The Fugitive

   One August morning in 1967, I drove to Dave's apartment on Massachusetts Avenue in Colonie, and we set off for a day trip to Niagara Falls. I've been there several times since then, but this was my first trip there and the most enjoyable. We were young and totally unencumbered and spent a glorious day there.
    We left Niagara Falls at the end of the day, later than we'd anticipated. It was dark by then and it suddenly came to us that  we may not get back to a television set in time to watch my favorite TV show, The Fugitive.  The show aired at 10:00 p,m., and it was to be the season finale, the wrap-up with Detective Girard ending his search.
   Dave never minded driving fast and we were in my 8-cylinder Chevrolet SuperSport convertible, making good time.  We were flying when  Dave, observing in his rear-view mirror said, "There's a cop following us."  He wasn't stupid enough to try to outrun the cop, but he cut his speed, and changed lanes, maybe more than once. Somehow, exiting the Northway onto Central Avenue, the cop either lost sight of us or gave up the pursuit. Either way, he'd never used his siren.  Maybe he too wanted to watch the conclusion of The Fugitive,
   We pulled into the driveway exactly at 10 o'clock, and raced up the stairs to Dave's apartment just in time to see the entire episode.
   The one-armed man had been brought to justice, and the Fugitive was a free man. So much fun.