xtcian

4/18/03 Columbia County, NY It's hard

4/18/03 Columbia County, NY

It's hard to believe it has come to this, but, well, it has come to this. On the way upstate, Michelle, my mom, Tessa and I decided to designate a meeting place in case of a New York Disaster. 9/11 proved that cell phones are utterly useless during national emergencies, and the police state to follow any attack will be impossible to overcome, so you'll have to act fast. On the night of September 11, Tessa and I quickly got our car, grabbed my clothes from the East Village, and did all our errands before martial law was declared south of 14th Street a few hours later. Thinking ahead that night saved us from weeks of unmitigated hassle.

Since Sean & Jordana live in Astoria, Michelle works at Union Square in Manhattan, and T & I are generally in Park Slope, Brooklyn, we had to find a spot that met the following characteristics:

1. It had to be off the island of Manhattan. I don't know much, but this seems logical: if any major shit happens, don't be surrounded on all sides by water. Your first order of business is to get your ass outta there. George Washington got creamed on Manhattan, and you could too; as Colin's friend from Serbia remarked, "militarily, it's an indefensible position."

2. It had to be somewhere we could walk, without getting confused. I'm assuming the traffic jam resulting from a major something-or-other attack would be biblical in scale, and the trains are always the first to shut down.

3. It had to be north of everything, making it en route to our farm upstate.

I've always had a soft spot for the weird, giant motels that lined the Saw Mill Parkway up near Ardsley-on-Hudson, but Tessa thought it was too far. So we took the Triboro Bridge and veered west towards I-87 to find the place most accessible to both the West Side Highway and All Things Brooklyn/Queens. What we found was a little place that might be perfect if the world starts getting really fucked up.

notice Upper Manhattan in lower left; the black arrow marks our spot

the actual place: corner of W. 242nd St. and Broadway

It's on the edge of a park I never knew existed, with rolling hills, huge rocks lugged down from Canada during the last ice age and fittingly enough, a marble alcove restroom that bears the name Comfort Station. The idea is simple: meet here. Leave a note somewhere on the premises as to your whereabouts. If you took off upstate, just tell someone you did so.

You can get to the spot easily wherever you are, just find Broadway and walk north. There's a special bridge just for Broadway (actually called Route 9), and if you're already off the island, any number of thoroughfares - including the Henry Hudson Pkway/Saw Mill, I-87/Major Deegan, whatever – all lead there.

left, the aptly-named Comfort Station; right, the fields behind it

Okay, so it's not a flawless plan suppose something happens in Midtown while Michelle is downtown? What if the Triboro Bridge is not an option for us Brooklynites? What if I get hit in the head by flying debris, develop amnesia, and suddenly believe I am an advertising executive from Pascataway, NJ? The answer is the same as it has always been for my musical family: improvise.

A contingency scheme is a flimsy parasol against the vicissitudes of a wicked world, and everyone knows the easiest way to get God to laugh is to make a plan but having the Comfort Station is a cool salve for our worst thoughts, even if we pray we'll never need that kind of comfort.