How I Spent My Autumn Vacation, Part 6: In Vermont

Not the peak color I was hoping for, but still a great time.

(Continued from Part 5: On the Road to Vermont)

My friends Tom and Tammy are among my oldest friends and that’s who I stayed with in Vermont.

But first, as you might expect, some back story.

The BBS Days and Beyond

I met Tom back in my BBS days — yes, I ran a multi-line networked bulletin board system (think prehistoric Internet) out of my home starting in 1989 when I bought the computer that changed my life. (I thought I’d blogged about the computer changing my life and hoped to link to that post, but a quick search yielded no results. I’ll have to blog about it in the future.)

At the time, Tom was working in a family owned business selling tombstones in a greenhouse just a few miles away. He ran a multiline BBS out of his office there. I honestly don’t remember how we met, but when I left my full-time job to become a freelance writer and computer trainer/consultant, I’d often spend free time visiting with him and talking about computers. Back then, I had an Apple Macintosh IIcx and I think he had a IIci. (I’d later run my BBS on a Mac SE/30, which was perfect for the task.

Through Tom, I became part of a computer “super user” network that included him and other BBS SysOps: Mike, Ralph, and Zeke. Mike was especially well connected. He worked for a design firm that did a lot of cutting edge things with computers and, thus, had access to all the latest and greatest hardware and software. We’d occasionally drive down to his office to gawk at his new toys and play with the latest offerings from Adobe and other companies, many of which no longer exist. (Aldus comes to mind.)

I was self-taught on computers and had managed to get a per diem gig teaching computer applications: Mac OS, Microsoft Word, Microsoft Excel, and Lotus 1-2-3. I think being so well connected with other computer superusers helped make that possible.

Anyway, time went on. Tom married Tammy. My future wasband and I went to the wedding. They sat us at the same table as Mike, who was so white he could be albino and another guy I didn’t know who happened to be the blackest black guy I’ve ever seen. Of course, he and Mike sat side by side. I wish I had a picture. (Isn’t it funny the things you remember?)

Tom and Tammy moved to Vermont not long after that. Tom was into winter sports and I think he was as fed up as I was becoming with the traffic, congestion, and expense of living in the New York City Metro area. He telecommuted to a new job with a big company. He’d gone beyond mere “superuser” status and was a networking expert. He could work from home with a fast Internet connection and he did, making occasional trips down to New Jersey when he needed to.

I didn’t see him at all after his move, but we kept in touch via email and a little Twitter and later text messaging.

Meanwhile, they had kids. Three boys, all named with the initial T.

I moved to Arizona and invited them to visit. But I could understand why they didn’t. Airfare isn’t cheap when you have to buy five tickets. And then there’s that school thing. They like winter sports so they couldn’t come in the winter. And who wants to go to Arizona on summer vacation?

We continued to keep in touch throughout my crazy divorce. He was extremely supportive, providing me with a lot of useful computer information when I needed it.

It was around then that Tom kept suggesting that I come stay with them for a while in Vermont. The boys were away at college (already!) and he had plenty of room in his big, old farmhouse. It was definitely an inviting idea. I hadn’t been to Vermont in years and I remembered how amazing the fall colors had been on my last trip. I envisioned another trip with my camera. We have a nice autumn here, but no autumn compares to Vermont’s.

Still, I couldn’t get a trip together. There was always something else I had to do in the autumn. But this year, I decided to go for it. After playing around with a calendar and his schedule, we decided I’d come during the first week in October.

At the T’s

I rolled up to Tom and Tammy’s house in the Maserati in late afternoon on October 1. It was overcast and wet. Tom came right out to greet me and Penny. It was really good to see him — for the first time in at least 20 years.

After chatting a bit and unwinding from my drive, he gave me the tour of the three-story wood frame house that dates back to the 1800s. They’d put me in Penny in one of two dedicated guest rooms on the second floor with the shared bathroom right outside my door. How nice!

Tammy was busy with something that evening, so Tom and I went out to get some dinner. Along the way, he showed me a few local highlights, including Singleton’s General Store, which features “guns and liquor.” (I had to buy a tee shirt.) We ate dinner at Mr. Darcy’s Bar and Grill. It was good.

Afterwards, back at the house, we just relaxed in the living room with his two big chocolate labs stretched out on the sofa with us. I was pooped and went to bed early.

SpeedTest
Not all rural areas have crappy Internet. The Ts access is three times faster than mine — and mine is nothing to be ashamed of.

The weather was kind of crappy the next day — overcast and rainy — and I had no problem amusing myself indoors while Tammy, a lawyer, and Tom worked in their offices. I’d brought a handful of stones and some jewelry-making supplies and tools. I sat at the kitchen table and made two pendants while Tom and Tammy occasionally stopped by to see what I was up to. I used Periscope to broadcast me creating a piece of jewelry and, although it didn’t have many viewers, I kept it running until the end. The Ts have excellent high speed internet, so I know I wasn’t straining anything.

Lego Candy
I took a photo of the Lego candies to share it on Twitter for my friend Andy, who is a real Lego fan.

Sometime during the day, we went to The Vermont Country Store, which exists to showcase Vermont products and sell tourists stuff they really don’t need. Yeah, I know I sound critical/cynical, but when you’ve spent enough time in tourist destinations, you really get a feel for that kind of shop. There was a lot of merchandise, including more candy and old-fashioned toys — like the ones we played with when I was a kid! — than I’d every seen under one roof. There was also clothes and linens, and kitchen stuff. And maple syrup, of course. One of the nice things was being able to taste three different colors of maple syrup, side by side — there really is a noticeable difference! It was a neat place to browse.

Tammy made dinner and we had a relaxing evening sitting around with the dogs and chatting. I didn’t feel guilty for doing almost nothing all day because I knew the weather would be better later in the week. Besides, it was nice to just take it easy in a comfortable place. I’d been on the move almost non stop since arriving in the New York area the previous Saturday.

Exploring the Forest on ATVs

Penny in the ATV
Penny wrapped in a blanket in a milk crate attached to the front of the ATV I rode. She wasn’t happy about it, but it was the only solution to bring her with us on the very bumpy roads.

Tom took Wednesday off. He pulled two ATVs out of his shed and fired them up. We mounted up, with Penny wrapped in blankets in a basket in front of mine, and headed out on back roads and trails into the adjacent national forest. The trails were very rough in parts, forcing me to slow down and remember my ATV training from about 20 years ago. I was able to follow Tom, but a few times he got way in front of me. It was a lot of fun to be challenged (for a change); my ATV riding in Washington is limited and local.

He showed me the foundations of an old farmhouse long gone and nearly forgotten in the forest and a lake his boys like to camp at, and an old irrigation setup with a dam. Everything was accessible only via narrow forest trails surrounded by relatively new growth trees showing their early autumn colors.

Forest Dam
One trail ended at this old cement dam that holds back a small pond for feeding an irrigation pipe.

It wasn’t raining but the forest was pretty wet and the trail was muddy in spots. I kept a sharp lookout for mushrooms — I was hoping to find some chanterelles — and I actually found some that could be edible. But “could be” isn’t the same as “are definitely” so I left them behind, not wanting to potentially poison my hosts or myself.

After asking me if I was up for a ride on a really rugged road, Tom led me back the way we’d come and then up a different road and trail. It started out the same as the others and then got very rough, with lots of big rocks, tree roots, and fallen branches across the trail. I followed as closely as I could without slipping out of my comfort zone. Suddenly, the trail ended at the edge of someone’s grassy yard and I admit I was a little surprised when Tom continued across it, hugging the edge of the grass. Then more trail and finally a turn with a climb up a short hill.

There was a log cabin there and we walked up the steps to sit on the porch. Tom and his family had been there many times; he knew the three men who had built it by hand. We looked out over the hillside, into a bank of clouds, and Tom assured me that there was usually an excellent view down into the valley and mountains beyond.

We were still sitting there when a small SUV drove up from the other direction and an older couple got out. One of the builder/owners. It felt awkward for only a few minutes; they quickly realized who Tom was. We were soon chatting with them about the place and when they unlocked it, they invited me in for a tour. It was a really basic place with two big rooms and a sleeping loft. Completely off the grid, it didn’t have any electric appliances.

As we chatted, the clouds lifted a bit to give us glimpses of the valley beyond. But they never lifted enough to give us a good view of the valley.

Valley from Cabin
The clouds lifted just enough to give us an idea of how amazing the view from the cabin’s porch might be on a clear day.

We headed back not long after that, taking it easy at the house. Tammy, who’d gone out for a meeting, returned with barbecue takeout from their favorite place. It was good.

Day Trip to Manchester

I was on my own the next day and that was fine. I decided to drive down to Manchester, with a stop for breakfast along the way. I also wanted to check out the Dorset Quarry, which I’d read a little about online.

So I headed out, dropping down off the mountain into Wallingford, where I picked up Route 140. A Google search before departing had me aiming for a little restaurant called Dorset Rising, but I soon reached a section of road work where the detours put me on progressively more rugged roads. Worried about the Maserati, I made my way back to the main roads and somehow wound up on Route 7. So I took that all the way down to Manchester and then came back up Route 30 to Dorset. I passed the quarry along the way, but my primary goal was breakfast so I kept going.

Although Dorset Rising had a nice outdoor dining area where I could have eaten with Penny, it was kind of nasty out — too cool to enjoy a meal outdoors. So I left her in the car and went inside alone. A while later, I was seated at a comfy table with a latte and a breakfast burrito in front of me. They had a nice selection of baked goods but I resisted the urge to take some with me. (We — well, mostly I — had been picking away at those Italian pastries since my arrival. They weren’t nearly as good after two days in a cooler as they had been fresh. Lesson learned.) Instead, I got an iced tea to go and got back on the road.

Dorset Quarry was right down the road and I pulled into the parking lot. The quarry has an impressive place in history: when it first opened in 1785, it was America’s first marble quarry. It supplied marble to there New York Public Library and other buildings in New York City and Washington DC.

I grabbed Penny’s leash and she and I left the car for a walk around what had become a popular local swimming hole. Of course, it was nearly deserted that day — certainly no swimmers — but I could imagine it being a fun spot on a hot day if it wasn’t too crowded.

Dorset Quarry
Dorset Quarry is a popular swimming hole — but not in early October.

Penny at Dorset Quarry
The south side of Dorset Quarry’s big pond. Can you see Penny running towards me?

We tried to walk around the north side of the quarry but the trail soon wandered off into the woods in a direction I didn’t want to go. So we backtracked to the road and walked over to the south side, past huge marble blocks left behind from operations long ago.

As I walked, I looked down at the ground along the path. I was looking for stones — small pieces of marble that I might be able to polish into cabochons. I wound up with about a dozen of them, all smaller than my two thumbs held side-to-side. I filled my jacket pocket.

We reached the place where a creek fed the pond. There was a bridge over the creek and a ladder coming out of the water. I don’t know how deep the water was; I couldn’t see the bottom.

I wandered around and took pictures. Then we wandered back to the car.

We continued on to Manchester, with a quick stop at the Kitchen Store at JK Adams. I was looking for a gift for my house sitter, who really likes to cook. Nothing struck me so I kept going.

A short while later, I was pulling back into Manchester Center and parking in the lot behind Northshire Bookstore, which Tom had recommended. That was, of course, my first stop and I, of course, left with books in hand. Penny and I walked up one side of Main Street and down the other. I wound up buying a maple syrup sampler for my house sitter. (I later kicked myself for not buying myself syrup; I erroneously thought I still had some at home.)

We walked back to the car and stowed my rather heavy purchases in the trunk, then headed down Depot Street, where there were a handful of outlet stores. I was looking for the “wood shop” Tom had told me about. Before I found it, I stopped in at Eddie Bauer, where they had a storewide sale, and bought myself a few shirts and a scarf. I also bought a scarf with pictures of a pug dog on it for my friend Janet, who travels with her aging pug, Lulu. Then Manchester Woodcraft, where they had a huge selection of reasonably priced items made of wood. Try as I might, however, I didn’t find anything I couldn’t go home without.

Then it was back to the car again, stopping only a moment to read the Thomas Jefferson quotes under a Jefferson monument. One of them really stuck with me and I took a photo to share it on Twitter:

Men by their nature are divided into two parties: those who fear and distrust the people, and those who identify themselves with the people, have confidence in them, cherish and consider them as the most honest and safe depository of the public interest.

You might be able to guess which party I’m in.

We continued south on route 7A, past the Orvis company headquarters and the American Museum of Fly Fishing. That got me thinking of Janet again — she’s really into fishing — but I didn’t stop.

Tom had suggested going to the top of Equinox Mountain to take in the views from up there, but when I arrived at the turn, I discovered that it was a toll road. Not willing to spend $20 for the privilege of driving up a mountain road to take in the view on a cloudy day, I skipped it.

I did stop, however, at the Arlington Dairy Bar where I took a photo and tweeted “Will brake for ice cream.” I had a shake and Penny had a small dish of vanilla ice cream. Then we were on our way again.

Arlington Dairy Bar
Will brake for ice cream.

We kept going, eventually reaching Bennington. By then, the weather had turned bad and I wasn’t interested in dealing with traffic to maybe find a place to get out and walk around. So I followed the signs for Route 9, which cut across the national forest on a scenic road that climbed up one side of the mountain and down the other. There wasn’t much to see in Wilmington, which was on the other side of the mountain, so I hopped on Route 100 and headed north. More pleasant driving, although the weather was either gray or drizzling rain the whole time.

By that time, it was late afternoon and I felt done exploring. I think the weather had a lot to do with it. But I did make one more stop: the Crowley Cheese Company, which was a few miles off the main road west of Okemo Mountain Resort. I tasted a bunch of cheeses and wound up buying two for my brother.

From there, it was back to the T’s.

Another guest joined us late that evening and, true to form, I’ve forgotten his name. He came up from New Jersey to do a photography job on Saturday. The four of us spent the evening watching a few episodes of a weird show on Netflix, sitting on the sofas with the dogs lying all over us. The newcomer wound up in the guest room next to mine.

Rutland, Okemo Mountain, and an Old Cemetery

The next day, I went with Tammy into Rutland, VT. She had a yoga class there and I had to visit the post office.

My big piece of luggage was already pretty heavy and I knew that if I added the books and rocks, it would likely weigh more than the 50 pounds allowed by the airline. The solution was to cram all that stuff into a flat rate box and send it home via Priority Mail. So after dropping Tammy off at yoga, I went in search of the post office and took care of that. I also sent Janet her scarf.

With a little time before I had to pick up Tammy, I found a car wash. I had a moment of fright when I saw brushes in the wash tunnel in front of me, but the guys working the controls flipped a few switching and nothing other than water touched the car. I could have made it look a lot better if I had a rag to dry it off afterwards, but I didn’t. Still, it was better than before I’d had it washed. I figured I’d wash it again in New Jersey before handing it off to my brother.

When I picked up Tammy, we weren’t in a rush to get back so we drove into town for some breakfast at one of the coffee shops there. I left Penny parked outside near the car. I had a great breakfast sandwich and managed to muster enough willpower to skip the pastry I wanted for dessert.

We drove back and Tammy got back to work. Tom was already working up in his office. The day had turned nice and I was ready for another day trip. This time, my destination was the Okemo Mountain Resort. Tom had told me that I could drive almost all the way up to the top of the mountain, hike a little more, and visit a fire tower at the summit. The weather looked good enough for a hike so I headed out around noon with Penny.

The drive up the mountain was mostly smooth with just one big pothole I almost didn’t avoid. At the top was a gravel parking lot with about ten other cars and space to back in the Maserati. I grabbed Penny’s leash and got out with her. Together, we walked through an open car gate and up a gravel road. Up is the appropriate word. The road climbed, sometimes steeply.

Tom had told me that the fire tower wasn’t visible from the road, but if I walked to the ski lift I’d be able to see it in the forest from there. But when I got closer, I found a small marked trail. I followed the sign onto a narrow trail into the woods.

Fire Tower
The fire tower atop Okemo Mountain.

Penny ran ahead, as she does. Some hikers coming back thought she was a stray and tried unsuccessfully to catch her. Then they saw me and told me what they’d thought and done. We all laughed. It was that kind of mellow, pleasant day.

We reached the fire tower and, because the stairs looked so iffy, I picked Penny up and carried up with me. It was only five flights and each flight was narrower than the one before it. I came up through the trap door and found myself in a small area with a wooden floor and glassless windows all around. I put Penny down and took in the views in all directions. It really was a gorgeous day.

View of Ludlow
Here’s the view to the east, toward Ludlow. As you can see, it wasn’t quite peak color yet, although I think the cold rain that had been coming through Vermont may have spoiled the autumn leaf season.

I took photos in most directions, including down toward the ski lifts. Then, hearing some people coming through the woods toward the tower, I picked up Penny and headed back down.

In the forest, a couple was stopped on the trail. The husband pointed out a cool looking little snake escaping into the underbrush while his wife absolutely freaked out. I tried not to laugh as I passed them and headed back to the road.

We walked around for a while by the ski lifts. I took some more photos.

Ski Lift
View from the top of one ski lift.

I went into the woods looking for mushrooms and found a bunch — but not the ones I hoped to find. I played with the portrait mode on my iPhone and found myself disappointed again at how limited it was for subjects other than people’s faces.

Mushroom1 More Mushrooms
The obligatory mushroom photos. I took more than a dozen but I’ll only bore you with two.

After poking around in the woods for a while, we went back the car and headed down the mountain. I stopped along the way at a view point where a couple were having some wine and cheese at a picnic table. We chatted for a while (of course) and I discovered that they were from New Jersey. They tried to talk me into have lunch at the restaurant near the bottom of the road, but when I drove past a few minutes later, I knew it wasn’t for me. Instead, I drove into Ludlow, parked, and had lunch with a hard cider outside Mojo Cafe, which I highly recommend.

After a quick walk in town, we got back into the car and headed back to the T’s.

I did make one other short trip before day’s end: to that old cemetery down the road. It was full of wonderful old tombstones, many of them very ornate. The oldest one I saw dated back to 1809, making the cemetery over 200 years old. I walked among the stones, taking photos and thinking about the people who had lived and died — sometimes quite young — in the area. There was one row of stones with the same last name repeated over and over. You could follow the history of the family as you walked in one direction or the other.

Tombstone Tombstone
Two of the dozens of interesting old tombstones in this 200+ year old cemetery.

Later that evening, we were back in Ludlow for dinner. The plan had been to have dinner at Homestyle Hostel, but the place was mobbed and we couldn’t get a table. After a few craft cocktails across the street at Main and Mountain Bar, we wound up at another restaurant a bit farther down the road. I honestly can’t remember what it was called — maybe I had too many cocktails? We had a good dinner and I picked up the tab, mostly because I really appreciated having such a great week with my friends in Vermont.

Last Day

The whole time I was in Vermont, I was pretty vague about when I would leave. Originally, I was going to leave on Thursday; I had some friends in New York State I was hoping to visit for a day or two on my way back to New Jersey. But I was enjoying myself so much that when Tom and Tammy told me to stay through the weekend and my brother reported that he had to work on Saturday and go to a match on Sunday, I agreed to stay until Saturday. I figured I’d spend Saturday evening and Sunday with my friends in New York.

Saturday was the day of the farmer’s market in Rutland. Tom, Tammy, and I headed out together in the morning to see what they had that we wanted. It was a nice farmers market, even that late in the season, with plenty of produce and baked goods and other items. I wound up buying a package of frozen spaetzle, a German pasta that my grandfather and dad used to make when I was a kid. (And no, it wasn’t nearly as good as theirs was.) We wound up walking into town and having breakfast at the same place Tammy and I had eaten the day before. I had the same breakfast sandwich since it had been so good.

We headed back to the T’s after that. I’d already repacked my bags, setting aside enough clothes in a smaller bag for my overnight stay in New York. I packed everything into the car’s trunk, loaded Penny on board, and said goodbye to my hosts.

It had been a great six-day stay in Vermont, despite the less than perfect weather and the disappointing foliage. There’s nothing like reconnecting with old friends in person. I just hope I have the opportunity one day to return the favor and host them on a trip out west.

It was a little after noon when I finally left. I had a long drive ahead of me, but it felt good to be heading toward my next destination.

(Continued)

How I Spent My Autumn Vacation, Part 5: On the Road to Vermont

I revisit my past (again) and reveal a bit more about me than most people know.

(Continued from Part 4: Killing Time in New Jersey)

Overnight, trains rumbled by the historic Port Jervis Erie Hotel where I may have been the only guest. It only woke me once or twice and each time I was able to get right back to sleep. So when I pulled myself to a vertical position around 6 AM, I felt refreshed and ready for the long drive ahead of me.

I showered, dressed, and pulled together the few things I’d taken out. Then Penny and I made our exit, heading out to stow my bags in the Maserati before taking her for a walk to do her business.

Breakfast First

Town was pretty much dead at that hour of a Monday morning. The restaurant on the lower level of the hotel was closed. All restaurants that might have provided breakfast and coffee were closed on Mondays. No problem. I used Google Maps to find a place to eat and get a dose of caffeine. It directed me to Stewie’s Restaurant in nearby Matamoras, PA. We headed out.

(It wasn’t until much later in the day that I realized I left Penny’s brown fleece blanket behind in the hotel. It was a shame because the $5 blanket perfectly matched the brown of the leather sofa in my bedroom. I usually kept it draped over the back of the sofa to protect the leather from the afternoon sun and give Penny a place to sit and look out the window.)

Stewie’s turned out to be a diner-type place, which was fine with me. There were a few locals there when I came in. I ordered a breakfast special and a glass of iced tea. I don’t drink diner coffee. It’s not because I’m a coffee snob as much as the fact that I simply can’t drink the swill that comes out of commercial coffee makers and sits on a burner for hours. (Okay, so maybe I am a coffee snob.)

While I sat there, I used my iPad and Google Maps to plan my drive. I’d go northeast on Route 209, which would take me near several places that loomed large in my childhood. A few side trips might be nice. I wasn’t in a hurry to get to my destination; I just needed to arrive before dark. I had the whole day ahead of me.

Revisiting My Past

When I was a kid in the early 1970s, before my parents split, we owned a 22-foot Prowler pull trailer. Bought originally for vacationing after my dad caught a very bad cold on a tent camping trip, my parents decided that it might make a good summer home when based at a full hookup campground in the Catskills. (My family lived in northeastern New Jersey at the time.) It wound up at a place called Rondout Valley Campground in Accord, NY.

Those were great times — some of the last great times of a mostly good childhood. We lived up there all summer and made friends with other families who also lived up there every summer. The Murrays were a good Catholic family from Brooklyn with four kids in an even smaller Prowler trailer and the Smalls were a Jewish (I think) family from somewhere in Westchester county (I think) with two kids packed into a tiny Shasta trailer. We’d spend our days fishing in the creek, exploring the woods, and riding on the running boards of the pickup that doubled as a garbage truck as it made its rounds around the campground. We made and said goodbye to new friends that came for a weekend or a week. At night, we’d either play flashlight tag in the huge field studded with a handful of tiny pine trees or we’d retreat to the Rec Hall where there was a jukebox, pool tables, and pinball machines. I can’t tell you how many times we listened and danced to The Hollies’ Long Cool Woman (in a Black Dress) and Sly and the Family Stone’s Dance to the Music. One night a week, they’d play a movie in the open sided “Pavilion” — that’s where I saw The Graduate and I clearly remember Mrs. Murray pulling her kids out after the strip club scene. (Oops.)

Two things brought those days to an end. First, after two summers at Rondout Valley my parents found another campground slightly closer to home. It was brand new and cheaper and I think that’s what convinced us all — including the Murrays and Smalls — to make the move. I was excited because our new campsite would be in the woods, rather than on the edge of a big field. I have a clear memory of walking through the deserted campground on an autumn day, past what would be our new site with our big German shepherd.

But the thing that really shut down my childhood was my parents divorce. You see, while we were away and my dad was working, he was also playing. I remember the fights, I remember the screaming and cursing, and I remember the evening my dad came up to the attic room I shared with my sister to tell us he was leaving. I was sitting on the floor next to a low table he’d made for us, carefully pencilling in the irregularly shaped pavers around the courtyard swimming pool of a dream home I’d designed. (I was really into drawing floor plans back then and still like to do it.) I remember my tears hitting the pencil drawing, soaking into the paper, and creating tiny bumps.

Things got bad and then got worse and then got much better when my mom remarried and we moved to Long Island. All that took about three years, which is an eternity when you’re in your very early teens. The trailer got sold to my mother’s cousin (who married a Nazi — really, but that’s another story) and there were no more vacations for quite a while. My dad moved into an apartment with his girlfriend, who he’d later marry, and adopted her daughter from another relationship so I gained a half sister. For a while, I worked two kid jobs: a paper route and a summer job I qualified for because we were so poor. (I was one of a team of four poverty-stricken teens scraping rust off a chain link fence along a railroad track. You don’t know blisters until you’ve done this kind of work.) I got free lunch in junior high school; I’d pick up 65¢ in a small manila envelope in the school office every day and spend only what I had to on lunch in the cafeteria so I could save the change. I also became responsible for watching my brother, who was about five, and my sister, who is 16 months younger than me, while my mother went to work to put food on the table. She’d made the nearly fatal error of dropping out of high school in her senior year to get married and [six and a half months] later give birth to me. Her struggle to get a job without a high school diploma wasn’t lost on 14-year-old me. Actually, none of our struggle was lost on me and it helped make me the strong, independent, financially stable, cynical, and happily childless person I am today.

I don’t mean to play on your heart strings, dear reader. I’m just laying down the facts. Rondout Valley Campground is a sort of touchstone in my life — something I didn’t realize until today as I put down this summary as yet another lengthy backstory for a blog post.

Anyway, part of my drive that overcast Monday morning was along Route 209 that eventually brought me to Wurtsboro, which we’d pass on our way from home to the trailer. Wurtsboro was where we exited Route 17 after coming over some mountains and descending into a valley. It was memorable mostly because the airport there had gliders and we’d often see them flying overhead as we came down the hill. There were no gliders that morning; the ceilings were much too low for anything to fly and thermals that gliders rely on for flight were not possible.

Now I was tracing roads that I’d been on many, many times — more than 40 years before. I remembered numerous signs for a place called Ice Caves Mountain that I think we finally did visit once way back then and looked for them as I drove but came up empty. The place might be part of a state park now. I did pass Custer’s Last Stand, which is a soft-serve ice cream place that still exists (!), although I remember its name being Custard’s Last Stand.

Of course, there wasn’t much else familiar to me. Places change in 40 years. New York State is one of those weird old places that is constantly mixing old and new. There are homes there dating back to before the Revolutionary War near a brand new Starbuck’s or Dollar General. There are ratty old farm buildings tucked away in dense overgrown thickets, seemingly forgotten, near new condos or subdivisions.

I continued along 209 to Ellenville, which was “the big town” near the trailer. I turned right and drove through. It looked depressed and there seemed to be a lot of homeless-looking people around. But I also saw a bakery and, since real bakeries are a treat after so many years out west, I stopped and went in. Cohen’s Bakery, “Home of the Famous Raisin Pumpernickel,” had quite a selection of fresh baked goods. I bought a danish, despite the fact that I had Italian pastries in a cooler in the trunk, and hit the road again.

Google Maps had Rondout Valley RV Campground listed and I used it to home in on Accord and the campground. I admit that I didn’t find much along the way very familiar. I did remember the left hand turn just before the town of Accord. I passed the entrance to the campground, looking for familiar sights beyond: the Rec Hall and the waterfall where the creek that runs through the campground continues its journey east, merging with numerous small creeks along the way. The Rec Hall was gone and apparently had been for some time — there was nothing more than a grassy field in its place. But Mother Nature takes better care of what she builds and the waterfall was still there.

Waterfall
It might not look like much, but when you’re 12 years old, a “waterfall” like this is a big thing.

I circled back and pulled into the driveway for the campground. There was a gate with a little guard house, but the gate opened before I even had time to stop. (I guess I must have looked trustworthy in the Maserati.) There was a big building with an office and shop on the right — the old office had been on the left and was now a lounge. I pulled into a parking spot, put Penny on a leash, and walked up to the entrance. I left Penny out on the porch and went inside.

Soon I was chatting with a woman only a little younger than me about the campground. It had gone through a bunch of changes in the past 40+ years. For while, it was called Jellystone Campground — think Yogi Bear — and I dimly recall driving past with my wasband years and years ago on one of our trips in the Catskills. Now the place was part of a chain and associated with one those “RV resort” time share places. The gimmick is that you pay a fee to join and get “free” camping at member resorts. But I think this campground was also available to non-members. I didn’t ask. I didn’t have any plans to camp there with my camper nearly 3000 away.

After a trip down memory lane with her, she gave me a map and told me to drive through. I told her I’d rather walk since we’d been in the car for a few hours already. Then I went back outside to fetch Penny. Together, we crossed the one-lane bridge and walked into the campground.

Rondout Valley Bridge
The rickety bridge over the creek is the only way in and out of the campground. Once, during a summer flood, the campground had to be evacuated in the middle of the night because they thought they might lose the bridge.

As I walked along the road, I found myself walking the same way as a man about my age. Of course, we got into a conversation. He was traveling with his wife in their fifth wheel from someplace in the south — I can’t remember where. We went our different ways at the intersection where my family’s trailer had been parked that first year. Behind us had been a big, empty field. Now that field had trees and roads and campsites that hadn’t existed. The place had really grown.

Old Campsite
This is the corner where we’d camped all those years ago. (At least I think it was on the corner; it may have been one site to the right.) The trees were newly planted back then, the site was in full sun, and there was nothing but an old cow pasture behind the trailer.

I don’t need to revisit all my memories of this place. What you got above was enough. Let’s just say that a lot of the place was the same but a lot was different. There was a playground I didn’t remember. The Pavilion is now enclosed and has a snack bar. There was a new pool in the big field where we used to play flashlight tag. All the trees that had been around our campsites where huge, giving campers the shade I wished we’d had 40+ years before.

The Pavilion
The Pavilion, which had been built when we were there, is now enclosed.

As I stood on the corner in front of what had been my summer home back in 1972, I suddenly got tired of my trip down memory lane. Although I’d originally wanted to walk through the wooded area of the campground that had been limited to tent campers back then, I found myself just wanting to get back in the car and continue my drive. This had been one stop on what I’d begun thinking of as my farewell tour of the New York area. I think I suddenly realized that I’d said goodbye a long time ago. I didn’t belong there. I didn’t want to see the place as it was today. I wanted to keep my memories pure.

So I turned around and walked back to the car.

Woodstock

It was still early in the day and I had plenty of time to get to my destination in Vermont, so I took a detour up to Woodstock, NY. I had a vague idea of trying to get a local shop to take a few pieces of the jewelry I make on consignment, but I’ll be the first to admit that I’m rather shy about trying to work deals like that. In any case, Woodstock was one of the places I used to come with my wasband and friends back in the day and it was definitely appropriate for my farewell tour.

I took back roads, following the guidance of Google Maps. I wound through farmland, most of which looked neglected. There were more decrepit old farm buildings and some silos, which I rarely see out west, and lots of weeds and brambles covering stuff up. There were also lots of creeks and plenty of trees just starting to turn into their autumn colors. It was a pleasant drive with few other cars on the road.

Eventually, I reached the bridge over the huge Ashokan reservoir, crossed it, and turned east on Route 28. Another turn onto 375 took me into the outskirts of Woodstock.

There was road construction in town. They’d torn up one of the lanes of the road and were using pilot cars to shuttle traffic through a stretch of about a half mile. They had us drive on the compressed gravel side, past pavers working on the other side. I drove carefully, mindful of raised manhole covers and the like. The Maserati rides very low and I had already been warned about potholes.

Town wasn’t anything like I remembered. It had more shops and, try as I might, I could not identify the house a friend’s sister had bought and used as a photo gallery years before. (She’s long gone from the area now, supposedly living near Tucson, AZ.) I drove through town, turned around, and drove back. I parked, put Penny on a leash, and got out for a walk.

A young guy immediately tried to hit me up for a dollar. I said I was sorry but I didn’t have anything for him and I kept walking. Panhandlers in Woodstock? Really?

I went into a few shops, always asking permission to take Penny in. I got into a good conversation with a woman in one shop that I really thought would be a good match for my jewelry, but never got up the nerve to talk to her about it. That was probably a good thing, since she turned to talk about retirement and not being able to afford health care and having to keep the business open just to get by. Maybe not such a good match after all.

I left Penny outside when I went into a bookstore. I spent some time browsing and, as I always do when I go into a local bookstore, I bought a book.

We continued down almost to where the construction began, crossed the street, and walked back. I realized that my trip to Woodstock wasn’t doing anything for me. I found myself eager to continue on my way. So we went back to the car, climbed in, and headed back out of town.

The only other place I was hoping to visit was Smoke House of the Catskills, which still exists. I remember stopping there with my wasband a few times on our way home from visiting friends in Elka Park. But just my luck: it was closed.

The Long Drive

I hopped on the New York Thruway and headed north. I really prefer staying off highways on a road trip, but I had a lot of miles to cover before dark and there wasn’t much else I needed to revisit.

So I took the Thruway north, through Albany. It brought to mind the day 1985 or 1986 when my future wasband and I were part of a convoy of brand new cars heading to Montreal for a Mets game. We were in a Nissan Maxima and our companions drove a Nissan 300ZX, a Mazda RX7, and some other sporty Japanese thing. We were flying at 95 miles per hour most of the way and made it from New York City to Albany in less than 2 hours.

I never thought of the Thruway as Memory Lane, but I guess it can be.

I got off at Troy, dealt with traffic, and finally escaped onto Route 7. Although the day had gotten brighter for a while and even a little sunny, it was overcast again and would stay that way for the rest of the drive. It made things kind of dreary and unremarkable, so even though I was off the highway, I didn’t really enjoy the drive as much as I should have.

Before I hit the Vermont border, I stopped for lunch at a place called Man of Kent Tavern. I’d been passing a bunch of what seemed like British themed restaurants and figured I’d give one a try. The place was absolutely packed, but I got a table near the bar and had the most amazing hearty beef stew — perfect for a damp, overcast day of driving.

Once in Vermont, I continued north on Route 7 into the Green Mountain National Forest. My destination was a friend’s house in East Wallingford, at the northeast corner of the forest. I let Google Maps guide me. Things were fine until I reached the last turn to my friend’s house and Google put me on an unpaved road.

Google had done this once before to me, putting me on an extremely rugged road in Colorado when I was driving south with my camper and boat in tow last autumn. Not knowing how bad the road was up ahead, I’d turned around and found another route, adding about an hour to the total time of my drive that day. Although I didn’t have a boat in tow this time, I also wasn’t in a high clearance 4WD pickup. I’d promised my brother I’d be careful in his car and driving three miles on gravel wasn’t something I wanted to do.

But the road was smooth enough, with a fine, nicely graded gravel surface. I continued up the hill, driving very slowly. The road wound into a thick forest with few homes along the way. There was an old cemetery about a mile and half in that I would have stopped to explore if I wasn’t so road weary. (I’d get to it later in the week.) Then there were more houses and lots of clearings and finally my friend’s 160-year-old farm house, sitting at an intersection.

I pulled into the driveway, parked beside some other cars there, and got out, feeling good to be done driving for the day.

(Continued in Part 6: In Vermont.)

Autumn 2018 Trip Postcards: Okemo Mountain Resort

Friday was a glorious day in Vermont and, after making a quick trip to Rutland with one of my hosts to run some errands, I headed out to Ludlow for a drive up Ludlow Mountain in the Okemo Mountain Ski Resort. My destination was a fire tower at the top of the mountain that would require a drive to a parking area near the top and a 1/2 mile uphill hike.

Fortunately, the road was paved and in decent condition — I’ve been driving my brother’s Maserati this trip and it does not like rough roads or potholes — so the trip to the top, which crossed several of Okemo’s ski runs and wound through the forest, was pleasant and smooth. I backed into a parking spot among about six other cars in a gravel lot. Then Penny and I continued the trip on foot though a half-open gate up a relatively steep gravel road running through dense forest. The sound of trickling water was present, coming from one side of the road or the other all along the way.

My host had told me that I’d have to walk to the ski lift to see the tower in order to find it. While it’s true that the tower wasn’t visible from the road, I did spot a small wooden sign pointing to a very narrow trail into the woods. The tower was just another 1/10 mile away. We took the path.

Although it was a bright, sunny day, the woods were dark and cool. The path was muddy in some places, with large boulders that kept me out of the mud as I climbed over them. Another sign at a fork in the trail directed me to the left. Moments later, we were at the bast of a small, five-story fire tower with spindly legs and a tiny wooden structure on top.

Fire tower atop Ludlow Mountain.

Here’s a view of the fire tower from its base. I shot this after my descent; three hikers are on their way up here.

The steps were steep and I had to carry Penny. (Another benefit of having a small dog.) I paused briefly for a look at each landing. The view kept getting better and better. The steps got steeper and narrower at each level. Soon we were through the trap door and standing in the tiny room at the top.

Panorama from the tower looking east.

Here’s a panorama looking east from the fire tower.

A view of Ludlow from the fire tower.

I could also see Ludlow far down in the valley.

After about fifteen minutes of drinking in the view, I picked up Penny again and carefully made my way back down. We met some other hikers as we made our way back down the trail, including a couple who had stopped upon seeing a garter snake alongside the trail. He pointed it out to me and I got a good look as it slipped away into the brush. His wife was apparently terrified and I heard her whining to him about it even after I’d left them behind on the trail.

Back out on the sunny gravel road, we hiked up to the ski lift. As my host had said, I could see the fire tower from there.

Fire tower in the forest.

The view of the fire tower from near one of the ski lifts.

I also got some great views looking down the mountain along the parked chairs of the lift.

Looking down the ski lift.

A view down a ski lift at the top of Okemo Mountain Resort.

On the way back to the car, I poked around in the forest a bit. This time of year I’m always looking for chanterelle mushrooms. Although I didn’t find any there, I did find other mushrooms growing out of the forest floor.

Forest mushroom.

The obligatory mushroom photo.

We spent a little more than an hour atop the mountain. then it was back in the car for the drive down and a lote lunch.