My Naked Self

Baggage Optional

Dateline: Friday, March 8, 2013

Wake me up before I go, go at three thirty in the a.m. with the harp-tone, I instructed my iPhone. Up in the dead of the night. Yippee. A trip. A vacation from winter, upstate.

I’d precision-planned my get-away outfit for a swift exit. I dress in black yoga pants, black tank, a thin white sweater, new white hoodie, jean jacket, New Balance sneakers. Encase it all in a knee-length black North Face 600 parka I inherited from my daughter who’d moved to L.A. in the fall.

I roll the biggest Swiss Army does-it-all carry-on bag I can heft into an overhead compartment, packed with summer trappings, to the garage. “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.” Load it in the trunk of my eight-year-old Saab that plows through any kind of weather.

One click. The automatic garage door roars shut with a sweet bang. I’m off on my adventure. In the dark. Before the day even starts. I tune up the radio. What’s on at this hour? Surely not Terry. Maybe Early Morning Edition. Yes. A cultured voice cruises with me out of Ithaca, up Route 13, then cross-country through Freeville (School speed limit not yet in effect!), MacLean (Dandy MiniMart not open!) Cortland (Gas!). Thirty-five minutes into my journey, headed due north to Syracuse, I hit Route 81, the big highway that bisects upstate, often…