It was the first rain-free weekend last fall and my boyfriend Parker’s first time visiting my new home in Manhattan, where I’d recently moved.

“I’m dying to leave the city,” I told him. We brainstormed a day trip upstate where we could drink apple cider, go pumpkin picking, touch grass. Thanks to an Instagram reel, we discovered Cold Spring, a town under two hours away via the Metro North, touted for its Halloweentown meets Gilmore Girls aesthetic. 

Boarding the train, we were surprised to see almost every seat taken.

“I guess we’ll just wait till some of the people get off at the next stops,” Parker said. 

Wrong. No one got off the train. Instead, every New Yorker and their mother were headed to Cold Spring.

At the Cold Spring stop, herds descended upon the town–influencers, hikers, apple-pickers, couples, families. We trudged behind the masses like the Macy’s Day Parade. I alerted Parker that I hadn’t eaten all day, was dehydrated, and desperately needed to use the restroom. 

First things first, we’d find food. An ivy-covered cafe on the corner caught our eye–its chalkboard sign advertised cinnamon apple pancakes in orange cursive with falling leaf illustrations. Perfect.

“It’ll be about a two, two and a half hour wait,” said the freckled ginger hostess. “Shall I put your name down?” 

“No worries, we’ll keep walking,” I said. 

We strolled uphill to the next food vendor, a trendy, health-food coffee bar and bakery. Lovely. The hostess informed us it’d be about a two hour wait. 

“Can I just get a coffee to-go?”

“Sure, but we’re out of all milk and non-milk alternatives.”

“Ok, I’ll take it black.” Nothing beats black coffee on an empty stomach.

After waiting in line for 20 minutes for a drip coffee, Parker wisely split off so he could do some hunting while I did my gathering. 

“I tried three different sandwich shops–all lines out the door,” he said when we reunited.

We peeked into every restaurant–from barbeque grills to Spanish tapas, but it was all the same. We walked farther uphill, tripping on uneven bricks. Still hungry.

“I’m just going back to that first sandwich place,” Parker said. 

“Ugh, but I didn’t like anything there.” 

“Ok, well what do you want?”

“I really want a chicken caesar wrap.”

“I don’t think you’re going to find that here.”

“That’s not true–I saw it on the menu of that salad place we passed.”

After some bickering, we agreed to split up again to pursue our separate visions. Once at the salad place, I was greeted with another line of fellow hangry people.

 “We’re New Yorkers. It’s all we do, wait in line,” joked the short-haired woman in front of me. A 15-year-old employee at the register informed us they were out of lettuce. No caesar wraps.

“No salads at all?” asked the woman.

“No,” the girl with teal braces shrugged. 

“Ok, I’ll have a turkey sandwich.”

“We’re actually out of bread. We have tortillas?”

“No that’s ok, I’ll get the Blue Bananza smoothie.”

“Sure, just to let you know we’re out of bananas. I could do it with mango?”

“You know, I’ll just get a lemonade,” the woman said, laughing.

“I’m sorry…We’re out of lemonade.” 

I turned to the group of girls in line behind me, “someone please tweet that Cold Spring, New York, is out of lunch.” 

And on top of zero lunch options, there were no restrooms in any of these “quaint” places. I got a vegan brownie and met back up with Parker, who’d secured a ham sandwich. 

“This town simply doesn’t have the infrastructure to support this,” Parker said. 

“I know. We broke Cold Spring.” 

“It’s like the city was just transplanted here.”

“I blame Tik Tok. All the hidden gems have been excavated.”

We wandered past a brownstone church. Soft autumn light dappled through orange leaves. We inhaled a fresh, chilly breeze, the kind that makes you nostalgic for fourth grade soccer practice. 

But no time for breathing. “Oh shit,” I said, loading my MTA app. “The last train leaves in five minutes–after that we won’t get home until 11 pm.”

We laughed as the church bell rang. It was already 5:00. 

“Katherine, we spent our whole f***ing day looking for food.”

“Stop, I’m going to pee my pants.”

We ran back to the train track–we were getting on that 5:05, foliage and fresh air be damned. We forced our way through the train doors that struggled to shut like an overstuffed carry-on. I gripped Parker’s t-shirt as he held onto a pole, reaching over the swarms. At 5’3, I stood at the perfect height–nestled under the armpits of the sweaty hikers. I asked some tourists next to me if it’d be possible to squeeze through to get to the bathroom, but they said a woman had locked herself in there because she was having a panic attack. In the other bathroom, I was told, someone was vomiting. 

We stood next to a chatty alum of our fellow alma mater, which helped take my mind off the two hours I’d spent standing in discomfort. She peppered us with questions about our majors and career plans and whether we were interested in consulting. 

“We’ll be there soon,” Parker reassured. “We’re 30 minutes away.”

“Oh no we’re not,” our new friend corrected. “I mean, we’re looking at about another hour, at the least.” 

I winced. She was right. After significant train delays, we arrived in Grand Central more than three hours later. We headed straight to a diner for burgers, beer, and a bathroom.

It wasn’t how I’d imagined we’d spend our 24 hours. I hated when our weekends didn’t go as planned, when the fleeting time we had together was squandered by the unforeseen resistance that is living in New York. When the vision for my carousel of Instagram stories becomes a nightmare that can only be shared with the ‘close friends’ list.

And yet, I can say it was one of the most memorable dates we’ve had–the least Instagrammable often are. And on some level, maybe it was the first test of our nascent long-distance relationship. More travel days from hell would be in our future, more flop dates, failure-to-launches–and failed lunches. But had I not been with him that day, maybe I’d have been locking myself in the bathroom, too.

It wasn’t about achieving a picturesque autumn day from a Tik Tok reel – it was having someone’s shirt to grip when the train rocks, someone to smirk at when the Bain consultant asks for your five-year plan, someone who numbs the pain of standing so much so that when the train doors finally open you turn to the family of six and say, “after you.”