In 1936, Spuyten Duyvil And Northern-most Manhattan...

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Were connected by the Henry Hudson Bridge.

Thirteen years later, I was born.

Sixty-years after that, on the
eleventh day of October–
I crossed that bridge.

Less than ninety hours later,
having traversed twelve states
and three thousand miles,
I arrived home in 
Long Beach, 
California.

My distinct memory of crossing that bridge was an exclamation:

I take the Henry to the George 

The bridge spanning the Spuyten Duyvil Creek segued into the

Henry Hudson Parkway in Harlem and down the road apiece–

crossing a much wider body of water–

was the George Washington Bridge,

free of toll when entering

New Jersey.

It was the  inkwell hour 
of 5AM and this image 
of the George is 
exactly what I saw
from the Henry.


Unfortunately, I did not take that picture.
I was too busy driving at that hour 
to take any photographs.

I was too busy Sputening my Duyvil 
despite having no idea what that means.

Anyway, one month after returning to Long Beach,
I received a letter from the Henry Hudson
Bridge Commission.

I had neglected to pay a $5.50 toll and there was
a $5 late fee to be added to that amount.

Honestly, I did not do so intentionally.

I had been too excited about taking 
the Henry to the George to notice
the toll booth.

Maybe Spuyten Duyvil means
Spitting on the Devil.

The week before Christmas, I called the number 
on the citation and something wonderful happened.

Wonderful is not a word often associated with
having to pay a traffic citation but I was told
that the late fee did not apply.

In other words, I was given–approximately–
a 50% discount on a bill I had to pay.

I wished the lady on the phone 
a Merry Christmas and she did 
the same to me.

What I wish for today is that
I were back in the arms 
of the woman for whom
I drove to New York
last summer.

If only she could Spuyten her Duyvil
and walk through my door...

She would 
no longer 
have to 
send me
pictures
like this 
one →

 

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