After a long day and night of exploring and climbing around the city and returning to our host’s Brooklyn apartment I had two choices. I could either curl up next to the GF and get some sleep or I could head back out and climb a bridge. With the weather forecast looking grim for the remainder of our trip and a burning desire to round out the last of the BMW set I chose the latter. A miscalculation in the train schedule left me standing at the platform for an eternity and by the time I set foot on the bridge it was a quarter past three.
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We sat in a bar in lower Manhattan watching a very edgy burlesque show in which an attractive woman was covering various portions of a black haired, eyeliner adorned little person as well as parts of her own anatomy in black paint. Welcome to New York. As the show ended the members of our group debated on who was the hottest participant in the two shows we had just seen. The majority agreed that it had been the redheaded host of the previous and more traditional burlesque show. Fast forward 30 minutes and the six of us were marching towards the Williamsburg Bridge. Shane had managed to talk the aformentioned redhead into joining us in our attempted ascent. Moe, a registered tour guide, was going on about the historical significance of alleys and storefronts we passed by when he got distracted by the prospect of more beer and wandered off down a side street. “I’ll catch up, just go.” And then there were five.
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After nine hours, a tank and a half of gas, and about $50 in exorbitant tolls I emerged from the Holland Tunnel and into New York. The shear mass of pedestrians and the lawless mad max style of driving that was the custom took a few seconds for me to get used to. Shortly, however, I was layin on the horn and narrowly dodging obstructions like a seasoned psycho taxi driver. The car got parked following a hour of missed turns, unintentional circles, and near collisions and I proceeded to wander on foot.
I spent two nights in the city, stretched out in a sleeping bag across the trunk and back seat of my car. I wandered around the first night casing bridges, high rise construction sites, and fire escapes. Despite being in such a target rich environment I didn’t climb anything the first night and only one the second. I blame a lethargic, depressive mood combined with a concern for my current but temporary issues with the courts.
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I hoisted myself out of the driver’s seat and took a long stretch, arching my back and thrusting my pelvis into the blistering cold air, both relieving the dull pain of a nine-hour-drive and demonstrating my prowess over the other alpha males in the group of angry geese I had disturbed while approaching the shoreline. After seeing images of this bridge on the interwebs I had pulled out the atlas and plotted a pit stop on my long drive back to the midwest for the holliday season. After the relief of being in a standing up position for once began to fade, additional layers of clothing became necessary as the true nature of the cold I had stepped into started to set in.
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