The Road North

THE ROAD NORTH

or

THE WRONG TURN

“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door. You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no telling where you might be swept off too.”

                                                                                      --  Bilbo Baggins 

It was the afternoon of December 23, and I had most of my shopping done. Ann called.  “Can I ask an enormous favor?”

This was early in our friendship, and I hadn’t yet realized that a phone call like this could turn into an adventure.  I might wind up being a hero (see Chapter Six: Heroics);  or saving the Indians (see the forthcoming Chapter Six: Saving the Indians); or even carrying an air conditioner (see the forthcoming Chapter Six: By the Way, the Elevator is Broken).  

“Can I ask an enormous favor?  I hate to  bother you, but could you give me a lift to the Port Authority Bus Terminal later today? I could take the subway, but I’ve been wrapping presents for my family, and I realize how many there are ...”

“Of course. You’re not taking the train?”

“I’m mad at Amtrak.”

“Greyhound?”

“Adirondack Trailways. I’m mad at Greyhound.”

So, that evening I went over to her apartment. She was just finishing wrapping, taking endless pains with ribbons and bows.  She could charm the most bitter cynic with her enthusiasm for Christmas.

I had thought I realized how many “how many” would be, but when I saw them, I couldn’t imagine how she’d get them upstate on the bus. We loaded the gifts and her suitcase in the car, and set off. At the end of the block I made a snap decision and turned right rather than left.  Ann didn’t notice till she saw the sign for the Thruway.

She was shocked. “You don’t have to ....”

“I must have made a wrong turn.”

We debated the issue through Yonkers, and she finally agreed to be driven to Schenectady.

And so off to the north, the “long talk on the dark road” as we came to call it.

After about an hour, we stopped to get something to eat.  The TV was on in the restaurant, and we watched the fall of Communism in Romania.  She was horrified by the violence.  I was too, but my strongest reaction was amazement at what I was seeing.  It hadn’t been that long ago that the conventional wisdom among many of the people I knew was that the Cold War was all over but the shooting, and that the West had lost.

I couldn’t understand how Ann could not be as amazed as I was.  She couldn’t understand how I could think of anything but the immediate human toll.

Eventually, off into the darkness again. It was colder now, and the stars much brighter. 

Suddenly, a faint thumping sound, slowly getting louder.  I said “I’m going to pull over and ...”  ... and the left rear tire disintegrated.  I don’t know how I got from the center lane to the shoulder in what Ann said was a very smooth and calm motion, so I can’t claim credit for it.

It was colder still, and I felt clumsy with the jack and wrench.  Even though I had pulled as far to the right on the shoulder as possible, I felt that traffic was passing inches behind me as I struggled with tire.  Ann alternated using the flashlight to light what I was doing, and to motion oncoming traffic to move left.  All the while she served as a cheering section, saying “think about Disney World, think how warm it will be”.  We were  going there just after New Year’s.

Northward again.  The Long Talk, getting to know each other better. Hopeful things, Sad things. Funny things.  The lights of Albany before us, and then receding.  Finally, what I was told was a rare privilege: I saw the big “G E” on the General Electric “Works” lit up in red and green, instead of white as it was most of the year.

And then her parent’s house. I hadn’t been there before, and I was very impressed: there was a snowmobile outside the garage.  Ann punctured my sense of being in the remote Far North.  “That thing didn’t run when my brother bought it, and it’s never run.”

The car windows seemed to have fogged up, but when I tried wiping them I realized it was ice.  As I got out of the car the first breath told me the air was bitterly cold.   Ann’s mother came out to greet us.  “It’s gone up to two below” she said.

Several trips to get all the packages inside.  Great joy from the dog to see Ann, and mild interest from the cats.  Great joy on my part to see that her mother had just taken Christmas cookies out of the oven.

Coffee and cookies and the story of the Great TIre Adventure for her parents and brothers.  Then I said “Merry Christmas” to her family, and “I’ll see you next week” to her.

Ann and her family made it clear to me that even I wasn’t crazy enough to drive back to New York that night, so I slept in the living room, close to the Christmas tree, enjoying its scent, and dreaming about the long talk on the dark road.

Then, the best Belgian waffle I ever had, and on the road again early on the 24th.  I got back in time to finish my shopping, and to do my best to imitate Ann’s careful wrapping.