I got home late last night due to company softball (you just can’t turn down those rare Central Park games). Little G and Little Miss C were ready for bed and, after 12 hours alone with the kids, The Missus was too.

So I decided to take the later train, the slacker-esque 8:43, and spend an extra 27 minutes with the fam.

That particular train always seems to be early, so I climbed on my bike with time to spare, and patted myself on the back as I hit the overpass stairs at 8:40.

Alas, the train came jugging down the tracks within seconds. I bolted up the stairs and heard multiple voices behind me yelling “hold the train!”, including one Weeble-esque woman who wasn’t going to make it if sprinting was required.

Once again, I thought, the 8:43 is early. As I climbed on board, I saw a ruddy faced conductor sticking his head out the window.

“A couple stragglers behind me,” I said.

I went to hold the door, but a few guys were already doing so. All the stragglers made it, and the train was off.

The five-seater in front of me featured a family of four: Mom, Dad, two little blonde kids. The girl had a front tooth that was hanging on for dear life; a stiff breeze could spell a visit from the Tooth Fairy tonight.  

Moments later, the conductor came to check my ticket. He had a red beard to match his red face.

“Why is this train always early?” I asked. (Hey–someone’s got to speak up for us commuters.) “It’s only 8:41.”

I showed him my watch, which was just turning to 8:42.

His face lit up.

“Actually, with the new schedules, it’s an 8:41!” he said smugly. “The schedule changed. We’re not early, we’re on time!”

He was kind enough to not say the rest: “And you’re not!”

He punched my ticket and sauntered on to encounter the rest of the breathless Hawthorne riders.

How did I miss that, I wondered. I actually read the new Mileposts every month, and the Metro-North press release emails too. They’re about the M-8 cars that never seem to arrive for the beleaguered New Haven lin riders, right? That one escaped me.

I turned to my Blackberry, and then to the Times, and then to the girl with the hanging-on-for-dear-life tooth in front of me.

Would the thing stay attached until North White Plains?

The can-do civic organization Mount Pleasant Today presented findings from its questionnaire to the town board Tuesday night. MPT issued hundreds of questionnaires, both electronic and hard copy, to commuters and residents to see what they want to go into the to-be-renovated Hawthorne train station.

Here’s what the public wants, in order: 1. Bistro, i.e. Pleasantville’s Jean Jacques; 2. National coffee chain, i.e. Starbucks, Dunkin; 3. Police substation to combat the scratchitti, vandalism, urine problem.

The space is cozy and needs loads of TLC to make it presentable. I took the below pic of the northern half of the building last month.

The decision on who goes into the station building is up to the board. Supervisor Maybury has said the decision will come in late August or early September. Insiders say the board wants the new tenant (or tenants, there are two rooms in the building that may or may not go to different vendors) in as early as next month.

Reminder, Mount Pleasant Today will reveal the findings of the questionnaire it issued to you, dear Metro-North riders, about what to do with the empty Hawthorne station building. Will it be a restaurant? A reading room? A Suburban Outfitters?

It’s the town board’s decision, but the questionnaire results will figure in.

MPT shares its findings with the board 8:30 tonight at Mt Pleasant Town Hall.

Man, was it hot riding home from the station yesterday evening.

I unlocked my ride at the rack, and saluted my other rack occupant with a nod.

He’s a youngish guy in a beard, and I was curious where he rides to, because there are major hills in most directions around the station. It’s hardly bike-friendly.

He was off a moment before me, heading south.

I strapped my pack onto my pack, Dora’s “Backpack” song bouncing around my head. (Backpack, backpack…if you have a daughter who’s under 5, you know the tune.)

My pack was particularly heavy; I’d played softball after work late last week, and left my work clothes and shoes at work. All were in my pack last night.

My fellow rider turned left at Lexington Cross Street, which is a giant hill. I watched him climb that thing like Lance in his prime, slow and steady, like the lederhosen-clad mountain climber in that game on The Price is Right.

All the way to the top. I was impressed.

Meanwhile, down at the bottom of Elwood and Cross, I was laboring under the weight of my pack and cursing the relentless summer heat. Hot, sweaty, sore, and with Dora’s “Backpack” song in your head…I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, short of BP execs.

As I neared Chelsea, a familiar car went by. Neighbor “D” offered the surf’s-up finger-pinkie wave; he’s just back from a shore vacation and obviously still has the beach on the brain.

“Wanna ride?” D asked as we turned onto Chelsea.

I thought of some way I could latch on to him, have his little Subaru drag me by bungee cords up Heartbreak Hill and home.

Then I thought of a more doable Plan B.

“Can you grab my pack?” I said as I yanked the boulder off my pack.

“Sure,” he said, grabbing the satchel and proceeding to zoom up Chelsea.

Five minutes later and 15 pounds lighter, I arrived at the homestead, and found my pack sitting in the driveway, waiting for me.

So thank you, D, for making my steamy Monday slightly easier.

For your efforts I will plug your band, Wakeup Call, and sincerely hope you fill Victor’s August 28.

I know WC bills itself as Westchester’s best classic rock band.

Maybe you can play Dora’s “Backpack” song for me.

Train blogger/photog Emily of IRideTheHarlemLine has revisited the tiny Mount Pleasant train station, which only receives/accepts passengers a few times a weekend as they visit/depart Gate of Heaven cemetery. (GoH is of course the final resting place of Babe Ruth and, about 50 feet away from Ruth, Billy Martin. George Steinbrenner is buried 1,200 miles away in Tampa.)

Emily takes terrific photos, and takes considerable delight in visiting Metro-North train stations and snapping the s*** out of them.

This is her second visit to Mount Pleasant; previously, she called it “The loneliest statin on the Harlem Line.” Oddly, it’s probably closer to my home than the Hawthorne station, though getting my bike up the hill through Gate of Heaven would make Broad Street’s Heartbreak Hill seem like a bunny slope.

She writes:

One of the first station panoramas I posted was from Mount Pleasant… though I wasn’t too happy with it, so I went back to the station, and got a few new panoramas. Enjoy! 

Remind me to speak with Emily about helping with some sort of long-overdue redesign of Trainjotting.

The civic group Mount Pleasant Today has tallied up its commuter questionnaires regarding what to do with the now in-play Hawthorne train station, and will present its findings to the town board, including Supervisor Joan Maybury, at town hall at 8:30 p.m. August 10.

Writes MPT:

We would like to thank you for participating in the Hawthorne Train Station Survey. We are very pleased with the overwhelming responses we received.

Mount Pleasant Today will be presenting the Hawthorne Train Station Survey Results to the Town Supervisor, Town Board and the community at the Public Session of the Town Board meeting on Tuesday, August 10th at 8:30pm. 
 
We invite you to attend.

The decision on what to do with the vacant space at the train station is ultimately up to the board, but Maybury has said the questionnaire results will figure into the decision.

Maybury has made cleaning up the Hawthorne station a cornerstone of her tenure; recent improvements include a giant ornamental clock, and a pair of new stone planters filled with flora and fauna.

It appears the clock was officially unveiled last Thursday. When I got to the station in the evening, several parking spots were blocked off, and crews were setting up a PA system.

Hawthorne station was like Santa’s workshop on Christmas Eve this morning, but instead of elves putting the finishing touches on the children of the world’s trains, drums and dollies, the workers were working to beautify the station.

I counted something like 10 different Mount Pleasant work trucks: pickups, earth movers, etc. Guys were planting flowers in the new stone-wall beds at the northernmost tip of the station, doing the same around the still-covered grandfather clock, and even replacing the busted railroad ties marking parking spots parallel to the tracks.

Town Supervisor Maybury said she would beautify the train area. She wasn’t kidding.

I got the paper around 8 a.m. and it seemed OK outside.

I looked outside when I got out of the shower around 8:20, and it was dark.

Little G had thought it would be fun to watch me shower, and I didn’t disappoint him by spitting water against the glass door, inches from his face.

“Doesn’t look good out there,” I told him when I looked out the window. “Hopefully Daddy can get his bike to the station before the rain hits.”

I dressed and rejoined the fam downstairs. Little G was perched at the bay window. Thunder could be heard in the distance.

“Doesn’t look good out there,” he told me.

I left a few minutes early to beat the rain. I passed a pair of power-walking ladies. “Good luck!” they said.

I passed a woman walking her dog who I knew by sight. “Don’t know if you’re gonna make it!” she said.

The dark clouds seemed to break as I headed east toward the fire station, whose trucks suddenly started zipping out of the station and heading up Chelsea.

The sky darkened again as I headed north on Elwood, a giant stretch of angry black-and-blue creasing the gray sky.

I thought of snapping a pic of this unique cloud pattern, like a rip through the sky, but figured I could use every second I had to get to the station dry.

Indeed, just as I pulled into the station lot, the rain started to fall, peppering the tarp covering the new Hawthorne station clock. I locked the bike under the overpass and the skies opened up. Thunder, lightning, thewayyoulovemeisfrightening, etc.

A man and woman, dressed properly for work, discussed the storm as we boarded.

“The umbrella doesn’t do a thing when it’s like this,” the woman said.

The man agreed.

“See the sky before it hit?” said the man as he took off a suit jacket to reveal colorful suspenders. “It was green where the sky was split….Tornado color.”

The man and woman discussed the Great Tornado of 2006, which sliced right through Hawthorne–you can still see the tree damage along 9A by Applebee’s and the diner–and put little Hawthorne on the map, at least for a few days.

The man likened the sky to a Mark Rothko painting.

A tiny Hispanic kid stared at the storm out the window, his young mother next to him.

As the train approached North White Plains, he spied the trains parked in the railyard.

“The trains, Mama, the trains!” he said, reminding me of Tattoo and Fantasy Island. “The trains!”

The doors opened at North White just as a giant flash of lightning lit up the outdoors, and a frightful thunderclap followed.

That kept the kid good and quiet the rest of the way.

In a week during which elderly Yankee figures seem to be meeting their demise with frightening regularity, it is worth noting that the Yankeemobile of Hawthorne train station–the pinstriped, Yankee-logo-d Jeep Cherokee that graced the Hawthorne lot over the past year–has not been seen in months.

We first spied the Yankeemobile in September 2009. For a while this season, it seemed as though the driver only took the Yankeemobile to the station following Yankee wins, but that theory was disproven by the end of April.

Every time, it sat in a prime spot, backed into the space so that all at the station can take in the full glory of its face–a wide grille smiling like a smug first-place team.

But the Yankeemobile seems to have gone the way of the baseball-cap bullpen cars. Was it a short-term lease, sent back to the dealer after the Yankees captured championship #27 last fall?

Or has the driver been sleeping in a bit, relaxing after the pressure of winning the title has been lifted, and is taking his chances in the lot down by the ballfields?

Anyone seen the Yankeemobile of late?

It was exactly a year ago that tiny downtown Hawthorne got its very own wine shop. Twelve months later, Hawthorne Wines is still burning as bright as the ersatz Jagermeister flames in its picture window.

Happy birthday to the shop, which hosts weekend tastings, offers discounts for commuters, and provides a good wine alternative to schlepping out of town for a bottle.

It’s also run by a couple of local guys, who go by the name of Tom and John.

 ”We’d like to thank everyone for their support and patronage,” said T&J. “We will continue to serve the community and give back as much as we can in our ability.”

The guys said, as a token of their appreciation for the commuter crowd, mention seeing this on Trainjotting and they’ll offer another 10% discount. [Seriously.] The deal is good through Aug. 31 and restrictions do apply.