A Time to Reflect Part 1

As I sit here at lunch checking my e-mail, I started thinking about April 16 of this year. That is the day I turn the magical 30. My godfather, whose birthday is three weeks before mine and I plan to take an excursion into Memphis as a dual birthday gift. That said, this is as good a time as any to reflect on my automotive experiences.

From the tender, early years of my life until the age of 24, I did not have a driver's license. Whenever I went on road trips, however, I played the role of Captain Navigator, a superhero of sorts with the uncanny ability to get everyone to their destination.

The first road trip I can recall took place in 1992. My parents were divorced, so it was just my sister, mother and I at home. My mom decided to take us to Williamsburg, Virginia. As a Brooklyn, New York native with a passion for reading road maps, I was very excited.

(I can easily look up the route that we took, but I would be lying if I remembered it, so I will jot down what is left in my memory bank.)

We hit the New Jersey line in just over an hour. Then, we detoured in Philadelphia, PA. I was not overly impressed with the town, except for two things that stuck out. The first, was the Planetarium, which was extremely cool with its various exhibits and colorful decor. The other thing I was impressed with was the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. As we crossed it, I felt like Marty McFly crossing the Eastwood/Clayton Ravine at the end of Back to the Future III, in which I entered another time period.

After spending the night we hit Interstate 95 and caressed the highway all the way to Williamsburg. Unfortunately, I do not recall much after this. However, I remember visiting the grave of the author to the Preamble of the Constitution, Mr. Thomas Jefferson. What struck me was the fact that on his tombstone, nothing was mentioned about being president. (I later learned, it was Jefferson's idea for its omission)

At Colonial Williamsburg, people were in costume playing the parts of those lived during the Colonial era in Virginia. My favorite thing was the stockade, which according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary is "an enclosure or pen made with posts and stakes." The stockade was used to publicly humiliate those who committed a vice or crime. I posed in one and let me tell you, if I was assigned to it I would never committ another offense again.

As we entered the parking lot, my mom decided to head to Yorktown, the site where General Cornwallis and the powerful British army surrendered to the Continental Army. (Unfortunately, my memory is lacks what we did there.)

It was time to head back. However, the excursion up north was not smooth sailing. We drove up to Ocean City, Maryland where my mom decided to hitch a ferry to Delaware and from there head through New Jersey and back home. However, about five to ten minutes into the ride, the waves became choppy. It felt as if we signed on to the Gilligan's ferry service. I became nauseous and frightened. I thought "God it is too soon for me to die!" This up and down feeling lasted about thirty minutes. (Although it felt like a year and ten days) As we got off, it was explained to us that there were violent thunderstorms and tornadoes hitting areas from New Jersey to Staten Island, one of the five New York City boroughs.

The rest of the trip went calmly. At 4:34 AM, the key was placed inside the apartment lock and from there, I dove right into my comfortable twin size bed.