, impressed, as an attendant took my keys and proceeded to park the Dakota. He expertly squeezed the truck into a spot most folks would have difficulty parking a Segway.
Did I not say that getting there was half the fun?
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
