The west side of the Inner Borough, at about the 70th parallel, has becoming rather East Side. Trump. It is to shudder. I love the mesh hats the monkey-suited doormen wear, though.
The Commodore drove us in the Spirit of ’76, a 1976 convertible Cadillac in flawless shape, up the west side highway. Young people stared with incomprehension, but the Commodore got winks and thumbs-up from seventy-year-olds.
Just off Tarrytown, in the Tappen Zee, widest part of the mighty river. It was lovely on the way up, but there was much run-off in the river from the endless rain, making for a sharp eye. Lolling in the back for a change, the Commodore relaxed as I piloted the boat north, with a southerly making the late afternoon sweet.
Back under the Pallisades. There were lights at each corner of the restrooms, and numerous spiders (I counted ten at this one) had set up webs to catch night-flyers.