An Incident at the Toll Plaza

Just back from a weekend meditation retreat, wonderful experiences after breaking through the tar pit sludge accumulated from months and months of cubicloid droil and commute hell, deep, profound, unbounded awareness that reminded me of my time in a monastic setting in the Catskills, an infusion of pure consciousness now likely dissapated in trying to get over the Bay Bridge last night. I left Berkeley at 10:30, and by midnight I was 400 yards past the toll booth.

A car carrier had hit the side of the bridge at Fremont St. on the San Francisco side, dumping its load of new cars all over the road. In a separate incident shortly thereafter, a car and a truck collided midspan. Traffic was down to one lane, and with cars now stalling, running out of gas and overheating the problem had compounded until, as I stared up at the umoving sea of tail lights on the incline, callers to KGO-AM reported crossings of more than three hours. People simply parked on the bridge, lying on their hoods, picnicking, chatting, screwing, whatever. Others suffered. Parched tongues clacked in dry mouths. Bursting bladders asserted themselves, drivers staring blankly at the wetness spreading across their laps.

No. Couldn't do it.

With waves and a broad, fixed smile, I managed to sidewind my car through traffic from the right lane all the way across the toll plaza parking lot, and onto eastbound 80. Hitting freeway speeds, I screamed in release. Catharsis! Heavy nose breathing! Adrenaline, endorphins and seratonin pumping through my system as I drove north to Richmond, across the Richmond-San Rafael, down through Marin and across the Golden Gate. Got home at 1:00 AM and considered myself lucky. Would likely have been 2:30, 3:00 or later, had I not taken matters into my own hands.

Thoughts of New Mexico. South Dakota. Manitoba.