Snow day in New York City

It snowed last night. Not a lot, maybe three inches, but it was enough to do what snow seems to do for me and that is kill time.

I can't tell 5 a.m. from 5 p.m. in the snow. It all just sort of feels the same and my internal clock responds to the confusion in unpleasant ways.

Time: 4:50 a.m.

I was awake. "Blink, blink ... what the hell time is it? Shit, now I'm awake," awake. The odd light above the curtain confused me. It was blue and rose, but black too. "Snow," I told myself, aloud because I'm apparently becoming one of those old guys who says things aloud to himself at 4:50 a.m. for no reason. This thought occurred to me as I sat up and threw myself out of bed.

"Shit," I said aloud. "Don't start talking to yourself."

"Damn!"

Nothing was moving. Nothing. It was so early even the usual commuter traffic down my street was nonexistent, so I stood in the window, naked, and watched the snow dance through the streetlights and listened to the strange sound Simon and Garfunkel called "silence."

That was fun for about three minutes. Time: 4:54 a.m. I hand-cranked the emergency radio -- it wasn't an emergency. There was plenty of power. I just like generating my own electricity, particularly when standing in a window ... naked. The weather report said it was going to snow until rush hour and then switch to sleet for a while before becoming rain.

Time: 4:59 a.m.

I decided if I was going to be awake, I might as well take advantage of the snow situation in some way. That advantage, I decided, was going to be getting to Central Park before the humans ruined the snow.

Time: 5 a.m.

I crawled back into bed, hoping the feeling would pass.

Time: 5:05 a.m.

Nope. I was awake. I showered, bundled up and walked into the snow.

Time: 5:57-6:40 a.m.

Subway ride and hike from Lexington Avenue and 63rd Street to Central Park's 66th Street entrance. From across 5th Avenue I saw two humans -- joggers actually -- going into the park. It was going to be a lot trickier than I'd hoped to thwart the humans and find pristine snow. There weren't many humans in the park, but I know from years of clinical observation that it doesn't take many. In fact, I followed footprints across the park, into the Grand Plaza and then around the lake and into The Ramble at 72nd Street on the west side of the park.

I was beginning to despair at finding pristine snow.

Time: 7:30 a.m.

I got to the top of a knoll in The Ramble, a knot of paths that er ... ramble around for a while for no reason other than to get you tired. The humans were really starting to flow into the park, I could make out their hunter orange and lime green jogger colors in stark relief against the black and white of the snow on trees. If someone were hunting moose in Central Park on this dreary winter's day, there would be no accidental shootings. Unless, the hunter shot me. I was wearing camo.

I didn't want someone to mistake me for a jogger.

Between the joggers, the next wave of commuters and the dog owners, the window of opportunity was going to close on my winter wonderland.

Then I saw it. A fork in the road. There was a path that was not less traveled. It was not traveled at all ... at least not since the snow started. It was a white carpet of powder. I stepped into it after testing to make sure it would hold me. As my foot pushed down to the asphalt below there was this lovely crunching sound like busting open a beanbag chair and walking on the spilled guts. I was going where no one in New York City had been in five or six hours.

Time: 7:34 a.m.

I was a child again; wide with wonder, frolicky. I kicked the snow and it sent out a perfect fan of icy dust. I slipped and slid and my boots made snake tracks through the virgin snow as I shifted my weight to keep from making an accidental snow angel in The Ramble.

Time: 7:35 a.m.

My 20-feet of virgin path rejoined the path more traveled. I took in my small victory as I stared at a sign on the lamppost in front of me that read, "Wild Forever." (I have a picture on my cell phone and I'd share it if I could figure out how.)

It was time to find coffee ... wild coffee.

Time: 8 a.m.

I'm doing coffee and typing across the street from a large banner on the side of the ABC building on 66th Street and Columbus Avenue advertising "Lost". Between my seat in the window and the sign I've got 20 feet of shit-brown sludge, a hacking wino, two overflowing garbage cans, a parking meter and a steady stream of bleating cars.

"Wild Forever"