Woke up to some snowfall this morning–not enough to really be a pain, but just enough to keep my station bike docked in the garage.

I set out on foot, leaving just enough time to catch the train, as per the usual routine. I hit the typical logjam at Bradhurst and waited for a break before crossing. I waited and waited some more, knowing I was cutting it mighty close with each passing car. (One of these days, I won’t have to run. One of these days.) 

One of the cars in the opposite, northbound lane stopped. It was a generic sedan with a cheesy Radio Shack yellow siren on top. The man barked out a few questions about directions, but I could barely hear him with traffic passing between us.

I gave him the universal ‘wait one second’ sign, which in these parts involves an index finger extended skyward. Finally, I caught a gap in traffic, hustled across Bradhurst, and made my way to the guy’s passenger window to help. He held Mapquest directions and was trying to get to Briarcliff Manor. He was a good 5 miles from his destination. Part of the problem, I think, is Bradhurst’s other name, Rte. 100–one of seemingly half a dozen Rte. 100’s in the area.

We went back and forth on possible detours for him, me truly pushed to the limits of my local expertise, having lived here for all of a year. All the while, the clock ticked.

“OK, man,” I said, about to throw away every ‘don’t talk to strangers’ lesson from ages 3-18. “I’m gonna miss my train. How ’bout you drive me to the train and I’ll help you get to Briarcliff.”

The man considered the deal for a second before his right arm swept the debris off his passenger seat.

“It’s my first day on the job,” he said as we started down Bradhurst.

“Who do you work for?”

“DOT.”

DOT guy. Lost far from his destination. I found that funny.

I was tempted to ask him to put the Radio Shack siren on as we cruised toward the train, but didn’t push my luck.