Motoring the splendid Taconic Parkway

I'm going to sound like a Department of Transportation marketing intern now, but trust me, I did not so much as receive a free toll for writing this piece.

Decades ago, I heard someone call the Taconic State Parkway the Catatonic State Parkway. And ever since then, even though I had never been on the Taconic, that silly pun tainted my perception of that route.

The parkway runs straight south-north from NYC to almost Albany, about a dozen or so miles east of the Hudson.

I guess it wasn't so much the pun, but just the interstate options that forced the Taconic off my active mental map. When I'd travel south, I'd take I-87, which is the New York State Thruway (sic on that official God-Bless-America spelling) or as an option I-89 and I-91. But never the Taconic, which threads its way between the two options.

Today, heading back home to Vermont, on a lark -- with only visual exit distance as my deciding time -- I made the turn onto the Taconic State Parkway.

What a trip. Instead of traveling north, I suddenly was traveling backwards. Backwards in time. I left the busy suburban New York traffic and was transported back into a time when I and just a few other "automobiles" were "motoring" along this scenic parkway.

If you go to the official website (yes, this parkway has its own website) you will see that the Taconic was built, in installments, during the 30s, 40s and 50s. On the southern end are stone archways carrying the overpasses. And in the areas were the north- and south-bound lanes are contiguous, there is a "box-rail" divider, as opposed to concrete segments.

The road meanders in much tighter curves than modern interstates. Toward the northern Hudson Highlands, you are surprised with sudden wide views of the Hudson Valley. For most of the 70 miles I "motored" the Taconic, I was the only car. Nothing in front of me. No push-push, hurry-hurry from behind. And truck traffic is prohibited. (According to the wikipedia entry on the Taconic, it was as late as the year 2000 that pickup trucks could get a special license plate to legally travel the Taconic.)

If you choose to take the Taconic (and you should) be sure to use the modern advantage of cruise control. The speed limit is 55, and with those tight turns, you will never see the cops hiding in their pull-offs. I set mine at 66 and was ignored by two "patrol" cars, which I passed. I was actually half-expecting to see a motorcycle cop with a three-quarter helmet, Ray Bans and equestrian-type riding pants, but apparently some modernization has occurred on the Taconic.

The speed posting is appropriate because the Taconic is so old-fashioned that it still has crossroad intersections every now and then. No ramps, just perpendicular intersections, at which crossing or entering cars have to gun it. The only reason that works is because there is so little traffic on this 1950s antiquity.

Yet, despite that speed limit, I made just as good time back to Vermont by saving the trip further west to pick up the interstate.

The official website indicates that the highway is being considered for historic preservation status. In that case all upgrades, including the proposed conversion to ramps, will be done in keeping with the existing style.

The northern end of the Taconic terminates in a tollbooth entrance to the Mass Turnpike or I-90. It was fitting that this rolling, recherche a la road perdue would end in an empty tollbooth.

Empty tollbooth? Was this a scene from The Phantom Tollbooth?

No, wait: there's a sign: "If no one in booth, please be patient. Attendant is serving other lane."

I loved it. I waited something less than a minute while the "attendant" was apparently taking the toll from some lucky soul who was about to motor south on the Taconic. Then she appeared in the service window. "Have a great day," she said as she handed me my ticket.

I already did, I thought.