PATH

The path into, or should I say, onto Manhattan is straightforward. Walk down our dock through the magnetically locked but usually jimmied iron gate, take a right passed the guard tower, then north by the Krank gym with its patrons gasping and sweating while simultaneously lifting octagonal dumbbells, pulling weighted sleighs across the melting asphalt of Marin St., and trying to stay connected to social media.

Continuing into the bleakness that only new condos bring to the pedestrian street scape with owners of small dogs straining to pull them from the tiny hints of soil and smells left by the few trees some zoning ordinance forced the builders to put in. A little further on is what, at first, looked like tenements; but discreetly behind them are many different models of upscale sports touring cars.

Five blocks on, we reach what looks to be the town square except it is triangular. In four directions radiates vibrant old Jersey streets teaming with small shops, restaurants, and people. Here is where the PATH (Port Authority Trans-Hudson) subway station is located. The PATH has only a few stations. It feeds into the greater NYC subway. The interesting thing about the PATH is that it travels under the Hudson River and the NYC subway. Due to this it is another few flights of stairs down to access it.

I am of a mind that the deeper one goes, until reaching magma, the cooler it stays. There is proof of this in the many caves I have visited. The park rangers always mention that it is a constant 50 degrees and we know about the caves in France where wine and cheese are aged. But this logic breaks down here.

Standing at the precipice of the stairs, a hot, muggy, almost putrid wind hits you in the face, and if I were anywhere else than in NJ or NYC, it would a warning not to enter. Enter we do. Down and down, and though it is a cliché, Dante’s levels of hell cannot help but come to mind.

The authorities have provided fans but contrary to the laws of physics they seem to work in the wrong way increasing the heat rather than cooling our already sticky skin. A train appears and we jump on. It is cool, even cold. A collective sigh of relief should be heard but it is restrained lest one show a sign of vulnerability.

On the NYC subway, young people will in mass try to give us a seat, aged that we be. This is not the case in NJ. We try to find a corner to wedge ourselves in because the train is on a slalom course. These must be special train cars not to derail in the sharp sudden curves presented to it.

The river allows for down time not experienced in the NYC subway system. The trains still have momentary convulsions and then it’s NYC. Time to wake up and pay attention. Time to stop daydreaming and start planning the expedition that venturing onto the island presents. The first being which direction to turn when we emerge into the sweet Manhattan air. Now there is a non sequitur!

Glad This Did Not Say 666!