My first real down of the day came when I arrived at Arlington from Park. Arlington's a great station-you can change direction there without paying. I sat down at a bench at Arlington and pulled out my package of tiny wieners and half pint of milk. What I really craved was some Cap'n Crunch, but I had to eat my lunch before it got too warm. At this point, my head hurt, and after a few wet wieners, so did my stomach. I wondered what Ralph Cahaly was doing, and if he had any idea that his wieners were making me sick. I didn't see how I'd ever last the full day, but I had to hop up then to catch a train back to Government Center.

My next trip was on the blue line. I chose to go all the way to Wonderland, where I could supposedly change without charge. But when I got out there, I was greeted by the condemned roller coaster of Revere Beach and some equally decrepit turnstiles, which demanded another of my precious quarters. But at least on my ride out there, I had ridden in these cars which had heat pouring up through the slats in the wooden seats-really great on this cold morning.

ONE AREA which I was succeeding so far was in my determination not to talk to anyone all day. As I said, I wanted to do this whole thing just right, and talking to people I didn't know just isn't acceptable subway behavior. I was talking quite a bit to myself-but that was permitted. My goal of silence was unfulfilled, however, because several riders asked me directions, and I ran into four people I knew, one of whom I hadn't seen in six months. I just couldn't ignore these people, yearning to hear from me.

The next crisis was the remnants of my bag lunch; it was beginning to leak. Since I couldn't bring myself to eat any more of the wieners then, I was forced to throw them out. It was like putting a little bit of Ralph Cahaly in the trash can at Maverick, one of the best stations in the whole system, by the way. I liked it so much (partically because it was a free switch) that I went there 15 times during the day, frequently shuttling between Government Center and Maverick three times in a row. That killed 50 minutes whenever time seemed to be dragging. And part of the beauty of it was that you could get off the train in Government Center, walk right across the platform, and step in the train back to Maverick. They were that well synchronized.

At around 8:15 a.m., I headed out for Savin Hill, a recently remodeled station between Park and Dorchester and another free switch. Coming back intown from there I got a nice surprise: a ride in one of those new-fangled trains. It was better than any regular train I'd ever ridden; it was spacious, clean, and there was a loudspeaker to announce stops, just as there is in New York.

But my ride on this luxury vehicle was far from pleasant. The train was so crowded that I had to stand in the midst of a tight-packed group of people, and there was nothing to hold on to. So whenever the train made any irregular movements, which are regular on the MBTA, I ended up bumping into a 60-year-old woman in front of me. Each time I did so, she turned around and glared at me as if I were doing it with intent to smash her against the pole she was holding on to.

Her glances really annoyed me because I knew she wanted me to feel guilty, and I knew I didn't want to feel guilty. But somehow I ignored her, and at the same time formulated Beach's First Law of Subway Riding: never betray emotion of any kind. I was glad to get off that train, but I was unhappy that I didn't see another new one all day.

PROBABLY the most crucial few moments of the day were spent at Maverick at 9:30 a.m. I had been in the system for four hours, and I was destroyed. Suddenly, my head began to throb and my stomach threatened. I considered turning back. I could go to Government Center, then to Park, and then to Harvard and bed. It could possibly be the most wonderful thing ever to happen to me. I could try this stunt some other day when I was better rested-Thursday perhaps. But that meant getting up at 4:30 a.m. again, and there was no reason to believe that I could duplicate the feat.

Another possibility was sneaking back to Cambridge and bed, and then pretending I'd stayed on the whole day and writing the story as if I had. Immediately, however, I spotted a flaw in that plan: it was dishonest. The idea of tricking my innocent reading audience was abominable.

So, given that I was going to be honest, bagging my adventure meant returning to Cambridge and telling features editor Mike Wallace that I had crumbled, that I had failed to last more than four hours. I'd also have to face Larry DiCara with the same story. How could I look people in the eyes and admit such failure? That was it; I was staying on. I just couldn't let myself down so easily.

Soon, I was cruising out to Shawmut on the red line, and to Dudley on the orange line, interspersing those long trips with quickies around the Park Street area. My outlook was brightened as 11 a.m. rolled around. I had gotten my second wind. The only discouraging fact was that I still hadn't completed a third of my outing.

My general happiness with life and the MBTA was broken the second time-also the final time-I went out to Shawmut. Shawmut

is a disgustingly dirty station, where a large percentage of the most undesirable subway riders hang out when they're not riding the trains. I almost got locked in there with a homosexual one night after I had jumped on the last train of the night, but one which was heading in the wrong direction I got off that night at Shawmut and waited for a train which I hoped might come. Some guy came down and told me he didn't usually check the place, but that night he decided to, and you've got to leave now, kid.

So, anyway, here I am at noon, stepping off the train to cross over to the inbound side. Four of the local fans, who apparently had decided against school or work that day in favor of running and screaming in Shawmut station, noticed that I had this box of Cap'n Crunch under my arm.

"HEY. Captain Crunchberry," one called. I sensed that I was about to be heckled for my taste in cereals, and I rather doubted that our interaction was going to be confined to words. So how am I going to put these guys off? I told them that it was good stuff. "So's a punch," one replied with a smile. I saw his implication without too much trouble. Without further hesitation. I offered one of them some of my Cap'n Crunch. He liked it, of course, and it seemed to appease him. They wanted to know where I was from and what I was doing, and finally left me so that they could mess around in the station. It was nice to ride out of that place, and I was grateful that my new-found acquaintances had stayed behind.