|What I-93 in and out of Boston looks like in my wildest dreams. (Source)|
As you can see, 128 skirts Boston. On Tuesday I had to plunge into the belly of the beast and travel up I-93 to Logan, being marked with an "X" on the map. Not sure why I chose a red "X" but those of you who maintained or flew aircraft owned and operated by the USAF might hazard a guess. It was done naturally, without malice aforethought, but was, no doubt, Freudian, slippage-wise.
And yes, I-93 does go under the water, through a tunnel yes, but the tunnel is indeed under the waters of Boston harbor. On a quiet night one can still smell the tea.
No, not really but it sounded poetic, sort of...
The trip up was done at or near the speed limit until around Dorchester. Things then got slow, then slower, then (magically) the traffic sped up again. While it was by no means pleasant (driving in Boston is pleasant only if one if heavily medicated or clinically insane) it was, as my old gaffer might have said, "Not bad."
I had no fantasies of firing at the other vehicles with a hand held rocket launcher, nor opening up with a turret-mounted Ma-Deuce (M2 .50 caliber machine gun, if you didn't know). Though one guy did go flying by weaving from lane to lane at a rather high rate of speed (which would have been unsafe had the highway been empty) and I had a momentary thrill thinking that perhaps the guy was a kamikaze and just around the next bend I would get to see him crash his vehicle into a semi in an act of self-immolation which would make the Emperor live ten thousand years.
"Honey, shut up and pay attention to the road, our exit is coming up shortly."
"Oh yes, you're an idiot."
Walter Mitty lives on.
While traffic was "not bad" on the return trip to Little Rhody (sans Frau of course), it did remind me of this -
And as I was forced by The WSO to enter the environs of the capital of the People's Democratic Socialist Commonwealth of Massachusetts ("but Dad the tickets were so much cheaper") you just had to know that there would be some Dropkick Murphys.
What? You weren't expecting that?
I didn't mention the awakening at 0500, at work by 0630, a brisk 3 and a half hours of productivity, back to the manse for to collect The Missus Herself, then up to Boston, into the aeroporto, back out again, a quick stop at the manse (for reasons which there is no need to share but anyone who has ever been on a long road trip with too much coffee on board might relate to), then back to the place of gainful employment for another productive couple of hours. Thus saving Yours Truly from burning any more "PTO*" than was absolutely necessary. No, I didn't mention that.
Oh, you're right. I just did.
* PTO - Paid Time Off, "vacation" days. Though we're not supposed to call them that.