A Friend In Boston

           Seven weeks we shared the never ending vibration of roads heading for our goal:  Boston.

           Tight suspension on Mog was taking a heavy toll.  Bolts and nuts would loosen by day and be tightened by night.  Greasy hands were standard fare and tension began to mount as to the advisability of such an extended trip in an un-restored classic.

           Small annoying noises began to make themselves heard and the realization of ever 7,000 miles yet to travel on the planned trip and critical shortness of funds made early retreat home a tempting alternative.

           East, however, was mesmerizing and the ribbon of concrete was being sucked under the car relentlessly.

           Looming ahead in large white letters stark against a green background was a sign "South Boston".  A feeling of tremendous elation and relief overwhelmed me and I felt a kinship to the early explorer that had finally found a safe haven.

           Being completely lost I allowed Mog his own nose and followed his instincts until we came upon a small police precinct station.  Parking in front I entered the door to a small Ireland.  This certainly didn't seem like the Boston I had heard about.  The sergeant was kind and spoke in a heavy brogue and gave me instructions to Boston proper.  Thanking him and going out the door I noticed that Mog was doing quite well himself, having attracted numerous street urchins lost in their make believe world taking their turns behind the wheel.  Excusing ourselves politely for the intrusion we headed out to find my friend in the city.

           "Hey, John buddy, How ya doin."

           "Who's this?"

           "Stan.  What do you mean, 'who's this"

           "Stan!  Where are you calling from?"

           "Just down the street.  I've made it, I've really made it.  And I'm quite lost.  How do I find you?"

          Ha, Ha,  ole Mog he sure liked Boston.  Really fit in too, what with all the history that has passed through.  Old often does like old!  and then again, the old stone streets filled with pot holes left Moggy somewhat bruised and battered.  It wasn't long before we became anxious to be on our way, while we were still in one piece.

          Mog and I left Boston on a sunny cold winter day, with the last of our cash on hand, with hopes of rendezvousing with a cashiers check in Jacksonville, Florida two weeks down the road.  We discussed whether sufficient funds were available to make the trip and a real possibility that no money would be waiting for us.

           Optimism, however was the foundation of this trip and adventure the cornerstone.  Throwing caution up for grabs, we headed south.