Had a rare early a.m. meeting today atop some midtown skyscraper, and had to take the dreaded 7:52 with that peculiar stop in Mount Vernon West.
I’ve had some difficult times of late with not quite making trains that are not the 8:16, so I climbed on my bike with a bit
e of trepidation. [Editor's Note: I actually wrote "bite" of trepidation. Think it's time for a Snickers bar from the machine.]
There’s a different vibe on the road at 7:40 than there is at 8:10: more cars, more school buses, more hurrying.
I approached Bradhurst and hoped for smooth passage past the cars heading to the Medical Center, or every damn highway in Westchester that seems to pass through little Hawthorne.
In fact, what I saw was a tractor–a freakin’ tractor 25 miles from the
Triboro Robert F. Kennedy Bridge–taking its sweet time as it headed toward me, south on the slight incline on Bradhurst.
The driver wore an orange vest and a blank expression and was doing around 20 miles an hour, with, of course, a line of cars behind it, traffic more packed up than air travel in Iceland these days.
I gritted my teeth and scanned the vista for a break in the auto parade. Nothing doing. If I missed the 7:52, I’d miss my morning meeting. I’d also miss the dreaded Mount Vernon West stop–I mean, what’s better than going from White Plains to 125th?–but I had to be on that early train.
I caught a break when a lady in some faceless OldsmoBuick, situated four cars past Farmer Ted, stopped and waved me across Bradhurst.
Thanks to her, I made my train.
Whoever you are, woman in OldsmoBuick on Bradhurst at 7:47 this morning, thank you for your kindness.