October 14 Fri
I awoke ahead of everyone else in the house this morning.
This is the day we've anticipated for the past 10 and half weeks. This is the
day we part with the van. Originally, Monte was going to follow me in his car
to North Middletown, New Jersey and after the van-returning process was
complete, drive me back. But Monte really couldn't afford the time away from
his business this would involve today, and I didn't mind at all. Adventures on
Wheels advertises on their website that they provide free shuttle service to
the airport, so I figured I could get that close from New Jersey on my own
without a problem and call Monte from there to see where he was by then in the
scheme of things.
It felt odd driving the van all alone without Razelle by my
side and without a single item of our possessions in it, except for the GPS
mounted in front of me and my small backpack on the seat beside me. I had a
supply of dimes and quarters in the driver's door to cover the tolls in New
Jersey and bills in my billfold to pay for the Verrazano Bridge crossing. I
monitored the odometer as I drove from the Sunrise Highway to the Belt Parkway
to the Verrazano Bridge and across Staten Island to the Garden State Parkway.
As my GPS counted down the miles and my odometer counted them up I could see
that I would reach my destination without the compulsory 5000-mile oil change
being an issue. I would have about 120 miles leeway since the oil change in
Columbia, Missouri. As I slowly moved along, accompanied by so very many other
New York drivers this morning during rush hour as we threaded our way past a
"serendipitous" stretch of highway construction, I switched on the
radio for company. I came across an intriguingly annoying but captivating voice
that stopped me from scanning the radio any further. So this is what "Imus
in the Morning" sounds like! It was my first exposure to his show (and
served to advance my understanding of the local culture one more notch). Imus
and company kept me company all the way into New Jersey. I had occasion to use
the wipers intermittently while doing all this.
Three miles from my destination I pulled into a Quick Chek
gas station. It had a bathroom, and a coffee shop. I needed both and I had time
for both. This was where I filled the van's tank with gasoline for the very
last time. I brought the receipt with me to the drop-off location, as
stipulated, to show that the tank had been filled within 10 miles of their
establishment. There was a homeless woman loitering here with a cardboard sign
and I appreciated that she didn't approach me.
I pulled into the "Road Bear" lot. I now
understand that Road Bear is the name of the entire network and
"Adventures on Wheels" is what Road Bear offers. Finally, that
distinction has been cleared up. I walked into the office and was greeted
cheerfully. I handed over the paperwork. They were expecting me by 10:30 AM and
I had navigated all that traffic and arrived with plenty of time to spare. The
significance of 10:30 AM – that's the hour of day I picked up the van in Agoura
Hills, CA, 74 days and 13,600 miles ago, and that’s when they wanted it back.
The receptionist seemed to be the person who took my frantic calls when I was
still in California and the van was not behaving well. She was pleasantly
surprised to meet me! She said a long time had passed since we last spoke and
she wondered whatever had become of me and the van; and then, here I was and
here the van was. I related some of our adventures and told her that in fact it
was all on the Internet in the blog I was keeping. She asked for the URL for
the blog and for a moment I hesitated. I tried to recall if I had written
anything in it that would actually dissuade potential customers from renting
it. I was quite unhappy with it at the very beginning and only learned to like
the van and rely on it with the passage of time. I certainly looked after it as
if it had been my own property and had returned it in the same condition I
received it; no, actually in better condition, considering all the work that
was done in Hayward, CA by their mechanic there. After a few second's pause, I
gave her the URL and helped her with the spelling and punctuation so that
anyone curious about our "adventure on wheels" could find it and read
all about it.
The local mechanic came back with his inspection report: all
was in order. She told me that within a few days I would find my bank account
credited with the amount of my initial deposit and the cost of the oil change
in Columbia, MO, based on the invoice I handed her. I was done here. That was
that. Now "van-less", I asked to be taken to the airport so I could
return to my brother's home near JFK. The free shuttle they advertised wasn't
available at that hour, though. It was scheduled to go to Newark Airport
several hours later to pick up a customer, but JFK was never an intended
destination. Oh, I didn't know that! I asked if I could at least get a ride to
the nearest train station. That they gladly did for me, and I was driven to the
Middletown, NJ Transit Station. I paid for a ticket to Penn Station in
Manhattan and the train soon arrived. I kept track of my location using my GPS
in the train, even though it got confused often because it wasn't set up to
follow railroad tracks.
At South Amboy, NJ, a group of 6 nerdy guys in weird black
outfits and makeup carrying makeshift costume weapons got on. They didn't
accost any of the other passengers, but they were rowdy and loud – and
shockingly foul-mouthed. I overheard them talking about riding the train into
Manhattan for a Comic Con Convention. The other passengers were mildly annoyed
by their behavior, but said nothing about it to them. Even the ticket inspector
let them carry on (he was only annoyed with them for moving from the seats they
first sat in to a different set of seats without moving their ticket stubs as
they did so – this is how he knew who paid for which segment of the train
line). So, I took my cue from the other passengers and silently disapproved of
their crudeness and inconsideration, and held my tongue all the way to the last
stop at Penn Station, NY.
There is a lot to see in New York City. I called Razelle
from Penn Station to see if she and Monte and Mindy wanted to meet me in
"the City" since I was already there and do some of the sightseeing
Razelle and Mindy had talked about earlier. Razelle said they weren't ready for
that and I should continue traveling on the Long Island Rail Road to the
Baldwin Station and then call to be picked up when I got there. I was very
pleased with myself when I finally did alight at that station. I had
independently traveled the entire distance back to my starting point of the
morning by public transportation. It hadn't cost much either (less than any other alternate method of travel would
have cost).
I decided to walk the last mile from the Baldwin Station to
Monte's. This gave me the chance to stop at the Post Office along the way and
check when it's open. The sign on the door showed that there is still a window
of opportunity tomorrow for sending a parcel of our possessions to Beer Sheva
if we can't get them all to fit within the weight limits the airlines have set.
Razelle said that one of her "bucket list" items
for this trip was to ride in a horse-drawn carriage through Central Park. I
fully expected we would be leaving Monte and Mindy's in time for Razelle to
have this dream fulfilled. But she lost her enthusiasm for it when the weather
reports said that stormy and possibly destructive weather was headed that way.
By the time we did all leave together for Manhattan in Monte's car, dark
threatening clouds hung ominously low ahead of us over the Manhattan skyline.
The heavy showers they produced were brief, but convincing enough to justify
leaving this item on Razelle's bucket list for a future visit.
Between Monte's GPS and mine, finding a parking garage near
the Fig and Olive restaurant should have been a simple thing, but neither of us
could find one with our navigational devices. The parking garage we did
eventually find simply came into view on its own. It was on 50th
Street between Madison and Park Avenues, several blocks from our restaurant on
52nd Street between Fifth and Madison Avenues. We walked this
distance and stood before the Fig and Olive to wait for Barry and Brenda's
arrival. Razelle, Monte and Mindy chose to stand under an awning in a dark spot
in front of a cultural center displaying a sculpture of dismembered-anatomy that I
found disturbing. I crossed the street to a brightly-lit bridal-dress store
instead and stood alone. It was so much cheerier there.
Presently Barry and Brenda came into view and we all went
into the Fig and Olive. We were met at the door and escorted up a set of stairs
to a table reserved for us. We were handed menus and we began to study them.
Shortly after we were seated Ilyssa and Mike also arrived and joined us at our
table.
While we were reading the menus the ceiling lights were
suddenly dimmed. Razelle and I exchanged glances. She knows I am not
comfortable eating in a restaurant when I can't see my food. The place filled
up quickly with patrons, who began to converse among themselves very loudly. I
couldn't hear my own voice while speaking across the table to others in our
party and I could hardly hear them either. I had something to share with Barry,
but trying to explain it was hard to do. I wanted to give Barry a chance to
read Phil Markowicz's book, which Phil had sign for me personally. At least Barry
and I had spoken of it while Razelle and I were with them in Florida, so Barry
recognized the book with no explanation needed as I handed it to him.
The place was rather pricy, but this is Manhattan after all.
In light of that, I made a point to order a few of the least expensive entrees
on the menu. I ordered a dish of assorted olives, a glass of inexpensive
full-bodied red wine and a plate of creamed pasta with black mushrooms and
scallions (this seemed more Italian than Greek, but that didn't bother me; it
sounded like the meal I'd had in Canberra that I liked so much and wanted to
try again). Razelle also ordered simple inexpensive items to keep the cost of
our meals within a reasonable range. As our waiter took our orders, Razelle
requested that he calculate our check separately. She insisted this was what
she wanted, but he said he couldn't do that. Brenda said we could work this out
later and the waiter went off to the kitchen.
The din grew worse, the crowd of patrons grew denser and the
food took forever to arrive. Waiters bumped into us as they passed our table
and argued among themselves over who ordered what among the various tables of
patrons they were serving. I grew hoarse trying to be heard and eventually gave
up trying to talk at all. After a ridiculously long wait our food finally
arrived. I was extremely disappointed. Considering how long we had waited, I
couldn't understand why my pasta noodles were so badly undercooked. The sauce
was OK, but the scallions were too plentiful and too sharp to allow the
mushrooms to be enjoyed. I drained my glass of wine but only ate half the pasta
dish. I passed around my olives and they were eaten by others at the table and
only a few were left when the bowl was returned to me. I could take no more of
this place and got up from the table to take a walk in the fresh air outside.
Like a moth seeking light in the dark, across the street I
saw a brightly lit passageway leading through the building before me. I went
straight there, then continued through the passageway onto 53rd
Street. Before me I saw a small cluster of delicate trees in a food court. Even
in the darkness of night these trees served to lighten my disposition. I turned
left. At the corner I found myself awestruck by the incongruity of a large gray
gothic cathedral set among modern glitzy towers of glass and steel. I crossed
the street to read the sign: St. Thomas Church. What an amazing discovery for
me to find this here. I turned left again onto 5th Avenue and came
to a pair of large department stores. One was a Hollister clothing store. I
remember seeing someone in Hawaii with a shopping bag that bore this brand
name; now, finally, I understood what the name represented. The other was a Zara
department store. In front of it an obese, bearded and unwashed man was
protesting the affluence this store represented and claiming it only sold
clothing to an elite segment of society. Perhaps this character had wandered up
here from among the protesters on Wall Street who were making news at this
time. Passers-by didn't even engage him in argument. He seemed to need
psychiatric assistance. As I prepared to turn left again at the next corner
onto 52nd Street I noticed another cathedral one more block ahead on
51st Street. I walked closer to get a better look and saw that it
had scaffolding around its base. It was being restored. It's spires pointed
way, way up toward the firmament above Manhattan, but still they were
out-competed by the towers of commerce on the surrounding streets. This short
tour outside the restaurant took no more than fifteen minutes, and I was glad I
had seen a little of the "color" of Manhattan this night. I was
loathe to return to the restaurant, but knew I had no choice. I mounted the
stairs and rejoined the family around the table.
Shortly after I sat down the bill was brought to us. It had
been equally divided three ways. Our "share" (Razelle's and mine) greatly
exceeded the cost of what we'd ordered. I
looked at Razelle and she was in shock. This could not be so! We had purposely
ordered so little and Razelle had insisted before we ordered that we be billed
separately in anticipation of this problem. The atmosphere at the table took on
an uncomfortable pall. It was embarrassing to be disputing this here.
Never during our entire trip had I ever felt so trapped by
circumstances. This moment, without a doubt, was the lowest point of the entire
trip for me. Barry saw our distress and after doing the math gave Razelle back some
of the money she felt we should not have paid. That also made me uncomfortable,
because now Barry was bearing the cost of this. There was no gracious way to
repair the atmosphere. What a mess.
We parted at the entrance to the restaurant. Barry and
Brenda headed back to their Hotel in preparation for tomorrow's cruise. Ilyssa
and Mike went in a direction of their own, and Razelle, Monte, Mindy and I
returned to the parking garage. The time we had spent in that restaurant was so
protracted that the parking bill had ballooned. Razelle covered the parking
bill for Monte. It was the least we could do to try and repair the evening.
Back at Monte and Mindy's I continued to feel bad that this
evening had ended this way. That feeling stayed with me until I fell asleep.
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