The idea was simple in the beginning–drive to Woodstock one Saturday and breath in the ghosts of three days of peace, love and music. Then eight days later, take the train to Baltimore and watch freakishly fast cars fly around the Inner Harbor. For a healthy portion of the summer, it seemed like I was traveling in a short, straight line between New York and New Brunswick. Time to stretch that line a little bit.
At least one half of the plan came off without a hitch.
Last week’s hurricane blew away the Woodstock drive and washed a lot of water into my neighborhood. My place, on the third floor, was fine. And other than some superficial damage to some common areas, all was ok.
But I did make it to Baltimore for the car race. Loud and fast doesn’t begin to describe the cars. It was fantastic to be so close to the cars as they came screaming by. I was terribly happy to see Baltimore, which I have a soft spot for, pull this off.
Getting out of line for a little bit a good tonic (I should go back to Baltimore soon), and, especially after a surreal week (three nights in a hotel, and going stir crazy), I feel like the batteries are recharged, and the engine is revved up.