“GONE FISHIN” read the tattered, hand-scrolled cardboard sign taped to the dash-board.
I am soaked to the bone in the backseat of a rickety old cab hailed in desperation to escape a late afternoon storm born on the wings of a typically oppressive dog day August afternoon in the big town. Though eagerly anticipating a super turbo blast of air-conditioning, I quickly realize I’ll have to make due with whatever breeze can be generated from the city streets as we fly through the avenues. I laboriously crank the handle to roll down the ancient windows.
“Planning a vacation?” I ask the driver in reference to the placard placed deliberately just above the steering wheel. Between chomps on his unlit, wet cigar he tells me in his generations-old Brooklyn accent that he’s taking a break from the rat race and heading out beyond the city. The rain is now pounding, the squeaky windshield wipers are working on overdrive but my man has a happy, relaxed expression on his face as he regales me with the details of his annual foray(“nearly 50 years now”) to the lake upstate. Just he, his old hound dog and this battered ’78 checkered cab that’s seen better days. I am reminded of that wonderful adage about the best part of the trip is not always the actual destination but the journey itself. Note to self. He is a contented soul.
As we move into the last full month of summer, this “Girl” wishes you all Happy Trails wherever your summer sojourns lead you.
As for me?…I’m going “fishin’!”