On a dark night, in a strange place, I entered The Twilight Zone

Rod Serling’s classic sixties supernatural/horror/science fiction TV series “The Twilight Zone” is one of my favorite programs of all time. This show was so well written and performed that it still holds up well today.

It was filmed in glorious black and white, and the iconic theme song has become a cultural icon, often played or hummed when anything strange is about to happen. I watch the show whenever I can, even though I’ve seen them all many times.

In fact, the episode “Room for One More, Honey” is so chilling and frightening that I still get goosebumps every time I see it. Why am I mentioning all this? Well, the other night I found myself in The Twilight Zone. Really. Here’s what happened.

It was the weekend of my 45th high school reunion, so we had to drive to Queens. For many years, when my parents lived in Brooklyn, we made this trip six or more times a year. Well, they have not lived there for a long time. Plus, with COVID, we have just not gone to “the city” in several years. So this trip was my first time heading downstate in a long while. I thought I knew what to expect. Not.

When you live in the same area, you notice things changing. A new Starbucks, a change of ownership at a car dealership, a resurfaced road, etc. Conversely, when you haven’t been to a place in a long time, you may be surprised by all that has changed when you go back.

Driving down the Thruway, everything was fine until we went over the Tappan Zee — oh sorry, I mean the Governor Mario M. Cuomo — bridge. Once we crossed, it was readily apparent that things were not the same.

The ramps were different, the lanes you needed to be in for the various exits were different, and it was confusing. I had insisted I didn’t need GPS to drive to my old high school, but I admit I had to take some of its advice.

Overall, the changes are for the better. Lot’s of fresh new roadway, many new building facades, etc. I’m sure, once I get used to it, I’ll like it. Good excuse to go down again soon (though my lovely wife is not as crazy about going down there as I am, unfortunately).

The reunion itself was fine. They had our 1977 yearbook photos on the wall. It’s amazing looking at the photo of the person from back then, and then looking at them now, myself included, haha.

Where did all my thick black hair go? Why is my waist so big now?

But it’s all good, getting older and more mature. I actually like not being in a hurry anymore, and not caring anymore what anyone thinks of me. I can relax for once. Feels great.

Originally, we were going to stay in the city overnight and then do some fun things the next day. Turns out that next day was the day of the New York City Marathon.

If you think it’s congested and full of traffic in the city normally, it’s just exponentially worse when they have major roadways and bridges closed off for the big race.

I read “The Power Broker,” Robert Caro’s excellent Pulitzer Prize-winning biography of Robert Moses, the guy who designed and built virtually all the roads, tunnels, and bridges in New York City, so I have some idea about the whys behind many of the city’s gnarly traffic problems.

That’s why we decided to drive back late that same night instead of staying over. The marathon won this bout for sure.

So now we’re driving home on the Thruway. I always like to drop in at Stew Leonard’s in Yonkers whenever I’m down there. It’s just a great combination mega-grocery store and an interesting destination in its own right.

In my mind, I can remember the big red letters on their huge silo that said OPEN UNTIL 10 PM EVERY DAY. However, things really do change, as when we passed there around 9:30 p.m., they were closed. Rats.

Had I known that, I would have driven home through New Jersey, which is actually 10 miles shorter. Just goes to show, if you haven’t been somewhere for a number of years, don’t assume things are going to be the same as they were.

As my wife and I were, ahem, contemplating my decision to go to Stew Leonard’s, I flew right by the rest area with the gas station I needed. I had been meaning to stop, since we were down to one bar on the gas gauge.

It indicated we had about 30 miles of range left. When my wife realized I’d screwed this up too, let’s just say I heard about it. In detail.

The thing is, I hadn’t found a convenient time to get gas, counting on the fact that I could always find some on the Thruway on the way home. But, after missing the rest area, I was in no way sure another rest area with gas would be there in 30 miles.

So I decided to get off at the next exit. My wife used the phone to find gas stations. There was one west. It was closed. We turned around because the GPS said there was another one east. It was also closed.

Rats, again. The tension, as they say, could be cut with a knife.

Now, let me say right here I have no problem with getting lost. Why? Because sooner or later you always find the right way and, especially when it’s a nice day and you’re on the motorcycle, you can discover some really nice roads and places you never would have found otherwise.

But this was well after 10 p.m. on a dark Saturday night, where we still had quite a ways to go and possibly not even enough gas to get to an open gas station. Yikes. No fun at all.

So I took charge. Disregarding the GPS, I found a main road and just decided to head west. My reasoning was we were only a little bit north of the city, so by going west I knew we’d hit some kind of town at some point.

Yes, by this point, that town had to be within about 20 miles, so I was taking a chance, but you need a little excitement every so often, right?

If you watched any episodes of “The Twilight Zone,” you know that a frequent plot device was some kind of isolated place, like a bus station, restaurant, or saloon, with no one around.

So one minute we are on the always busy Thruway, in the midst of bright lights and lots of traffic. The next minute, we are barreling down this pitch black road into murky darkness, heading to who knows where.

Then, out of nowhere, a convenience store with two gas pumps. Whew, that was close.

The minute we pulled in, I knew it was strange. You know how gas stations have those huge iron manhole covers that hide the filler necks for the gas tanks? Normally, they are far away from the pumps.

At this place, they were right beside the pumps. So we had to absorb clanky bump-bumps as we drove up to, and then around the pumps.

Why around? Because two were obviously non-working, with bags taped over the nozzles. The other two looked OK, so I got out. This is when I knew I was in The Twilight Zone.

First of all, it was eerily quiet. You could hear a pin drop, I’m not kidding. In fact, I thought I could hear my wife’s teeth chattering, from the shock of the tank covers and the overall stress of everything.

Then there was the air, or lack of it. The air was so still you had to breathe hard to get some in. Everything is different at night, I know, but this was really taking it to the next level.

Then I looked over at the store itself. There was a blinking neon sign that said “Wally World.” Err, OK.

The door was open, the counter was visible, but there was no one there. The neon sign and the dim lights over the gas pumps provided the only light in the area.

Other than that, it was pitch black, the blackest night I’ve seen in a long, long time. Yikes, again.

I fed in my credit card and, thankfully, the pump was working. As I pumped I imagined:

— Someone walking out of the shadows, with a dusty cap and a flintlock rifle, who somehow got transferred in time from the Civil War;

— The store being full of people who were waiting for a bus to pick them up, after being assured the bridge was not out. Or was it still out?;

— Getting back into the car and seeing a completely different woman there, going into shock when I tell her I don’t know who she is.

Yes, it really was The Twilight Zone at that strange, isolated gas station in the middle of nowhere in the dark of night with the crazy name. Perhaps, if I’d gone into the store to pay with cash, I’d have discovered that Wally World was actually a portal to another dimension.

Being that I had to go to church the next day, I’m sure glad I had the credit card to pay at the pump and keep me in this dimension, haha.

After gassing up, the rest of the trip home was uneventful. I’ve never been so thankful for a tank of gas as I was then, let me tell you.

I promised my wife I’d make sure to gas up before any long trips in the future. Since then, I’ve always stopped for gas when she asks, I mean orders, me to fill up, and I’ve not complained.

We’re not spring chickens anymore and running out of gas always sucks, no matter how old you are, whether you wind up in The Twilight Zone or not. I like long walks as much as anyone, but I don’t like being forced to do them.

In one “Twilight Zone” episode, all the people on earth are slowly being replaced by their exact duplicates from another dimension. Imagine if when Frank — err, sorry, I mean I — got back in the car, it was really his, oops, I mean my, exact double? How weird would that be? I’m sure glad that didn’t happen.