An excerpt from my newest book coming out soon
Stream of Consciousness: A Tail of Male Infertility, Medicine,
Life, & The New York Thruway (A Real Cock & Ball Story)
I decided to
drive. I like a good road trip but what began
with the excitement of a road adventure and good audio book soon gave way to
increasing stress and tension with each passing mile. The first 3 hours was pleasant enough but as
I turned onto I-90 heading west from Albany, melancholy overcame my cheery
disposition. Interstate 90, which is
known as the New York Thruway, traverses the state and passes some of the most
important yet forgotten historic locations of our nation. This is the region of the eastern edge of the
Erie Canal, built in the early 19th century by Irish immigrants, at
a tremendous cost in both dollars and lives.
The Erie Canal may well be one of the greatest construction achievements
in US history and even world history, on par with the Panama Canal and maybe
even the Pyramids at Giza yet as I was driving along the highway all I could see
was economic despair. I turned off the
audio book, unable to concentrate. The
river was pretty but the towns along its banks looked destitute, slum-like. I had to look up on the map to learn the name
of the waterway; the Mohawk. Old
bridges and locks; a canal system. I had
to ask myself, “What is this canal?” I
don’t recall ever learning about it in school.
How is that possible? I made a
mental note to learn about the Erie Canal during any downtime I might have this
upcoming weekend of locum tenens urology call, the mere thought of which making
my throat dry.
The Erie
Canal was built to connect the food production facilities of the Midwest via
Chicago with New York City and then the world.
The Canal is what made New York City a world capital and had a great
deal to do with our nation’s prosperity.
The canal’s slow death began with completion of the St Lawrence Seaway
to the north with the final death blow occurring with completion of the Thruway
in the 1970s. The canal did make many of
the cities along its path rich. Towns
like Amsterdam; Herkimer; Utica; Rome: these were once thriving industrial and
manufacturing towns that to me, as I drove passed them, were in decay. The recession of the early 1970s worsened
things and the towns along this once prosperous corridor have withered on the
vine. Poverty in this region of NY is
rampant with rates exceeding 30% in some cities.
My mood worsened
and dread crept into my head. I no
longer wanted to be here, on this depressing road, and when I got to Utica, a
city with close to half its population living in or around poverty, I decided
to get off the Thruway and take a local, rural highway, in search of some
charm; some history. I hopped onto NY12,
a 220-or-so-mile rural highway that starts near Binghamton and ends along the
St Lawrence River, skimming the western edge of Adirondack Park. NY 12
skirts Adirondack Park but is not part of the preserve, with its pristine
lakes, dense forests, remote wilderness and high peaks. The Adirondack Mountains are old mountains,
much older than the Appalachian Range or any other range for that matter, by 2 billion
years or so. In fact, the Adirondack
Range is the oldest range in the world and was formed prior even to the period
of Gondwana, the giant multi-continent land mass that preceded Pangea by more
than a billion years. Theodore Roosevelt
successfully fought to preserve the Adirondacks from development, starting the
conservation movement. Adirondack Park
is magnificent. But NY 12 remains
outside the park, a world away from magnificent, as it winds its way along the
Black River passing town after town filled with decay, dilapidation, & despondency.
I was going
upriver into the heart of darkness.
