So Close

If I had to testify as to my whereabouts for the last several weeks, I might have a little trouble remembering. As I settled into my seat on the flight from Houston to Philadelphia, I wondered where I had been last Sunday. It was Harrisburg (I think), but that seemed so long ago. The Sunday before, I was in Knoxville. Before that, I was on the Outer Banks. Or was I… My trip was winding up, the summer months gone. I caught a glimpse of a small pile of leaves dancing in the wind near the corner of the garage. Their brilliant color turned brown. The memories are already fading.

It took three days to drive to New York—a trip I can make in fourteen hours and I have done it in one day. But then maybe it should have taken me four.

“Do you know the speed limit through town?”

“Yes sir. It is thirty.” I was reluctant to roll down my window. It was cold outside.

“I got you on radar going forty-seven."

That seemed highly unlikely. The RV nearly has to be pushed to get fifty-five. It needs a stiff tail wind to get sixty and a good long downhill with tail wind to reach sixty-five. While forty five was possible through the town of Walden, NY it would have been a stretch. It would have scared the hell out of me. And I had no motive for speed. After all, I was working on day three.

This route gave me a break from the stress of the highway drive where I was constantly pushing the RV to maintain a speed to avoid a semi tractor trailer running through the rear end and joining me in the cab. For eighteen miles I could relax and enjoy the back roads where apple trees and corn fields run west to the Gunks, a fold of rocks renown for good climbing routes. It was Sunday afternoon, and although the rain had ceased, the countryside held the first tale of winter – a damp dreariness carried by a chilling wind. But it wasn’t snowing and I was grateful.

“It doesn't seem likely,” I replied handing the officer my license and registration. I didn’t challenge him, but let him know that I doubted his claim. Okay, I wasn’t going thirty. I could give him thirty seven, but not seventeen miles over the speed limit.

Officer Wood had been in the Air Force, stationed in Knoxville. He wanted to get back there. In the end he sited me for not having proof of insurance and obstructing the view of the license plate with my bike cover. How ironic. On my last day after driving 6000 miles over four months and now I get a warning for these violations. I was grateful he did not write a ticket for speeding.

In Saratoga, I saw hundreds of ducks flying over Loughberry Lake. It was a sight I would have shared with Mom when I got home. At the bottom of the hill near Danda’s, I pulled the RV over and let the emotion once again sweep over me. For three days a renewed sadness haunted me. This would be my first time to come home and Mom would not be there. I listened to Snook Kill rush through the culvert under the road. Focused on the sound, I wiped the last tear on my sleeve and started up the hill toward home.