The Road Trip -- Prologue

LIKE ALL complex logistic operations, my Official 2010 First-Days-of-the-Rest-of-My-Life-65th-Birthday-Father's-Day-Summer-Solstice Road Trip had its genesis in meticulous planning. I spent at least fifteen minutes squinting at maps and trying to remember why certain places shown on those maps had some nostalgic or sentimental significance that would justify the time, expense and wear and tear of a solo pilgrimage in my long-in-the-tooth (123,000 miles) 2003 Dodge Neon. I didn't have the time or (so I thought, anyway) the stamina to visit every place in New England that had been formative in my life over the last almost fifty years.

So, we may write of other road trips. For now, we'll concentrate on this one.

Since I was traveling solo, I had the luxury of selecting the musical theme for the voyage. Don't ask me why, but I chose Gustav Mahler's Eighth Symphony -- the "Symphony of a Thousand" -- as suitably majestic and lengthy (not to say tedious) enough to gobble up road miles by the dozen. I listened to it three times on the outward journey and three times on the trip home, in each case with multiple re-plays of the portions which REALLY gave me goosebumps.

The camera gear was important, too. I loaded both Pentaxes, made sure my gadget bag was full of spare ammunition and lenses, flash, tripod, etc. This was going to be a PICTORIAL pilgimage, worthy of such stalwarts as The National Geographic, even if I wasn't packing a nuclear-powered, turbocharged Model K9-P Nikoltacanonflex Digital Demon DSLR Deluxe with hazelnut flavoring and cinnamon sprinkles. Nope, I was going to use film, you see -- with tragic results as you may read presently.

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AND NOW THE DAY OF DEPARTURE HAD DAWNED!! With a full tank of gas, a big cup of coffee and a couple of contraband doughnuts (another positive aspect of traveling solo), and with Veni, veni, Creator Spiritus ringing forth in full choral splendor from the rear speakers (yet another good thing about flying solo: I get to set the volume where I want), I set out heading east and north, bound for the Hudson River Valley, Dutchess County, and the Town of Poughkeepsie. This was the situs of my first marriage, if you please, and an oft-visited place during the two decades of that (ill-fated in some ways but not others) liaison.

But now, dear readers, I shall leave you while I spend a few days trying to dream up the next episode in this ridiculous saga....