On the Rails

In the dark, dreary, cold, bleeding cold of February I went online to find a holiday destination that offered warmth, green vistas and good food.  New Orleans came to mind and before I had an opportunity to reconsider tickets were booked and paid for, hotels were found and rooms booked and the credit card was red hot.

May 19th was the date of departure.  A railway trip from Boston to New York, New York to Atlanta with a two days stop over in Georgia.  Then onwards to Louisiana and the Big Easy.  As the day approached I began to consider if the vacation was such a good idea.  I need to explain.

I am not a great traveler in the sense that before I leave by train, plane, boat or car my imagination begins to take over my life.  What if there is a hurricane?  What if there is a drought and my garden perishes whilst I am away? What if the dog gets sick?  What if there is a tornado? What if I am mugged and all my cards stolen and I am left lying in a ditch?  What if .... What if ... I have been this way since childhood so it is unlikely that I am going to change.  I do attempt positive thinking. I imagine myself sitting in place x sipping a glass of cold lemonade whilst watching the river/people/musicians and so on.  Of course at that point I am interrupted by an imaginary waiter who informs me that my drink is accidentally loaded with alcohol but he assumes that is alright?  And so on.

By the day before we were due to leave I was anxious.  I was irritable. If there were hives caused by negativity I would have been covered by them.  So it came as no surprise to discover that there had been an accident on the railway line between New York City and Boston.  No trains would be able to use the line for at last four days. No one injured had suffered critical injuries which was good but the closure of the line was not.  My husband phoned Amtrak and was informed that if you miss the first part of a multi-city trip Amtrak automatically cancels your entire trip.  No sir, she said, there is nothing you can do about changing that since it is computerised and policy.  End of conversation.

Second phone call.  No madam you have to make the first part of your trip or cancel your ticket and have it reissued. Are you guaranteed that the ticket will be exactly as it was?  Well ... long pause .. yes unless someone else books the same trip before you can and there are no more available roomettes.  But surely that wouldn't happen?  It might.  But the accident is not my fault and the closure of the line is not my fault so you should be able to guarantee me of being able to have the ticket issued without any problems.  I wish I could but ... Should I go ahead and cancel it?  NO!

Third phone call.  This time spouse insisted on speaking to someone who was prepared to do more than recite the official statement from Amtrak.  A helpful person who actually sorted out the problem for us and gave us confirmation numbers and confirmed the new tickets.

A new plan was set in place.  Our daughter was going to take us down to White Plains, NY from where we would catch a commuter train to NYC and then get the train to Atlanta.  Simple.  Direct. Easy.

So we said our goodnights and retired.

The god of weather and the imp of vomiting wracked their heads and came up with a better plan. During the night there was a severe weather warning and our granddaughter was up for most of the night vomiting.  New plans.  We would drive to White Plains and leave the car at the station for the duration of the holiday.  Easy.

At 5.30 we whispered good bye and set off on the first leg of our journey.

By nine o'clock we were in White Plains.  The weather was over cast but the threatened storms had not yet arrived.  All we had to do was park the car, pay for long term parking and catch the train.

But where was the long term parking .... Where was the parking ... Where was ...

In the years since we had last done a trip from White Plains to NYC parking policies had changed.  A large notice (unnoticed as we drove into the garage) stated that parking was for four days or less.

David went to pay.  He returned wearing an expression that required no announcement.  In the car we sat.

Silence.

A longer silence.

A deep threatening silence.

A thunderous silence.

The type of silence that threatens to break with a verbal flood filled with expletives and accusations.

I grabbed the GPS.  There had to be parking garages offering long term parking.  The GPS blinked.  It groaned.  It clunked.  It informed me that maps had not been updated and I was a moron.  Unhelpful, I responded.

Five, ten, eleven minutes passed.

Yipppppy.  There were two garages that offered long term parking.  All we had to do was get to them.

Turn right (no that doesn't work since it is a one way going left).  Recalculating. Turn right at next intersection.  Go .6 miles.  Turn right.  (okay maybe updating maps for 50$ is a good idea since once again it was a one way going the other way...)  Go .3 miles turn right.  Go 1.6 miles and turn right.  Go .7 miles and the garage is on your right. Really?!?!  On our right?  There is an office block and hotel on our right!! Neither offer public parking.  We stared across the bonnet of the car.  The time was 9.34 am.  We had to be at  Penn Station no later than 1 pm so we had time but panic was beginning to set in.

The next offering from the GPS was no better.  We had to retrace the route twice before we could find it.  At this point I made a suggestion that was ignored.  As of yet no raised voices but the tones used were becoming extremely telling.

Maybe we should return to the station and beg and plead with a parking attendant.  A call from our daughter with an offer for her and her husband to drive down and fetch the car made my spouse's face turn a strange mottled colour.  Allow someone else to drive his car?  Did I really suggest someone else driving his car? All the way back to MA?

So back to the station.

Next left instructed the GPS.  So he turned left.

As we all know the GPS expects us to do some thinking.  Next left is not left.  It is NEXT left.  And yes the left we had just taken was now taking us onto a highway and away from White Plains.  Why?  I don't know why since I did not design the road system.  Nor I am the one who is driving.  And yes I am not being helpful but since we are speeding away from where we want to be at the speed of sound I am not about to make any suggestion other than the extremely practical one of going back to where we (sic) went wrong.  Oh look there went an off ramp ...

Finally back at the station garage we were told that four days was the longest one was allowed to leave car in the garage.  Now what to do?

Drive to New Orleans?  Cancel the holiday?  Spend it in White Plains? Risk having a having responsible, careful person drive the car home?  Decisions ... decisions ...

I put forward my first suggestion.  Phone a hotel and find out if they offered long term parking. 

Five minutes passed.  The dull grey day seemed to become a weight upon our shoulders that was unlikely to lift.

One phone call and I was put through to a parking garage at a hotel.  Yes, the young man assured me, we could leave the car there for two weeks.  Yes it would be safe.  Yes it would be alright to do so. 

Doubting David reversed from the parking space.  The GPS sighed.

Once at the hotel the attendant assured us that it would be fine to leave the car there.  Of course I had phoned the only hotel whose parking garage was undergoing repair work.  Every thing was covered in a lovely grey dust that seemed fitting as we drove up to the fifth floor. 

The car was parked.  Time: 10.46 am. Level of stress: 8 out of 10.  Level of humour: 2 out of 10.  Level of sarcasm: 10 out of 10.

We went downstairs and climbed into a taxi.  The driver seemed to be an odd mix of crazy and common sense.  I have to confess that I was the one who started the conversation but at least one person was talking.

Tickets in hand we boarded the train to New York.  Tickets in hand we quickly disembarked after hearing an announcement that the train was going non-stop to Yankee Stadium station.  Fortunately the deep silence between us had allowed us to hear the announcement.  United in exasperation we waited for the next train.

By 14h10 we were on our way to New Orleans via Atlanta, GA. 

The car - well she would have to fend for herself amongst the rubble, dust and dangers of reconstruction.  Hopefully she would still be there when we returned.

Hopefully ...