Huck Finn in Wantagh and Pinecrest

I had 2 boyhood friends named Eric, Eric G and Eric L. Eric L is part of my family's lore, as I shared with them the tale of Eric and I when we were about 6, being driven home in the back seat of Eric's mother's Dodge. I recall his Mom, Jackie, very well. She smoked a lot and had a big updo, which, other than being blue, resembled the do of Marge Simpson.

Eric and I would play a game in that pre car seat/seatbelt era. When Jackie drove around a curve, we'd push each other to take advantage of the centrifugal force, crashing against the door. As we traversed a large one, I pushed Eric, and, to my horror, watched the door open and him fly out. Jackie, smoking and listening to the radio, drove on. I tapped her on the shoulder, and at first she dismissed me, but then I said Eric had fallen out of the car. She shrieked, stopped, and backed up. He had rolled to the curb and was crying and in shock, but otherwise ok. We stopped playing the game after that.

When we were about 9, in the LI summer doldrums after Little League had ended, we decided to have an adventure day. We didn't live near the mighty Mississippi, but had Wantagh Avenue, the main north-south road that led to our beloved Wantagh Park. So we planned to spend a day walking its length, from Hempstead Turnpike south to the Park, and then back again. I guess the whole round trip was about 10- 12 miles, and back then, in '70, parents let 9 year old boys walk all over suburban towns.

Our preparation was limited to cash -- we each had, I think, $10, so we could buy food along the route and not starve. And we stopped, as I recall, at Wetson's, a McDonalds competitor back in the day, and I think also at a Hardees. There might have been an early Burger King, too, and we had burgers and fries in all three.

I still remember the journey. We talked about sports, of course, and it was a wonderful time to be a NY fan -- the Jets, Mets, and Knicks had all just won championships. We talked about teachers, and friends at school, and the just ended Little League season. I was an above average baseball player and Eric a below average one -- I remember coaching him on blocking ground balls by getting down on a knee...

I think with leftover money we bought a Spalding ball, called a Spaldeen, for use in the stickball we'd play in the street in front of his house -- it only had 2 houses, and minimal traffic interference.

It was a special day, even though we had none of Huck Finn's colorful events. It taught us that you can really find adventure right in your own front yard -- even if you lived in boring suburbs like Wantagh...

I thought of that day from nearly 5 decades ago, because today I had a reprise, of sorts. Wifey's SUV needed an oil change, and I drove it to the Firestone on US 1 and 98 Street. I could have either had Wifey fetch me (though she was fast asleep at my 7 am arrival), or called the FreeBee, the Pinecrest funded Uber-type service I used last time. But instead, I put on my sneaks and shorts and decided to walk home -- a distance my I PHone said is 3.5 miles.

I went west on 98 Street -- mostly empty of traffic as school is out. I never knew there was a tennis center a block north -- several courts barely visible beyond a grove of palms. I loved the sound of tennis balls bouncing and getting hit -- that tell tale thwack sound.

I passed gorgeous houses that usually just go by in a blur. I passed exactly one person -- a man jogging east -- we said good morning at the traffic circle they installed at 72 Avenue.

It was very warm but not too hot -- the sun was up but still shaded by Pinecrest's lovely canopy. I turned south on 67 Ave, and passed a few fellow walkers and joggers, and the traffic was light. An older man was reading his paper while his tiny white dog came up and sniffed me. We waved at each other, and the pup ran back to him.

I solved some of the world's problems in my head, and thought ahead to tonight -- a bunch of us are going to see ELO at the hockey arena. They were last in South Florida in '77, before I moved here. Jeff Lynne is a genius, and Wifey and I love many of his songs.

I entered my 'hood, and Jeff was driving out. He stopped and we chatted -- about aging issues. Oy. Yesterday I saw the eye doc, and found that the retina repair he did 6 months ago was perfectly healed, and I was free to come see him in a year. But after Maine there is the urologist -- who knows what he has in store for an aging man with a prostate the size of a grapefruit, as Dr. Barry reminded me Woody Allen would say.

I had none of those concerns at 9.

And the long walk is still lovely -- Mississippi, Wantagh Avenue, or Ludlam Road...