Onwards, to the bright lights...
Starting, with a drive. And a true taste of fear. Such that a long, exhaustive breath is emitted from puffed cheeks, followed by a deep, deep nasal inhalation.
Everyone advances at a constant 70mph. Ahead of me, a car switches lanes without warning. And, seemingly, without first checking his off side blind spot. Because, if he had checked, he would have seen the car there.
I am afforded the closest view of such an incident I am ever likely to, without becoming a statistic. Luckily, in this case, the car which was encroached upon had an empty lane outside of him, and displayed the reactions of a fly in flicking across to it, avoiding a collision by what must have been a matter of inches.
I spend the next five minutes profoundly afraid of the road.
I settle in behind a double-length lorry, matching its' speed; the logic being it should be heavier than me, so has a longer stopping distance, therefore giving me additional time to both react, and react, should something similar occur. By the time it leaves the freeway, some thirty minutes later, I have calmed.
I think of the Prattsville almost-head-on. One near-miss is one more near miss than I would care for, but I am only in control of my own vehicle, as I have ever been whilst driving these past ten years. Given the number of incidents the country-over on a daily basis, one near-miss in just shy of 6000 US miles driven is probably reasonable going.
I read an article while in Boston, a quite shocking article (here), which I wouldn't recommend you viewing if you hold any trepidation at the driving aspect of my American road-bound adventures. Suffice to say, I shall be doubly and trebly sure in the planning of my routes southwards and west, so as to remain unreservedly fresh at the wheel.
Neither shall I trouble you with the other two incidents I witnessed later on, on the journey to Manhattan.
Because Manhattan is where I am, safe and sound. Another hostel, this just a couple of blocks from Central Park, and fifteen minutes on the metro from Times Square.
My first task is to fathom the parking logistics. On-street parking is free here (a good thing), the only obstacles being the twice-weekly street cleans (different days for each side of each street), positioning of hydrants, and the huge volume of cars.
I rise early (8am on a Monday...who'd have thought it) and spend half an hour weaving my way around the one-way blocks near the hostel. From a 'No parking 8:30-10am Monday' zone to a 'No parking 11:30-1pm Monday' zone. I'll be going out to move it back in a couple of hours, then.
It transpires the joys of moving the car a second time is on a par with the joys of hitting oneself in the face, repeatedly, with a detached steering wheel. Already bloodied and bruised, I resign to the traditional traveller's tactic: do as the locals do. I pretend I can't read the signs.
Predictably, this approach only succeeds in attracting the attention of the boys from the NYPD. Of course, being the practical chap that I am, I hadn't actually abandoned the van to fate, and made good my escape before a ticket could be issued.
I fear this could get quite boring.
Next stop: a space reserved for the sole use of an ambulance. Whoops.
This actually isn't funny anymore. It has reached the point where I can predict the timings of traffic light changes of a six square block area. I hope to be able to tell you more of New York City soon. In the meantime, if anybody spots a space, shout yeah...
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