December 28, 2013
"You drive" --two words that strike fear in my heart, a fear I am doing my best to master. Everytime I go out with a car, though, something happens to make me wonder whether I will ever feel at ease behind the wheel.
I have just returned from a day and a half driving to and from Lambertville, New Jersey, New Hope and Doylestown, Pennsylvania. Beau traveled with me, in the passenger seat in front, strapped in with a seat belt for dogs that attaches to that inside the car. He has adjusted easily to being in the car, although he naturally does not like having his motions restricted. My adjustment is more problematic.
As I rent cars, each car is different, so I worry: "Does this one have headlights that go on automatically?" "How does the seat adjust and how much in any direction?" "How does the automatic transmission work?" Once on the road, the worries mount: The GPS directions contradict what I found on MapQuest; the instructions are asking me to turn into the left lane, but the cars in that lane are not giving me an opening; "What does' turn left and bear to the right' mean?"
Notwithstanding, I make it to New Hope without incident. I have booked two nights at the Ramada, which allows dogs, and has a large restaurant and bar. The Ramada is also home to "The Razz Room", a top cabaret venue in Bucks County where Andrea Marcovicci, Tom Wopat and K.T. Sullivan, among others, have played. I am in New Hope to visit with a former colleague from City government and to investigate whether it has any appeal for me as an alternative domicile to Manhattan. My former colleague and his partner moved to New Hope eleven years ago and neither has ever regretted leaving Manhattan, each having abandoned their New York careers and downshifted. It is good to see them both --after eleven years we all bear time's marks, but are the same at the core.
My friends take me to a restaurant in Lambertville, just across the bridge over the canal from New Hope. The meal is convivial, but I am back in my room by 9:00 p.m. Beau is patiently waiting for me, having behaved well in my absence, which is gratifying.
The problem is, the room in the Ramada is on the first floor, and reminds me of the hotel room Anton Chigurh (the monstrous killer in the Coen Brothers' No Country For Old Men) rampaged in. It has an industrial deodorant smell, the ground floor windows have shoddy blinds and curtains. The carpet, too, is industrial quality, the toiletries the cheapest available to hotels. The bed is immaculate, though, the crisp white sheets and many pillows very comfortable for Beau and me to lie on. I watch a PBS documentary about composer Marvin Hamlisch in the "American Masters" series and drift off to sleep.
By two a.m. I am retching over the toilet bowl --I have food poisoning. My stomach expels every bit of food and drink I consumed, and then some. Perhaps I sleep two hours between 6:00 a.m. and 8:00 a.m., when I call the receptionist to beg her to have someone bring me two slices of dry wheat toast and two bottles of water. A hot shower and a shampoo make me presentable, but I feel awful. Staying another day in that room --perhaps it is a "sick" room? --is out of the question. Once presentable I ask the hotel clerk whether I could cancel my extra night's booking, which I paid for in advance. She agrees, and I am so glad.
I pile Beau and his belongings, along with mine into the car, strapping him into the seatbelt once more. I call my friends and let them know I would feel better sleeping in my own bed and promise to keep in touch. The day is brilliantly sunny --a gift, as another worry I had about driving to Bucks County on the last weekend of 2013 was that the weather would be foul. I decide I would like to see a bit of Doylestown before departing Bucks County and head south on Route 202.
I have no trouble getting to Doylestown, the GPS' directions are direct for once. I arrive at the beginning of South Main Street, and park in a virtually empty lot by the CVS . Then I try to remove Beau's seat belt, with taking it off over his head giving me difficulty. But I have a bigger problem: I forgot to turn the car into "Park". As a result, when I accidentally hit the accelerator, the car, parked by a curb by a grassy knoll, lifts itself over the curb and onto the knoll. I go into reverse, and almost hit a car idling perpendicular to me. Fortunately, I was able to stop the car in time.
After I have the car in "Park" and Beau out of his seat belt and wearing a leash, we exit the car and I take a look at the front: the bumper covers have snapped out of position. "What will this cost to fix?" is the first thought I have. A woman who took in my "close shave" a few minutes before, is parked in a red Mini Cooper two spots away from me. "You're shaken, but not hurt, that's the main thing", she says kindly.
I drive Beau and me home, arriving by 5:30 p.m. I park in front of a fire hydrant (another worry: will I get a ticket?) and run Beau and our luggage upstairs. I return and get in the car (which is thankfully unticketed), setting the GPS for the Budget Rent A Car depot at La Guardia airport. I make it there without too much difficulty. The question is: how will the change in the car's state be handled?
I pull up to the first spot available for car return and a handsome young man from the Caribbean comes up, wearing a lovely smile. I think I dealt with him when I picked up the car the day before, and greet him warmly. I tell him right away that because I jumped a curb, the bumper covers snapped out of alignment. I also cajole, saying "It's Christmas --could you help me out?"
He is able to snap the two bumper covers back into place. "I'll let it slide", he tells me. I shake his hand and palm $10 into his. Life is good.
As for Bucks County, it's so American, so traditional, I'm scared off. I know Bette Davis and Celeste Holm and their husbands drove out there between shows in "All About Eve", and that Claude Rains had a farm there; that New Hope is home to the famous "Bucks County Playhouse", where out-of-town tryouts for many great shows were done. Doylestown is the county seat and a pretty town, too.
It's all just too bucolic. When I rounded the exit ramp off the George Washington Bridge and took in Riverside Drive, I felt the corpuscles in my blood stream surge. Gingerbread houses and Shetland ponies are beautiful, but I am to glad to be reminded of New York's edge, its keenness and intensity, in comparison to Bucks County. --And I'm glad to see my own bed again.
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