mr. obbs went on a journey this past weekend back to his alma mater. After a weekend of shenanigans with some fellow esteemed alums, i was faced with a rather complicated journey home. Now, someone once said, *famous quote* and it has occurred to me that the unbeaten path is sometimes seldom traveled for a reason. I was approximately 6 hrs from boston as the crow flies, yet my only potential rides were not planning on going to boston. not at all.
So I was faced with two options: Option 1: travel on the most boring stretch of highway evar, then take a $30 bus from Hanover, NH to Boston, arriving at approximately 11pm. ORRR Option 2: Wait awhile at college watching playoff basketball (cue the classic John Tesh theme) while my escort and her boyf played checkers together in his room, then depart for NYC, arriving around 9pm, where I would take a $15 china town bus back to boston arrivin around 1am, and (hopefully) catch the last citybus home (for free).
Being a cheapass, i of course opted for the latter route.
The trip to NYC went greeeat! No traffic, good playlist on my friend's iPod (Hall and Oates, Baltimora, Foreigner, Eddie Money to name a few), and a bag of doritos for mr obbs to snack on! Once in the city, i even got a ride directly to Port Authority (turns out it was much more on the way to Long Island (my escort's destination) than China Town. So instead of the chinatown bus, i'd take greyhound. But i knew greyhound was only $20 one way, i should be ok money-wise and my cheap plan would still go off without a hitch.
I run to the ticket booth at 8:50 and ask for a one-way to beantown. Thirty-two bucks. WTFRIG!! mr. obbs not happy! but, short on time, i pay with cash (leaving just one bill) and run to the bus terminal. get there at 8:53 and get in line. One by one they let people on until, 6 people away from the door, the bus is full. SHIT.
mr. obbs now has to wait for the next bus, which, though states on the board is leaving at 10, will get pushed back to 10:30. I think I mentioned how much I love spending time at Port Authority in a previous blog. So, yea.
I arrive in boston at 2:34. Now, with only 1 dollar in my pocket, and the T long-closed (GM Dan Grabauskas of the MBTA says that they must close the T every night to do all their "repairs," and yet T's are still broken down, disabled, and habitually alte every day... hrmm) I realize i gotta A) get to an ATM and B)holla at a cabbie.
The closest ATM i know of is... like a mile or so. Not bad. It was a warm night and I had nothing better to do really (besides sleep and get ready to wake up at 8 for the red sox monday).
On the walk to the T, I notice that I am making great time. I'm not tired at all. I also find that I'm really enjoying the city at night. Deserted. Calm. Peaceful. I walk by the finish line to the Boston Marathon and my mind begins to think crazy thoughts...
I decide to make this walk home my own personal marathon. Inspired by the pain my fellow marathoners will endure in the nearing hours, I begin to pick up my pace. I was also inspired by the fact that I did not want to end up paying more for my decision to go to NYC over Hanover (which was looking pretty amazing at this time).
Poor cabbies drive by shaking their head at me. Honking. FLipping me the bird... but I stay focused. My stomach begs for pizza. I give in, only to notice they closed at 2. I don't need pizza anyway. I only need late nite pizza when I'm drunk.
I push on.
Past the one hour mark, I am making great time. I turn down the final turn. I climb my steps and openthe door. I am greeted by the pounding beats of Sytem of a Down. So. Much. Emotion. I walk into my living room to find some shady looking characters playing poker. I hit my stopwatch: 3:42am. I have shattered the marathon record with my finishing time of 68 minutes (unofficial). I looked up the distance from South Station to my home the next day: 5.5 miles. Not too shabby!
I didn't sleep til 5am cuz my roommates were partying. Party on a Sunday til 5? makes sense.
Monday I get up and head to a buddy's place to pound a 40oz of Natty ICE. Go to the Sox game, watch the 'real' Boston Marathon, then help polish off a keg at a friend of a friend of a friend's place next to the course.
It was a beautiful end to a long and exciting weekend. I think I am still recovering.
-- mr. obbs
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