Roadside Distractions

Considering how many stops and U-turns we make during most trips. It’s a wonder we ever get anywhere. This Sunday’s ride home from Georgetown was no exception to the norm. This Sunday, after attending a rather underwhelming San Gennaro Festival in Georgetown. We began heading back home. After a stop at a scrap yard and one next to a sole train car, I was more than satisfied with the days choice of destinations. From there, another serving of ice coffee was all I needed. Scenes like these have given me thrills since my early childhood and show no signs of dissipating. As a young boy, my Father would take me to the junk yards that lie behind Shea Stadium as well as the train yards in Suunyside, Queens. Those trips instilled in me a sense of adventure and desire to seek out whatever was on the other side of the fence. My only hope moving forward is that my footing keep up with my desire. Only time will tell.

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Collected Memories Feed an Ongoing Passion

Some of my earliest memories involve my Dad taking me to the junk yards just beyond Shea stadium at Willets Point. Whether it was to scavenge for parts to keep his T-bird running or as a shark collecting on bets whose payment had over reached the official calendar dates. For me personally, the opportunity to seize the passenger’s seat and tag along on such an adventure was better than a trip to Disneyland, or at least the local arcade. That excitement I felt when the car would come to a rolling stop. Where I’d eject myself from the car, run past the half-berserk junk yard dog towards the wrecked cars, old tires and random parts that lay about like toys waiting to be opened on Christmas Day. I tell ya. From the age of five to about ten years old, there weren’t many playgrounds or theme parks worthy of such excitement on my part.
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Decades later, and with many years behind me. I find myself, sometimes embarrassingly, drawn to the same things that inspired me as a child. Things that, till this day, raise my brow as well as the hair on my arm or the back of my neck.Those sensors and those knots in my stomach let me know that… as broken down as I may be. I’m still alive and full of a passion to get closer, investigate, document and  report back. I hope that passion never leaves me.

Danger is my Middle Name.

OptionsThis afternoon while walking on a stretch of Route 9 highway.  I had a straight up  “Stand By Me” moment. You know, the moment where they’re walking on the train tracks and come upon the bridge. Well, in my case it wasn’t train tracks or the fear of an oncoming train bearing down on me. As I passed the cemetery gates and the overpass looking down on the train yard. I suddenly came to a dead end.         The rocky, gravely road I had been walking on for miles ceased to exist at what seemed like the final leg of my journey home.

Stopped in my tracks. I looked at my limited options.       Already bloodied and still bleeding from a fall about a half mile back. I wiped my sun beaten brow and began to contemplate my narrow choices. Option 1; Walk just a matter of feet (Maybe a hundred or so) on the shoulder of a very busy shoulder of the road that turned onto 9 South and the Pulaski Bridge and proceed to what is known asStand “The Circle of Death. Option 2;      Walk back about a half mile and cross at the next available signal. Having recently watched as car after car mindlessly broke for the shoulder (unfortunately for them, towards a tragic accident and in to the waiting sirens or the local police.) and how dangerous that spot tends to be. I began limping back towards the traffic light in the not so close distance. As I limped towards my destination I spotted a small break in the concrete medium and waited for my chance to bolt towards it.  Lucky for me, I made it across without being hit or causing any collisions. Before long I was home wiping the blood from my leg. If there’s anything to be learned from my experience. It would be to dress appropriately.                 Sandals and shorts are not recommended when walking the highways or exploring local junkyard’s or industrial complexes. Two, take the high road. Life is too precious to have it end foolishly.