Perhaps I travel so much, seeking to acquaint myself with new places and ways of being because the things I remember so fondly don’t exist here any more. My daughter chides my mother and myself for giving directions by where things “used to be”. Though I often seek out the history of a place, traveling keeps me young. Life is fresh with new stories and awesome landscapes. Here, I feel old, because the stories are mine. |
I left Rosie at my brother’s to drive EmaGene home after she got new front wheel bearings and rear diiferential seal. As a result, I rode pillion (aka “bitch”) on the back of Alec’s Dyna Switchback to go get her. No need to remind me again why I ride my own, 30 miles was about as much as my back could take! Rosie is at least set up for me with my bad lumbar disks! From his place on Frozen Ridge, we essentially retraced the route I rode Sunday back as far as Montgomery, then went out 17K to Wurtsboro and out 209 to Port Jervis. When we left his house Alec had asked if we were going to for a ride or just monkeying around. I Knew we’d end up at the Hawk’s Nest as soon as we passed through Montgomery. The Hawk’s Nest is a gorgeous secion of Route 97 along the Delaware River between Port Jervis and Barryville NY Bald Eagles are known to nest in the water gap there, with steep cliffs between the river and the road, and beyond, to the top of the mountain. It is also a favourite rafting/kayaking area. The old Carriage House in Barryville provided us with a late lunch and a bit of a break, before continuing along 55 through Eldred Preserve to White Lake; the host township of the original Woodstock Music Festival and home of Bethel Woods Peforming Arts Center. The ride home took us past the remains of many of the old Catskill hotels; the Raleigh, Brown’s, Grossinger’s. Some have been repurposed. Others stand empty and derelict. Bum & Kell’s Pub remains on the shores of Loch Sheldrake. There’s nothing left of the Tamarack (http://gypsyspiritsrides.weebly.com/rosiex27s-blog/new-years-2012-35-miles), which burned a few years ago amidst controversy regarding the legitimacy of the Indian Tribe that wanted to turn it into a casino. I remember when this area was referred to as the “Yiddish Alps”, when the hotels and bungalow colonies flourished with “summer people” up from the city. It’s an era commemorated in the movie “Dirty Dancing” (though that was filmed in North Carolina!), and already nearly gone by time the Woodstock festival jammed the roadways. The rich and famous still escape from “The City” here. Uma Thurman, David Bowie, Jewel, Robert DeNiro, too many to name, have property in the area. My girls were excited beyond definition when Aiden Quinn and Brad Pitt walked into the Town Pantry several years ago. Even “Fonzi” (Henry Winkler) had a farm a couple miles from our house. The downside is that the working farms have all but disappeared, having turned into estates or sub-divisions. Art Stockin wrote in his book CLOSED … Until Further Notice that the people here were “poor, but didn’t know it” because life itself provided all the richness we needed; hunting, farming, and family. That has all changed too.
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There's something to be said for being home. Home as in where I grew up and raised my children. Home as in where the grandparents of all four of my grandparents grew up. There's a familiarity here, a connection, that I don't have any where else. The Minnewaska Trail (aka 44-55) is a road I've travelled since I was old enough to remember. My grandmother's brother owned what is now Minnewaska and Awosting State Parks, a good chunk of the mountain including two "sky lakes". When I was very young, I remember my father stopping for a bad accident just below the hairpin turn. He wouldn't let me get out to see because the old fashioned steering wheel had snapped off the column and the driver was impaled. I don't remember who else was there, just talk of them doing what they could.
There's a Hannaford now where the Thruway Supermarket used to be. It's down in a hollow at the foot of the falls. The River Road leads over to Montgomery, and Valley Central Schools. From there I followed my old bus route, remembering friends' phone numbers from 8th grade as I passed by where they used to live.
Around and down Lakeside Road with memories of family, the Bakery, O'Malley's, Halloween, "the Greeks", some of the happiest days of my childhood. Retracing the steps I used to walk with Patty and my younger half-siblings to her mother's, our ride finishes at my brother's on Frozen Ridge. Home, for me, encompasses two counties. My mother's family settled in Ulster, my father's in Orange. As many beautiful and interesting places I find while I travel, my roots run deep here, nourishing my spirit.
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I've been riding now for over 40 years, beginning in the dirt on a Honda SL-70 when I was 12. I always leaned more toward trials riding than racing, but also loved riding the tracks (flat track and motocross) with the guys I came up with when they'd practice (on a Honda Elsinore 125). Our motto then was "If you don't go down you're not riding hard enough!" ... not finding your limits. Archives
February 2018
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