Last week, Nancy and I had an appointment to keep in Revere, which is along the coast a few feet from Boston. We (or I) got lost, and we ended up driving among the massive produce warehouses in East Boston and the police state of Chelsea (every fifth car is a cruiser). Two facts conspired to make this possible; my terrible sense of direction, and fog. I counted four "titty bars" in East Boston, and a large container ship barely visible in the aforementioned mist.
We kept looking for where we were going.
Somehow, we made it back to Revere and made our appointment. This pleased us and we happily left after a very short visit to the cold, windy beach. "There," I thought, "we saw the ocean, let's go home." Naturally, we got lost again coming home. I say, "we" because Nancy got lost with me, although it was entirely my fault. I kept thinking, "It's ok, as long as we don't end up at Logan Airport, because that would suck."
Five minutes later, we arrived at Logan Airport, and I panicked and bolted for the tunnel out. Nancy hates the tunnels of Boston, but it was either that or pull over and set up a new life near an Air Italia departure gate ("This is it, Nancy, we're airport terminal folk, now.") Through some miracle, I had 5 dollars in my pocket, which allowed us to take the Callahan Tunnel back to civilization. Eastbound toward the airport is free, but it costs $3.50 to use it going west. This made me wonder how the hell I got to Logan without getting a free eastbound tunnel ride. Now I know, but it perplexed me something vicious at the time.
As we pissed through the tunnel at an uncomfortably rapid speed, I could feel Nancy growing anxious and a little hateful (of me) for getting us lost and in a tunnel deeply set under Boston and parts of the harbor. And then I took the wrong exit, and was going the wrong way down Rt. 93.
This is easily remedied, with a trip through the newly created Ted Williams Tunnel. Another, longer tunnel. Images of Nancy packing up to go back to Duluth danced in my head.
After we emerged and passed over the Zakim Bridge, it was just a few minutes and we were home (at least at that time of day). As we cruised along, and the tension abated, all seemed fair and lovely in the world.
Unfortunately, the timing chain snapped just as we reached our exit and we had to walk along highway and then the Mystic River to get home. But we do better on foot. I'm happy to report that she hasn't left.