What An Arrival—New York City
Back on the highway, I would have preferred warmer weather, but the
sun was shinning and the rides were good. One ride was especially
memorable. An attractive, but troubled young lady who never picked
up hitchhikes, picked me up. She was a nurse and she told me "I
looked safe." She was out for a drive, and I guess she wasn't used
to being around people who had little or no responsibilities, or at
least that's what she told me. She must have found me interesting.
She drove me almost across Pennsylvania before she finally dropped
me off, and headed back to Ohio. She told me if it weren't for
having to punch a clock she would have driven me even further. It
was going on 5 pm and she had almost six hours of driving in front
of her before she would begin her eight-hour shift back at the
hospital. When I got out of her car, she thanked me for my company.
I wanted to say something, but all that came out of my mouth
was, "Your welcome." Standing on the highway, waiting for my next
ride, I had a new appreciation for what being alone and being lonely
really meant.
I don't know why, but I had good luck hitching to New York. After
the chick from Ohio dropped me off, I had a barrage of unprecedented
rides with people who normally wouldn't pick up hitchhikers. Somehow
I managed to get lost in New Jersey and this dude went out of his
way to put me on the right road. As it turned out, when I finally
reached Manhattan it was dark, and I came in form from the south
when I should have come in from the north. I was dropped off at the
Staten Island boat dock. Seeing Manhattan for the first time from
the bridge of a Staten Island Ferry was breathtaking. On one side
was the shinning Statue Of Liberty, and on the other, beautiful red
lights adorned the bridge connecting the city to the mainland. In
front of me was the magnificent Manhattan skyline--standing tall,
and very, very, impressive!
I had Sandy's address in my pocket, but I didn't have the vaguest
notion how to get there. I asked a policeman for directions and he
pointed to the subway and said, "Just follow the signs." Except for
Toronto, I had never experienced a subway before. What I found under
the streets of Manhattan were not just trains; there was a whole
other city. I was shocked to find all life's necessities could be
purchased under the streets of N.Y.C. You never had to surface if
you didn't want to.
A huge system of interconnecting trains linked all five Burroughs of
N.Y.C. and although it was a bit confusing at first, from the map on
the wall, I managed to trace out the train that would take me almost
to Mike's front door. Incoming trains were ear shattering. After
coming to a screeching halt, sparks would fly and the doors would
slide open. Once inside, you took your seat and stared at the
advertisements pasted just above eye level, or you stood up and held
on to one of the straps hanging from the ceiling. After a few
moments of speeding down the tracks, lights would flash and the
train would come to another screeching halt. This ritual was a
little different during rush hour, instead of sitting or standing
you squeezed tight against the person next to you. Starting and
stopping, as might be expected, brought people together in ways that
were not always comfortable, but hey, that's why they call it N.Y.C.!
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