July 23, 2014 at 2:10 p.m.
Doing battle with Boston traffic
Back in the Saddle
Chalk up another promise to myself that I've broken.
About 25 years ago, after a pretty hair-raising series of experiences, I swore to myself that I'd never again fly into Boston's Logan Airport and rent a car.
One would think that would be a pretty easy promise to keep. And I guess the fact that it's stood up for 25 years counts for something.
Just the same, I felt pretty stupid the other day at the car rental counter at - you guessed it - Boston's Logan Airport.
We haven't really been able to avoid Logan over the years.
After all, our eldest daughters live in greater metropolitan Boston, which is another way of saying the eastern third of Massachusetts. The city sprawls for miles in every direction, though it goes under dozens of aliases and assumed names left over from little burgs that got swallowed up over time.
But another family wedding over the Labor Day weekend - our nephew Ron Butler, my sister Linda's son - meant that my old promise to myself was living on borrowed time.
My first plan was for us to fly into Manchester, N.H., to avoid the crush of the city. But there was no way the number-crunchers at Expedia could make that make sense. Ticket prices looked more like a down payment on an airplane rather than a round-trip fare.
And a rental car was a must, because we hoped to stretch the budget by staying at Connie's family's cabin in New Hampshire most of the time to reduce hotel bills.
There really was no choice, but - just the same - I wasn't looking forward to it when we landed.
Like a genius, I had us arriving about 5 p.m. on the Friday of Labor Day weekend, a great time to try to get out of the city.
So it was with a measure of dread that we picked up the car. The rental people couldn't have been nicer, and apparently they've gotten the memo that customers hate to be pressured into buying extra insurance than they really need.
We took an economy model, and the only extravagance was a GPS unit, something that's actually a must in Boston. Take a look at a street map and you'll know what I mean.
Soon after 5 p.m. we were on our way, following instructions from the little unit on the dashboard who sounded disturbingly like Mary Poppins.
Mary got us through the Ted Williams Tunnel and steered us through the craziness of the Big Dig.
But eventually the sheer volume of traffic took over. We were like a drop of water in a rushing stream (or a stream that wanted to rush but sometimes slowed to a crawl).
To my surprise, there weren't too many NASCAR amateurs on the road. Most people behaved remarkably well.
Most people.
The exception came about 10 miles south of the state line. When I glanced in my rearview mirror, I panicked when I saw how fast a car was approaching. There was absolutely no way it could fit into our lane or the lanes beside us.
So it didn't.
As my jaw dropped, the car moved to the shoulder and kept going. It easily hit 90 when it passed us. The driver, of course, was on a cell phone.
She might have been texting. But at that speed, I couldn't get a good enough look.[[In-content Ad]]
About 25 years ago, after a pretty hair-raising series of experiences, I swore to myself that I'd never again fly into Boston's Logan Airport and rent a car.
One would think that would be a pretty easy promise to keep. And I guess the fact that it's stood up for 25 years counts for something.
Just the same, I felt pretty stupid the other day at the car rental counter at - you guessed it - Boston's Logan Airport.
We haven't really been able to avoid Logan over the years.
After all, our eldest daughters live in greater metropolitan Boston, which is another way of saying the eastern third of Massachusetts. The city sprawls for miles in every direction, though it goes under dozens of aliases and assumed names left over from little burgs that got swallowed up over time.
But another family wedding over the Labor Day weekend - our nephew Ron Butler, my sister Linda's son - meant that my old promise to myself was living on borrowed time.
My first plan was for us to fly into Manchester, N.H., to avoid the crush of the city. But there was no way the number-crunchers at Expedia could make that make sense. Ticket prices looked more like a down payment on an airplane rather than a round-trip fare.
And a rental car was a must, because we hoped to stretch the budget by staying at Connie's family's cabin in New Hampshire most of the time to reduce hotel bills.
There really was no choice, but - just the same - I wasn't looking forward to it when we landed.
Like a genius, I had us arriving about 5 p.m. on the Friday of Labor Day weekend, a great time to try to get out of the city.
So it was with a measure of dread that we picked up the car. The rental people couldn't have been nicer, and apparently they've gotten the memo that customers hate to be pressured into buying extra insurance than they really need.
We took an economy model, and the only extravagance was a GPS unit, something that's actually a must in Boston. Take a look at a street map and you'll know what I mean.
Soon after 5 p.m. we were on our way, following instructions from the little unit on the dashboard who sounded disturbingly like Mary Poppins.
Mary got us through the Ted Williams Tunnel and steered us through the craziness of the Big Dig.
But eventually the sheer volume of traffic took over. We were like a drop of water in a rushing stream (or a stream that wanted to rush but sometimes slowed to a crawl).
To my surprise, there weren't too many NASCAR amateurs on the road. Most people behaved remarkably well.
Most people.
The exception came about 10 miles south of the state line. When I glanced in my rearview mirror, I panicked when I saw how fast a car was approaching. There was absolutely no way it could fit into our lane or the lanes beside us.
So it didn't.
As my jaw dropped, the car moved to the shoulder and kept going. It easily hit 90 when it passed us. The driver, of course, was on a cell phone.
She might have been texting. But at that speed, I couldn't get a good enough look.[[In-content Ad]]
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