Day 3

I thought it would be ideal to leave around 10 in the morning, after the morning rush, but with all the packing yet to do, this would be difficult. This was okay since our goal was to get out of the city and its far reaching suburbs before the afternoon rush hour.

Well, we woke up around 10:30 and Suzanne began to pack her things. We showered and then I got the car while she dropped off some library books. It only cost $19 to keep the car in the garage all this time—I was surprised. I loaded up the car hoping everything would fit. Most of Suzanne’s things fit in three boxes (books and music) and four garbage bags (clothes and shoes). Then she had some other things like her quilt, a pillow, and other stuff for camping. Would it all fit with all the other camping stuff we already have in the car?

The answer to that question was barely. The trunk was full and the back seat was filling up fast. There was more stuff in the back seat than I preferred, but it wasn’t too bad. Before leaving, we dropped her keys in the apartment and decided to get a bite before we hit the road. We spun over to the H & H bagel factory and ate some still-hot bagels. It was two in the afternoon when we got on the Henry Hudson Parkway, called the West Side Highway by New Yorkers. This road took us up the west side of Manhattan and over the Harlem River into the Bronx. I had never been in the Bronx so now I’ve been in all five boroughs of the city, not that we got off the highway and did any serious Bronx exploring, but at least I’ve seen in it, from a distance.

We took the Saw Mill Parkway north out of the city and through Yonkers. I found it amazing to see how fast the foothills appear. It seemed like we had just left the city and we were encountering these large, rocky hills. This part of the map is such a twist of roads that it is hard to tell what road you’re on or what the best road to take is. So we just ended up following this road to I-684. At least it is a road I can distinguish on the map. At its end we got on NY 22 north. This looked like a nice road once we were far enough away from the urban sprawl.

Actually, the traffic on this road was not as bad as I though it would be. Soon we crossed the Appalachian Trail and stopped in Amenia. FDR’s Hyde Park home, West Point, and the Vanderbilt Historical Site were slipping away from us. I have wanted to visit these places for a while, but never seem to be in the right place at the right time. This is the case today as well. Another day.

NY 22 becomes a smaller road on the map—I hope this means it will be less crowded. There is a method to choosing a good back road to drive. First of all, the rules are not consistent across state lines. Different states have different ways of marking their roads. Also, as we Pennsylvanians know, different states take care of their roads differently, or not at all in the case of West Virginia. When I was living in West Virginia, there were roads where half of one lane would just sink down a hillside and this was acceptable for extended periods of time. However, as a general rule, if you are in an eastern state, don’t expect too much from an old US highway unless you want to see a lot traffic. I think the old US highways would be good if there was no traffic, but more often than not the opposite is true.

Out west these are the only back roads that are paved and actually go somewhere. But we’re not in the west, so for this trip I look for good secondary state roads that are fairly direct. On the map the roads break down into blue or green for interstates, yellow for four lane roads with traffic lights and every-man-for-himself driving. Malls are usually found on this type of road. There are thick red roads which make good roads if you’re away from a major city or suburban spillover. Thin red lines are very good. If you can find one that actually goes anywhere, take it. They usually take you through small, quaint towns, the type with parking along Main Street. In fact, more often than not, they are Main Street. Then there’s the gray road. You take your chances with the gray roads. First of all, they’re often unmarked so the probability of getting lost is higher. Of course, getting lost for five or ten minutes is an inevitable occurrence if you like back roads. Second, depending on what state you’re in, the road condition can be dicey. Unless these have a route number I usually don’t take them.

NY 22 was now going from a thick red road to a thin red road. This was a good thing. The good thing about taking backroads are the unique things you see. We saw a house along route 22 that is one of the more interesting I think I’ve seen. It is many different colors with faces on the side and a large rainbow on the front. After blowing past it, I had to turn around. We passed by the Taconic State Park, a long park along the Northern Connecticut and Southern Massachusetts border encompassing a small mountain ridge. Earlier we thought this would be a good place to camp tonight, but it was only four or five o’clock—too early to stop for the night.

We planned to camp around Saratoga National Historical Park. I was determined to visit this park after passing up the others earlier today. There are two campgrounds in the Green Mountain National Forest so we tried these. At the turn-off from NY 22 is the town of Hoosick and nearby is Hoosick Falls, both with a “k”—the river flowing by us is the Hoosic, sans the “k.” In Hoosick, we picked up NY 7 east toward Vermont where it turns into VT 9. This road descends into Bennington, Vermont, a large town by Vermont standards. Coming into the town we saw a large obelisk towering over the valley in which Bennington sits. We didn’t know what this was, but I was sure we were going to find out.

In Bennington we stopped to eat at a pizza and sub place. It was good to have some real food finally. I had a ham grinder and it tasted good. On our paper place mats were highlights of Vermont, including the mystery obelisk: the Bennington Battle Monument. We finished and headed for the hills and the campgrounds. The road out of Bennington climbed into the Green Mountains. At Woodford State Park we stopped to check out the camping situation. It’s located on a plateau about 2,400 feet in elevation and contains the Adams Reservoir.

We stopped at the registration office where the woman warned us that it was “buggy.” This was not a good sign—telling us how bad the conditions are before we give them our money. We looked around and concurred—there are a lot of damn mosquitoes in this place. Up the road a mile or two is another National Forest campground that I though might be cheaper, the state park wanted $12. So we cruised up to the Red Mill Brook Campground, where it appeared that there was no fee for staying, all they asked for was a donation. Why this was I didn’t know, but after seeing that the only facilities were two pit toilets, I though it would be good to at least have running water for Suzanne’s first camping experience. I must admit I like having running water myself, so we chose to return to Woodford and pick a place to camp.

We found the ultimate site, number 45. It sits on the lake and has no neighbors but the forest. It was perfect. We got back to give the woman our choice, but she said it was reserved. We saw no sign of life at 45 but took the site next to it which also has a good view of the lake but is not tucked back into a woodsy pocket like 45. The mosquitoes were serious here. We set up the tent while trying to fend off the pests at the same time. This was a challenge.

Once we got the thing up, we put our stuff in, being careful not to let in any unwanted freeloaders that would feast on us all night. By the time we were safe and sound inside, it was still light out but because it was cloudy, there was no sunset. Not even a trace of where the sun was, just a uniform, gray sky. Had it been clear, we would have seen a nice sunset on the lake through the trees.

We talked for a few hours in the tent, figuring out where we wanted to go tomorrow and the direction our lives were taking in the next few months. Suzanne was doing Saxtons River and some really challenging parts—I was heading to grad school and some really challenging classes. I asked her what time it was and she said 6:30. I said, “that can’t be right,” and she began to stare into her watch face then said, “my watch stopped.” It was just about dark so we figured it was about 9 o’clock. She was wondering what we were going to do for the rest of the night if it was only 6:30.

It got darker and darker and before Suzanne went to bed she went to visit the bathroom. Did she want me to come with her, after all, it was pitch black by now. “No, I think I’ll be okay.” Well, in a minute or two she was back. I thought it was a bit quick—she changed her mind because there was something moving in the woods. As we walked to the bathroom along the wooded paths, things were moving—we couldn’t see them, but we could hear them. I figure they were mice or moles or something like that. There were a lot of ’em, whatever they were. The stars were out. Seeing tons of stars, I thought, oh good, it’s clearing up. By the time we were back at the tent, only one or two stars could be seen so it was a quick parting of the clouds.

We continued talking for a bit but soon called it quits. It had to be pretty late by now, probably around 11 or 11:30. Time for some sleep.