Our intentions were simple; drive down to my parent's place and then take at least one day trip into New York to see "The Gates" before they were dismantled. We had done this before... dodging winter storms where necessary.
We packed that night and I kept trying to ignore and discount the dry cough that had started earlier in the week.
Because of a late minute coastal storm heading to the mid-Atlantic we decided to leave later in the morning and stay out one night in Albany and then finish up the drive the following day, when the fast moving storm had moved out to sea. After a half hour online we had selected and booked a hotel room near the airport. It was a clever plan... or at least I thought it was at the time.
So off we went at mid-day and promptly hit a snow squall not 20 minutes from the house as we approached the US border. Mark drove on, and after sometime we emerged on the other side of the band, relieved that it wasn't the major storm hitting to the South.
By the early afternon we were on the NY Thruway, guaranteed to be one of the most boring roads in North America, especially in February. It is peppered with shitty fast food "rest areas" and little else. We soldered on and I looked forward to a nice dinner and restful sleep in a comfortable hotel room.
We arrived in Albany just after the sun set and checked into the hotel. The room was just what you might expect a Hilton at the airport in Albany, and little more.
By now I was coughing more often and feeling weak; and within an hour, when we went out to dinner, my voice was almost completely gone. I found myself croaking "I'll have the piccatta..." to our waiter.
Back to the hotel and some images of New York on the Apprentice... but I was wheezing and sneezing so much now it was difficult to watch, so we went to bed, ready to finish the second part of our trip in the morning.
Instead of sleeping I tossed and turned, gasping for air in the stilted overheated room. When Mark cracked the window the frigid air gushed in... this wasn't the answer. All in all I think I slept for about 15 minutes that night.
At 7 AM I was to be found standing in the shower with the water hot enough to poach eggs. I could barely talk and felt feverish, but felt hungry enough to eat an ox. Down to the lobby we went... and I headed straight for the small area off reception where sundries where sold and grabbed some cold and flu medicine.
"Do I pay for these here?” I squeaked to the three guys behind the counter.
"Yep", said a very large Samoan looking man. He turned to a tiny colleague and they promptly started arguing about who would give me change. Apparently the night crew was settling accounts and I was his last transaction.
As they stood there and talked I thought it might be nice to wheeze a cup of snot in their general direction, but I did manage to control myself.
"Let's eat", I said to Mark and we crossed the lobby to the restaurant.
"I hope you feel better", our waitress remarked as I popped the cold medicine without water or juice. There wasn't time to wait at that point.
We sat near the window and when my eggs arrived I had to move quickly as the bitter cold just outside the glass lobby sucked any residual heat from the breakfast in front of me.
"I want to go home", I croaked. It wasn't fair to expose my parents to whatever contagion that had landed in my chest. And the prospect of standing in Central Park and simultaneously checking out The Gates whilst contracting pneumonia needed to be avoided.
So it was another pointless six hours on the Thruway to get back home, ending up with the car covered in that mid-winter slime of ice and fine dirt applied at 80 miles per hour. We crossed the border tossing boxes of tissue from seat to seat as Mark was starting to cough now too.
This was almost as much fun as our trip to Georgian Bay a few years ago. But now I can say that I have been to Albany in February...