1 – New York, New York
I hate cities. I hate cities. I hate cities.
So far, I'd been pretty lucky. I'd followed the highway for most of the way, couldn't really avoid it around here. But, the closer the city got, the more signs there were to read and the more exits there were to take. In the past, I'd had a designated driver, no worries about getting around. Easy. Someone else had the responsibility. Now, navigating the New Jersey Turnpike, pulling a camper, no less, what was I thinking? Thank God it was still early and there wasn't much traffic. Seeing the exit on the right, I zinged across four lanes nearly cutting off a Benz to veer onto the 3 East which would lead to exit 17 and eventually to the Lincoln Tunnel and into Manhattan. I tapped the steering wheel anxiously hoping I was early enough to miss rush hour completely, but my gut laughed at me cruelly. I snorted. Did I mention, I hate cities?
Approaching the tunnel, I stretched my back and rotated my shoulders. Last night had been strange. Having driven all day from New Hampshire, and being too tired to find a place to sleep, I'd pulled off into a state-owned rest area north of New Jersey. Kind of scary but surprisingly quite. I didn't even bother to unhitch the camper, just lowered the supports to balance it and take the weight off the car. My little ProLite Mini was small but just enough for Sugar and me. We went for a little walk around the grassy area to stretch our legs after such a long ride, had a bite to eat from the cooler, and were in bed before ten.
I tossed and turned. It was a weird night, full of weird dreams. I was back in Kenya with by best friend, Brook, picking flowers in the Maasai Mara. Weird because there are precious few flowers in the Mara, and weird because Brook is a six foot six, two hundred and forty pound Kenyan Military Police officer whose idea of fun is hand-to-hand combat training. We'd known each other for nearly fourteen years, and I really missed him. Then, Sugar and I were playing with Kuru, my lion shadow from Mandera, in a mine field in South Sudan, two completely different places. My heart hammered as I raced to get them out of the Red Zone, land mines being triggered all around us. Next, I was back in Wyoming peacefully sitting outside my camper watching a glorious sunset over the Big Horn Mountains. That dream flashed forward from beautiful, tranquil colors to pitch black and full of sensations. I was in the camper, hot, my heart pounding. It was like hearing the Arabian Sea rushing in my ears. The desire to be held and to hold was so intense. Hands caressing. Soft whispers. Crushing weight. Henry. What? I shot up, eyes wide open, breathing heavily, sweat soaking my tank. You've got to be kidding me? We'd been in contact since I'd left. Simple. Casual. "Where are you now?", "Is everything okay?" -type e-mails. It was nice, but this dream was a first. Steamy. I started to giggle uneasily as my heart slowed, and I took a sip of water from the ever present reusable bottle. Strange, but I missed him too: the man I hardly knew.
Checking the time on my cell phone, I decided I might as well get up and get moving. It was a bit after four and probably another couple of hours into Manhattan.
The morning sun glistened off the skyscrapers of New York City as I veered left out of the Lincoln Tunnel. Not bad, I praised myself. I'd made pretty good time. Following the signs to West 42nd Street, and turning right, I drove its length, past Times Square, Bryant Park, Grand Central Station, the Chrysler Building working my way to First Avenue, the Turtle Bay district where Headquarters was located. People were up now. Traffic had started, but I was nearly there.
The impressive, monolithic Secretariat shone light green over the East River in the early morning sun as I maneuvered onto First Avenue. It was like a 39-story beacon, the light at the end of a very long tunnel, one that made my heart leap. Home, it said. But, it was still out of reach. Although the United Nations Plaza was open to the public, there was no public parking on the grounds. There was street parking and a few public parking garages in the area, but I had no idea which ones might accommodate the camper. Finally deciding to "go with what you know", and circling around on one-way streets, I approached the impressive One UN Plaza on East 44th Street, down the road and up a bit from the main gate and Visitors Center which was across from East 46th. Also called the Millennium Hotel, it was often used for visiting dignitaries and delegates and also housed a few temporary apartments for long term visitors. I'd stayed there a few times on rare visits, and had used one of the apartments between getting out of the hospital and my recent road trip. Pretty ritzy compared to what I was used to.
It was six-thirty when I pulled into to the entrance of the parking garage. The attendant inside the Plexiglas booth took one look at the camper and raised his eyebrows. Not something one regularly saw at this four-star establishment.
Sliding the window of the booth open, he smiled pleasantly and asked, "You lost?"
"No," I replied smiling back, holding up my credentials, "But, I'd appreciate knowing where I can park this thing." I thumbed to the camper.
He examined the passport-like folder and grinned. "I think this is a first, Ma'am. Limos and such, yes, but never one of these." He tipped his head to the back on my car. Rubbing his chin and looking at a diagram of the levels, he half leaned out and pointed. "Okay, head straight, go to sub-level 3. Turn right when you get to the bottom of the ramp. Looks like the spaces there are free, and there's plenty of room to maneuver. If you pull through on an end-to-end, you should fit. Will you be here long, or is it just for the day?"
"Not sure." I replied. "I'll have to get back to you on that." It all depended on how the meeting went this morning, and what they wanted me to do next. My stomach gurgled. It would all be decided in a couple of hours.