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Gray
fills the autumn evening sky, clouds have cast a thick cover upon the city that
never sleeps. We were in an empty van, traveling through dark, unfamiliar neighborhoods
of Brooklyn. "Where is Manhattan?" I thought, for the magical island
would show us a way out of this part of the town that we have no intention of
being in. Jon is driving, face exhibiting exhaustion and anxiety, perhaps wondering
how we have gotten ourselves into such predicament. I am wondering just about
the same, retracing the events that unfolded a little over a day ago.
It was Sunday. The sun peeked out of the clouds after days of dreary weather, providing a nice sunny fall afternoon. We have actually been planning this trip up to New York for days. Being the end of my rookie season as a "Biker," I had to take a long trip somewhere. Where would be a better destination than New York, which is just over two hours of ride from Philadelphia. I was always captivated by the food of Flushing, and this is the perfect chance to go and munch, while still getting the joy of cruising.
Jon
came over around 3 in the afternoon. I was very happy that the weather had turned
in our favor, and I was sure we would have a swell time on this little fall getaway.
After
a quick lunch at the diner, we set off to what would turn out to be an amazing
experience that I would never forget.
The first leg of the journey was boring and uneventful. Having traveled the same stretch of I-95 many times, the scenery along the way had become very familiar to me. The trip was made better, however, by my purchase of two wireless communicators. Even though the wind noise pretty much rendered them useless at high speeds, they still provided some entertainment when we could hear each other. The long ride was no longer lonely and boring, and time seemed to past much faster.
After stopping briefly to check out Jon's engine trouble, we set off again. This time we made it all the way to Rutgers University, Jon's old stumping ground.
I have never been to this neck of the woods, all things seemed just a little weird to me. I have always heard of the college, I must say that what I saw was somewhat disappointing. We bought ourselves some food and sat around looking at various students, only to stumble onto a three-person film crew. They were filming some kind of interview that I have no interest of knowing. It is only fitting though, one of the self proclaimed intellectuals used to work with Jon. How many times do we have to wonder how small the world is indeed?
After some not so pleasant pleasantries, we set off again toward our destination. With the chilly wind blasting in our face, I decided that we should take a picture to commemorate this occasion. We cruised into a KMart, and got ourselves a disposable camera. In the parking lot outside, we took the first pictures of our rides. Why didn't we do this earlier? Why that day, that would leave us puzzled for a long time (perhaps not).
Now back to the trek. The faithful sun was finally sinking into the landscape, sky had transcend into a wonderful blend of reds. We were not so busy enjoying the scenery, though, since the departure of the sun brought us more chilly air. It was much harder to communicate through our intercoms on the Turnpike. Too much wind, too many cars, and we were moving much faster. After about an hour, we left the turnpike and found ourselves on a jammed Staten Island Expressway. This was not supposed to happen! It was a Sunday night and we were barely into New York. Maybe we shouldn't have taken that break in New Brunswick. Anyhow, we are here, right in the middle of a pile of brake lights, extending far into the gray night. Oh boy, what a mess.
Shortly
before we are frustrated into doing something truly stupid, like, splitting the
lanes and zoom between traffic, we picked up some strange conversation in our
Maxons. Thank god we have those splendid devices, long trip like this would never
be boring again, it will be filled with conversations to help pass the time. It
took us a while to realize that we had intercepted someone's wireless phone frequency.
It was funny as hell because the people were talking in some other language. We
could not understand even one word, and it sure brought a lot of laughter.
Slowly
but surely, we passed through the bottleneck and picked up speed once again. One
thing I did notice very well on our slow cruise, the roads in New York are terrible.
I guess there is just so much traffic that they would not, and could not put forth
lots of effort to fix up and maintain the roads. But on each bridge there were
patches of bare metal peeking out from the cement surface. It can't be very safe
I thought. We slowed down a bit and passed with no problem. We were glad that
we had evaded the $7 dollar toll for the infamous Farizzano Bridge, and more glad
that we were finally into the borough of Queens.
The closer it was to our destination - Flushing - the faster it felt like we were riding. Just when we started relaxing and feeling good, another traffic tie-up came upon us. Unwilling to wait, knowing that we were only miles away from Flushing, we opted to take the local surface streets, thinking that the two wheeled mounts would take up through the city much faster, like back at home.
Boy were we wrong. I guess you should never take a shortcut through places you don't know well without an accurate map. We passed many streets that sounded familiar to me, but I just couldn't make heads or tails as to where they are located relative to our destination. So after a bit of frustrating and impatience, I decided to just ride straight north until we see more Asian writings around us. After what seemed to be endless circles around dark and unfriendly streets, we finally saw some lights and more and more Asian establishment. I recognized the area and lead us toward Flushing. Finally, more than an hour after we got off the highway, we were there, almost at the end of the trip. Both of us took a long breath and exhaled with enthusiasm. We made it.
Finding a place to park was kind of tough, but we did it. I almost ran to the store that I had come for, only to discover that it was closed. It was almost 10 pm. We walked around a bit and decided to dine at a rather stylish little restaurant. The food was great, as authentic as it could get in a Chinatown. (I cannot say, however, that it is truly authentic) I thoroughly enjoyed the "fish head tofo stew." The bill was even more pleasant, a full course dinner at a price level of a deli back home. I wish we live around here, only if just for the food.
With a full stomach and a head of satisfaction, we strolled out onto the street. This sure is a different place. All Asians around us, and many things that you would only find in a big city thousands of miles away. We walked by about three or four Karaoke bars just on one block. Only if we had one in Philly...
Jon
called his brother and told him that we were in town. Even though it was getting
late, we still decided to place a visit to his place in Manhattan, and it would
probably be our last stop before going back to Philly.
We exited the buzzing
streets of Flushing and came onto Northern Boulevard. From there, it was just
a nice cruise down the boulevard, which would lead us straight into Manhattan.
With a little wind in our face, helping to digest the food we just devoured, the
cruise seemed the most pleasant so far.
Then it happened. We came up toward the intersection of 72nd and Northern. There were few cars in front of us. I was traveling in the right half of the right lane, and Jon was trailing me a length behind to the right. A car had stopped just before the intersection for some reason, and all traffic after that car had come to a gradual stop. I noticed that the left lane is completely empty, and something inside of me prompted me to open up the throttle and accelerated into the left lane, passing all the stopped cars. I thought Jon would follow suit, and join me shortly, maybe emerging from the other side of the road. I peeped into the mirror and didn't see him. Just when I was about to call him through the Maxon, this loud boom came from behind me and loud enough to make me stutter. What the hell is that? I talked into the Maxon, but only got noise in return. I lay off the throttle and turn my head around to see what happen. My god! The wolf is lying on the street, and the familiar roar is no long detectable.
I swerved around, almost low-siding it myself, and rushed back to the intersection. There was the wolf, lying lifelessly in the street, headlight still on, illuminating a huge patch of oil that had spilled out of the crankcase. I did not really realize the seriousness of the accident, for I was just as shocked and confused. Jon was standing next to the wolf, looking a bit disoriented, something to be expected after taking a somersault and landing on his back. I was gracious that he did not seem to be seriously hurt.
No one was talking, so I still don't know what had happened. I can't observe any damage on the other cars that had stopped. By now, traffic started moving again, and I noticed this short Hispanic dude emerging from the side and seemed to be quite concerned with the whole situation.
In
the mean time, Jon started to lift the wolf up. I joined in and righted the injured
piece of metal. I guess Jon was really disoriented, because he left me there standing
with the wolf in front me, I almost dropped it a second time. I slowly maneuvered
it back toward the sidewalk and went back to find out what happened.
It still
took me a while to gather the events. It seemed that Jon had followed me towards
the left lane, but ran out of room and slammed into the back of a Pontiac Firebird.
He flipped in mid air and landed flush on his back.
Turns out the Hispanic
dude was the driver of the Firebird. There was little damage visible to his bumper,
and he seemed very understanding. He kept assuring that he could fix that himself
and it was no big deal. We thought he did not want to get the police involved
for whatever reason. He did have a Connecticut plate and bunch of Hispanic children
in the car. While he could be a human smuggler, it is not our place to judge what
he is doing. After he started mentioning Jesus and started blessing us, we let
him leave and deal with the mess ourselves.
Now
the wolf was quietly resting in the darkness. The crankcase cracked and the forks
bend in. There was no way the wolf will ever run free again. Not that night anyway.
Jon consulted with his brother while we try to figure out what to do. Finally
we set off toward Manhattan yet again, and derive a solution later. We were both
exhausted.
At Brian's apartment, we called around to see if we could rent a
truck or van to haul the wolf back to Philly. But the price was awfully high and
we had to wait til the next morning. I really didn't want to stay there and spent
the night, for some strange reason, and we got on my bike and took off.
The ride back from Manhattan was anything but pleasant. It was late into the night. With the late November wind blasting in out face, our layers of clothes suddenly lost all defense and we were numb within miles. It was so cold that I basically started to loose some of my senses. Almost running off the road for several times can serve as evidence.
50 miles and three stops later, we arrived at New Brunswick once again. Almost frozen solid, we decided to take an extended break and warm ourself up around the bike's little engine. It was very comfy to put my gloved hand on something warm for a change, but as soon as I took my hands off the crankcase, they got cold instantly. And let me tell you, it was a terrible time to discover those gloves of mine were not made of leather.
A woman police officer came by in a cruiser and told us that there was a Dunk a couple miles down the road and we could warm ourselves up there. We held on and took a ride toward the seemingly far away Dunk heaven. After about 10 miles, we gave up and cursed the cop throughly in our minds(it was too cold to open our mouths).
I proceed onto what was an empty I-95. A dim light gradually evolved into a fussy picture ahead on the highway. What was that? I almost fell off the bike. It was a Dunk tractor trailer! I followed the truck for a while, staring straight at the steaming cup of joe and quite a few delicious fresh donut painted on the back of the truck. Until my stomach developed a constant rhythm and my mind drew up a plan to hijack the truck and feast myself with the cargo.
Finally we entered Philadelphia territory. To our delight I remembered the Dunk near my bike dealer, and our Dunk prayer finally answered.
Now warm and quite full, we endured a much shorter trip down to center city, and the nightmare finally came to a close.