PLEASE DON’T FEED THE MODELS

 

 

My business travels finally took me to the Big City last week.  I didn’t actually realize it until the day before I left though.  My boss told me I was going to Long Island.  Long Island turned out to be Long Island City, which is actually in Queens.  Now Queens isn’t in Manhattan, but it’s awfully close.

 

I only went for a day.  Can you imagine it, commuting from Charlotte to New York for a day?  The best part of the trip was finishing up my work by 2:30.  My flight back didn’t leave until 8.  What to do?

 

I went hiking of course. It was a sunny, warm, beautiful day, so it seemed like the thing to do.  Well, it wasn’t your typical hike, but I think anytime you walk for several miles for the sole purpose of walking, you can call it a hike. 

 

From Queens, I took the subway into Manhattan.  $2 and an easy 15-minute ride took me straight to Times Square.  I started my hike there.  After wandering around Times Square for a while, I headed down Broadway.  My goal was to walk down to the Empire State Building, before heading back up Park Avenue to Grand Central Station.  What was the worst that could happen?  I was confident I could handle Manhattan.  After all, I’ve seen plenty of Seinfeld reruns.

 

I headed down Broadway, passing an amazing variety of humanity.  I heard all sorts of languages as I weaved through pedestrians, bicyclists, pigeons, taxis, and more.  On the way, I kept my eye out for something I could buy for my wife.  I don’t usually bring gifts back from my travels.  She’ll buy my excuses that there’s nothing for sale in Memphis but Elvis dolls, and nothing in Augusta but golf crap.  Those claims wouldn’t fly after returning from New York City though.

 

I was pretty sure the Empire State Building was somewhere around 33rd street, but I couldn’t find it.  There were plenty of tall buildings around, of course, but certainly none a hundred stories high.  Where could it be?  I leaned up against a building, and studied my little map of Manhattan.  It looked like it should be nearby, but I didn’t see it in any direction.  How could I not see it?  It’s the single biggest thing in all of New York.  I gave up and crossed Park Avenue, glancing over my shoulder as I did.  And there it was.  I had been leaning up against it the whole time.  Apparently all of the other buildings had blocked my view of the tower.  This was kind of like not being able to see the tree for the forest.  I felt rather sheepish, like I’d just spent an hour searching the house for my glasses while wearing them.

 

I headed back up Park Avenue, still looking for a suitable gift for Christy.  Every fourth store sold cell phones, and she already has one of those.  The rest sold clothes.  I have no doubt that Christy would’ve been happy with many of the things in those stores, but I also have no doubt that I would’ve failed to pick any one of them. 

 

Finally I found myself at Grand Central Station.  The station is certainly impressive, but here’s a surprise – it’s relatively quiet.  At least it’s quiet compared to 42nd street.  Go figure.

 

Grand Central Station has a number of shops in it, and I was sure I could find a gift there.  I nearly bought a candle for $20 that I could’ve found in Charlotte for $5, but that seemed silly.  Finally I wandered into the Discovery Channel Store, of all places, where I found a 6 pack DVD featuring videos of our National Parks for only $30.  This gift would be more for “us”, but it would have to do.  It was certainly better than a candle.

 

From there, I caught a taxi back to LaGuardia airport.  New York has a world-class public transportation system, but it’s still impossible to ride a train from Manhattan to the airport.  I’m sure the taxi cab drivers union would throw a fit if anyone ever suggested that, so I had to take a cab.  I caught a ride with a young Rastafarian, who, surprisingly, didn’t smell like marijuana.  I was hoping that he’d be a bit more mellow than the typical New York cabbie.  He was, to the extent that he didn’t drive on the sidewalk a single time!  He still drove like he was in a Nascar race though, so I will forever refer to him as Junior.  Junior Marley.

 

I got to LaGuardia early, as I had expected bad traffic and delays getting through security.  Neither happened, because I was early, of course.  On the way through security I did notice a young, blonde girl that was pretty despite being horribly scrawny.  She looked like she could use some help from Sally Struthers.  These weren’t the reasons I noticed her though.  I noticed her because of the T-Shirt she was wearing.  It read, “Please do not feed the models”.  Classic.

 

I had dinner at the worst Chili’s ever.  The menu had 5 items, and one was soup.  Soup seemed particularly unappealing, since it was about 110 degrees inside the airport.  To make matters worse, the Chili’s was strategically located next to the security screening area.  Hey, there’s nothing like watching barefoot travelers being groped by people in uniform to stimulate the appetite.

 

I eventually made it home, where I lazed away the next few days.  On Sunday, Kevin talked me into finally getting the canoe out.  Originally we discussed joining some friends for a paddling trip on the Dan River, but I ended up downsizing our plans to a simple trip on a local lake.  After much discussion, we ended up paddling part of Mountain Island Lake, just outside of Charlotte.

 

With Christy’s help, we got the canoe tied down to Kevin’s Volkswagen and headed out of town.  I had never canoed on Mountain Island Lake before, but I had a nice new map that showed a boat ramp off Killian Road, on the northwest side of the lake.  It looked ideal, as it would allow us access to the narrow portion of the lake not far below the Lake Norman dam.  This area is surrounded by a wildlife refuge, and promised better scenery and solitude than most of the area lakes.

 

There was no ramp, but there was a pulloff and a rough path down to the water.  We put-in there, and paddled down a tributary arm.  In short order, we reached the main lake channel.  The lake is really just the Catawba River here, as the water appears to still be confined by the original river banks.  The channel is perhaps 200 feet wide, which is relatively narrow, at least compared to Lake Norman and Lake Wylie.  We hoped that this area would prove less popular with the speedboats that discourage canoeing on those lakes.

 

We headed upstream, and immediately found ourselves battling a powerful current.  Apparently Duke Power was releasing water out of Lake Norman.  To escape the current, we turned into a cove on the far side of the river.  We followed a narrow, twisting channel, passing several fishermen, before the stream opened into Duck Cove.  Duck Cove is really a sub-lake, but serves as a surprising escape from civilization.  We were only a few miles from Charlotte, but the only thing we could see was water and trees.  The only sound, save for the occasional airplane, was that of our paddles in the water.

 

We toured the entire cove, and found an interesting place at the far end.  We got out to follow a little stream up to a small pond on top of a little rise.  The pond was full of tadpoles, algae, and all kinds of life.  Just up the hillside, a large spring emptied to feed the pond.  This little hidden pond provided a great place for lunch, and Kevin and I enjoyed the quiet.

 

After lunch, we paddled out of Duck Cove, spotting Great Blue Herons as we went.  We returned to the river channel, where we found that the current had subsided.  We took advantage, paddling upstream until we reached a few houses at the edge of the wildlife refuge.  This seemed like the ideal place to turn back.  On the return, we spotted a massive fish that must’ve measured two feet long.  We also passed a couple hundred turtles.  Each one of then launched itself off of its log into the safety of the water as we passed by.

 

By afternoon, the speedboats and jet skis were out.  That signaled the end of the trip for us.  We paddled back to the cove where we had put in, only to be greeted with a much different scene.  The water had dropped over a foot since the water release had ended, and the pond we had crossed was now mostly mud flats.  Luckily we found a channel that was barely deep enough to allow us to pass.  If the water had dropped any more, the trip would’ve ended with a tiring, muddy hike.

 

Kevin and I enjoyed our first visit to Mountain Island Lake, but next time we’ll try to arrive earlier in the morning.  Getting out there ahead of the power boaters would definitely improve the experience.  Next time, we’ll start farther downstream, at Latta Park, or at the highway 73 bridge just below the dam.

 

 

 




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