How Far Do You Think To The Next Gas Station?

Day 1 : 21st September 1996

“you say your name is not Caplin never the less we are delighted to find you in”

The story truly starts, as do most of this ilk, at Heathrow. Having met up with Smurf from Lincoln and done the traditional “pre trip” beers we headed for the plane. I’d been incredibly lucky to have just returned from a work and bashing, sorry “business” trip to Australia which had bagged me an S class, 2 Ns, 2 Australian HSTs, a narrow gauge kettle and a blast in a colleagues BMW round Bathhurst race circuit. Naturally I had returned happy but as a down side I was still not adjusted to UK when the wheels of Virgin G-BFAB left the tarmac on the 1600 to Newark! Needless to say some pretty severe doss took place, disturbed only when the drivers up front missed a speed board and took us onto some 60 foot jointed air a bit quick, well that’s what it felt like!

Arrival kerb side at Newark Airport had us quickly onto a rather leery ride on bus 227 to the garage under Newark Penn Station where there was just time for a beer before an Amtrak AEM7 whipped us the last 10 miles into New York. At this point things started to go a little out of shape. A phone call to our usual motel in Poughkeepsie (and several other alternatives) bought a negative response to our request for a room. BUGGER! We opted for a quick walk round the local and struck First time lucky at The New Yorker; yes they had a room but it was awaiting refurbishment. No matter, that made it cheaper and what a room it was. Cast iron sculpted radiators and generally 40s fixtures and stuff, oh and you could see the Empire state out the window! Bonus, a real period piece, even if it did feel like the phone would ring at any moment and a voice at the other end would say that even though you said you were not Mr Caplin, he was never the less delighted to find you in! A quick wander out for beer and then a very comfortable nights doss.

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