It all started after leaving Boston. With a brief stint in Woodbury, CT with my aunt Penny and cousins, we left to seek further refuge from the wintery mix in Philadelphia, PA. Our first encounter with the Big Apple was fleeting. As I was shakily following road signs, directing Rosie where I saw needed, I yelped, "We're in the Bronx!"
Matt laugh nervously and said, "I didn't realize you'd have to drive in New York City. Oops."
But we made it safely through the Bronx, then New Jersey and into Philadelphia, receiving a warm welcome from the Harkins.
Leaving early the next morning, early if you consider 9am early, for New York City, all was swell until the flashing lights by the side of the road signaled that there were urgent traffic conditions. A broken down bus in the center tunnel of the Lincoln Tunnel-right where our little Rosie needed to go.
"Expect hour long delays" the chipper female voice instructed over the radio.
We continued vigilantly, hoping for the best. Our only delay upon nearing the tunnel was the $6 toll.
Once through the tunnel, Matt clutched the wheel tighter as all conceivable traffic rules flew out the window. In a left turn lane only? No matter, turn right anyway. Have to get over three lanes? Don't worry, just turn your car perpindicular to the road, stopping traffic in three lanes until you can situate your car. Street signs? No one needs them clearly labeled, your guess is as good as mine.
A huge sigh or relief escaped from the three of us; Matt, Rosie and I as the Icon Parking sign appeared before us. The parking garage on the corner of W. 49th St and 10th Ave seemed a welcome resting place. The attendants, connoisseurs in cramming cars into spaces that can't possibly hold them, took our precious Rosie down under.
We turned away, claim ticket in hand, to meander on the streets of New York City.