Welcome to New York

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By no small miracle, Mike and I arrived in Brooklyn, New York, yesterday evening.

It all started on the way out of Clifton Park, in upstate New York. As we pulled up to a stoplight before getting on the freeway, the passenger-side windshield wiper flew off its arm. Mike was able to jump out and grab it before the light turned green, then we headed to the gas station to reattach it.

After filling up we turned on "Faith" by George Michael, which we listened to on repeat for the next five hours.

There was a light rain that came and went as we cruised down I-87 toward the city. We decided to maintain a reasonable speed on the freeway after racing (not literally, but close) to Clifton Park the day before.

Somewhere around the 30th iteration of "I gotta think twice / before giving my heart away," the driver-side wiper couldn't take it anymore and ejected itself into freeway traffic.

Fortunately the rain had let up and we made it safely to the next service exit. Unfortunately, the gas station didn't have any wipers for sale, so we promoted the passenger-side wiper to the driver side and continued on our way.

Roughly 20 miles later we lost our Google Maps-charted course. We were on the edge of the city and had to rely on highway signage to guide us in.

We entered Manhattan on the H. Hudson Parkway in the upperest, westest side. "How hard could this be?" we thought. We know roughly where we're going, and we know that avenues run north-south and streets run east-west; and close to all of them are numbered, so we should be able to figure out where we are on the island based on the intersections.

Unfortunately, we were trying to cross the entire island of Manhattan, not only during rush hour, but also during a meeting of the U.N. General Assembly.

We exited the H. Hudson Parkway at 56th Street and began our trek east. With the help of his instant-message-capable Sidekick, Mike was able to get in touch with Josh in Portland and learn we didn't want the Lincoln Tunnel (which we were looking for based on our limited memories of our now-useless map), but either the Holland Tunnel or Brooklyn Bridge.

After several blocks of driving in Manhattan, I learned in order to survive in the concrete jungle, you have to act like you're the only car on the road. Unless the other cars are city buses and have you surrounded, then you just have to get the hell out of their way.

It was close to an hour later when we made a left turn and found ourselves on a street facing a bridge. As we got closer we learned that it was the Williamsburg Bridge -- not necessarily the one we were looking for, but it would get us out of Manhattan all the same.

The bridge had two pairs of lanes separated by a large concrete barrier. We had to commit to the left pair of lanes before we could read the signs indicating the difference. We got the wrong pair. We were now on the expressway (though there was nothing "express" about it) to Queens.

Like Neo being chased by Agent Smith, we needed an exit. Fast. Of course, we were in the far-left lane of a packed highway with less than a mile to get to the far-right exit lane. If my Georgia tags didn't give it away already, my use of turn signals surely let everyone know I wasn't from around here.

I focused on not hitting the car in front of me while Mike looked behind to check for open spots in the next lane big enough for the Saturn. We made it across several lanes of traffic with about a quarter-mile to spare.

So we were in Brooklyn. Unfortunately, the map we have only showed a small portion immediately surrounding our intended destination. We knew we were north of there, so we pointed the car south and hoped we run into a street whose name was on the map.

Eventually we hit a cross street on the corner of our map and navigated the much less hectic streets of Brooklyn to our destination. Parking and turning off the car (and George Michael) was the most amazing feeling; the blood returned to my previously white knuckles and I was able to relax for the first time in hours.

Welcome to New York.