I'd done a lot on the Upper West and East Sides recently, so I went about 100 blocks north from my last walk to the Washington Heights neighborhood. I did a quick walk from W. 178th St through W. 169th St. (about 5 miles) before going back home to watch the World Cup.

I didn't take a lot of pictures because the blocks I covered were largely comprised of low-rise brick residential buildings and fairly homogeneous. I'll save a larger discussion of the neighborhood and it's landmarks/history for another (longer) walk.

Start of walk

W 178th St at Cabrini Blvd

George Washington Bridge

W 178th St btw Fort Washington Ave and Broadway

Colorful terraces #1

W 178th St btw Broadway and Wadsworth Ave

Colorful terraces #2

W 178th St btw Broadway and Wadsworth Ave

"Baphomet, Take The Wheel" would have been a much better song

W 177th St btw Broadway and Wadsworth Ave

GW Bridge again

W 176th St btw Haven Ave and Pinehurst Ave

There were only so many things to take pictures of

W 176th St btw Haven Ave and Pinehurst Ave

United Palace Theater

W 175th St btw Fort Washington Ave and Broadway

United Palace Theater (b. 1930)

W 175th St btw Fort Washington Ave and Broadway

Typical Washington Heights neighborhood

W 172nd St btw Fort Washington Ave and Broadway

Stanzas Like Dying Mastodons; or I Guess Everything Reminds You of Something (A Hemingway Tribute)

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Six boys were standing in the rain in the middle of a muddy field in Oregon. It was February and the country was grey and wet. The boys were in high school and were looking at a 1987 Nissan Stanza. The Stanza was stuck, sunk in the mud up to its running boards. They had pooled their money and purchased the car for $87 that morning at an auto auction two towns over.

“Why the hell did you drive it through the middle of the field?”, the tall boy asked the blonde boy.

“Shut up.”

“You know the water table’s up this time of year.”

The six boys were quiet for some time.

“Remember when we crashed it through the fence?”, said the thin boy.

They all laughed.

Four trucks and two tractors sat in the mud in a line in front of the Stanza. Each had gotten stuck attempting to tow out the previous vehicle. The boy with the terrible goatee did not volunteer the last remaining truck, which belonged to him.

“It’s getting dark," he said. "Let’s try it again in the morning.”

The other boys agreed. They were cold and had not dressed for this when they had left their houses that morning. The tall boy shrugged and began to walk back to the barn.

The boy with the terrible goatee looked back at the Stanza. He thought that it must have been a beautiful shade of silver when it was new. Now it was a dull grey and mostly covered in mud. He remembered visiting the George C. Page Museum with his grandfather when he was six. There was a mural of a young mastodon, stuck in the tar. The young mastodon was bellowing for help and a larger mastodon was lumbering to its aid. Beside the mural, the bones of the two mastodons (and countless others) sat in a glass case. He laughed to himself. It was a four-wheel drive La Brea tar pits

Years later, the boy with the terrible goatee stood at the intersection of Audubon Avenue and 170th St. in Manhattan. He had shaved off the goatee years ago, because it was terrible. Several pairs of sneakers were hanging from the beam of a streetlight by their shoelaces.

“I wonder if that’s how it happened.”

Fire station

W 170th St btw Audubon Ave and Amsterdam Ave