A BIT later, I was at Washington, looking hard for a bathroom, but when I found it. I noticed that it was out of order. I sensed catastrophe. Failure to find a bathroom would no doubt be a factor in my ability to stay on the subways for 19 consecutive hours. On the bright side, this search for facilities helped to some extent to take my mind off the time.

Going from Washington to Dudley, I was joined in my two-person seat by a woman of some 280 or 300 pounds. Our dimensions complemented one another, but the problem was that she had just come from Filene's and was laden with purchases. On my left, the side bar was pressing in on me, and on the right, the woman's bright green and blue, sharp-corned pocketbook was sticking into one my

my ribs. I could have left the seat and stood up, but that would have been a violation of Beach's Second Law of Subway Riding: Never offend a person by moving away from the seat you share with him. So I sat there and felt sorry for myself; and worried about a bathroom.

Dudley, Government Center, North Station, Maverick-still no place to take a piss except in one of the trains, an idea which was becoming increasingly attractive. Then I got to Park, where earlier I had looked unsuccessfully for a bathroom. I went to the information booth and learned that there was indeed such a depository. When I go there, I discovered that I had to put up a dime to use it; but there was no hesitation.

I never expected a subway bathroom to be the picture of cleanliness, but it turned out to be even more disgusting than I had anticipated. There were four cigarette butts in the sink. Of course, I remember the time that I was in a service station bathroom in Union. Conn., and there were flies zipping around the urinals. I had to admit that that wasn't a problem at Park: the flies were all lying around dead. But you could take a piss, so I did and felt better.

A change of pace was essential, so I took a car out to Riverside. It was a nice trip, and though I slept on and off, I was able to enjoy some of the scenery. At Riverside, there was a free bathroom and I regretted my frivolous expenditure of ten cents at Park. On the way back, I witnessed some of the enthusiasm which I seemed to be lacking. A woman and her two young boys got on at Riverside, and one of them asked, "Can we stand?" Their mother responded with a terse "no." Then one of them started saying over and over, "I love standing up." I was ashamed of myself.

IT WAS 3 p.m. when I got to Park again, and I celebrated the completion of nine-and-a-half hours with a quick pizza and coke at Kwik Snak, the Waldorf of the MBTA system. I was really exhausted, but I never considered bagging it; I just kept riding. On one car, off, change to another, off, and so on. You get so that you just sit there and hope you never get to your destination because it means getting up to board another car or train. I thought about my hurried trips out to the airport in days gone by-the train seems to take forever. It was hard to understand that feeling during a 19-hour ride.

I spent the rest of the afternoon on some of the old standbys around Park, then decided to cruise out to Boston College. At least I was able to sleep some. Car lights were on by the time I headed back in, and that encouraged me quite a bit.

The next big event in my day was riding to North Station with the Moody Blues concert crowd. When the car got to Government Center, it was jammed right to the doors, but I couldn't miss such a ride, so I forced my way on. Unfortunately, my box of Cap'n Crunch was somewhat crushed in the process, but it was fun. So much so that I returned to Government Center and took another crammed car to North Station. I was going back for more, but I noticed that the crowd was thinning, and I went to Dudley.

At 9 p. m. just before Kwik Snak closed, I ate my final meal and thought happy thoughts. I still had enough left for another bathroom stop and a Record American An obvious strategy now was to stay near the center of the line; trips to outpost stations are not advisable late at night.

I saw my first and only drunk of the day during my second trip to Riverside, which is safe after dark. He fell onto some girl, and almost got into a tussle with her boyfriend, but then stumbled off the train. When I finally got back into town, it was nearing midnight, and I figured a couple of more short rides would do it. I went to Government Center, then to Maverick, where I caught the last train back to Government Center, then to Park to wait for the last one of the day: the 12:45 to Harvard. I was beside myself with pride.

I paid for a final piss, then found the guy selling the next day's Record American. If you're going to ride the subways in style late at night, you just have to have your Record.

I stood downstairs waiting for the train and read through Dear Abby. I was beginning to feel really faint all of a sudden and considered passing out, especially since the train was taking forever to come. Then I read Anthony LaCamera's column entitled "Television and Sex Don't Always Mix." Tony was unhappy about all the liberal discussions of-on a certain program, especially since several such programs were scheduled for Holy Week. Some of the guests were pretty free of tongue, it seems. Tony wrote:

"On that Monday stanza , a lady psychologist used a four-letter verb which Boston viewers probably had never heard uttered on the air in 21 previous years of local television. Because the telecast was 'live,' there was no way of blipping it out. The damage was done."

"Fuck," I said to myself as I waited for that train. A big crowd had formed, meanwhile, because the Moody Blues had finished, and the late concert was the reason for the rare delay of the train to Harvard. But, after all, I had had almost no long waits all day, and I had my Record to exercise my mind.

Then it came, and the crowd gave a joyful shout, I smiled. As I boarded I thought of what big, happy family Boston subway riders were-much more espirit de corps than in New York, where shoving was the rule. Charles, Kendall, Central.

The wall read "Harvard," my 418th stop. Think of that next time you sit bored through the four stops to Park. And as I walked up the exits, I suddenly realized that not only had I lasted the day, but due to the delayed train, my ride had been extended to 20 hours and four minutes-a new record. I figured the folks back home would be proud. I was.