Drive By New York City

Since it was on the way, I stopped in New Haven to say hello to Jill, Beth and Oliver at Atticus Book Store and Cafe. Oliver was there, Beth was out and Jill had moved on to other employment opportunities. A spoke with Oliver, told him how impressed my dad was with him. He passed on his best wishes to Dad and wished me well as I headed south in the RV.

It is hard to make a connection with a book store and then after that happens the staff turns over. Just keep plugging away.

My challenge for the day was not to get lost or tied up in traffic as I neared New York City. After reviewing my options I decided to skirt the City in a big loop by following I287.

There are places I have never been despite a certain unexplained fascination they hold in my head. Under the Tappan-zee Bridge and the Palisades Park are two such places.

I have driven over the Bridge, a 16013 foot long bridge with a 1212 foot cantilever span, yet I have not taken the time to stop and poke around the shores of the southern Hudson River and the town of Nyack or stopped along the road to view the long ribbon of metal that seemingly floats across the water. And today although I have once again crossed the Bridge and admired the rise of terrain on the western shores, I kept bearing down 287W, with no intentions of stopping. Why? In part to keep the intrigue alive and well as to preserve a piece of make-believe memory I conjured up as a kid. The other reason was I was absorbed in traffic going much faster than my four-cylinder RV which chugged up the rolling hills of lower New York.

Totally unrelated and further south was a place called Palisades Park. I have never ridden the Ferris wheel at Palisades Park. Maybe the music has something to do with this fascination because…

You'll never know how great a kiss can feel

When you stop at the top of a Ferris wheel
When I fell in love down at Palisades Park.


As I crossed the bridge I a stole of peak of the skyline sitting in a light blue haze. Up river I saw a sail boat under motor making its way north as once Henry Hudson and the Half Moon did, except old Henry did not have a motor. The last time I crossed the span was years before 911. It was dark and I can’t recall why I was in this part of the state.

There was still a lot of greenery in the hills. I pushed south into New Jersey and picked up 23 north toward the northwestern part of the state. Traffic was heavy, the RV moved slowly but steadily through the tight hills toward Ogdensburg, my father’s hometown since arriving in the United States 81 years ago. He was two. Small wonder as to why his Spanish is a bit rusty. Even my uncle who also grew up bi-lingual is afraid to open his mouth and speak Spanish. The new immigrants—legal or not—wonder what kind of Spanish is he speaking.