I visited my grandfather in Warrensburg, one day, many years ago. We looked at an ancient photo album. At the turn of the last century, his parents were caretakers at an Adirondack great camp.
While he couldn’t remember the name of the camp, he recalled a floating, screened gazebo, complete with grand piano.
The lady of the house used it to escape black flies, floating into the middle of the lake. Camp workers would tow her back in to shore, in the evening.
Sunday before Memorial Day. The 400th consecutive cloudy day in the Adirondacks. At least it wasn’t raining. I paused construction on the ark for a trip to the happiest place on earth, Mount van Hoevenberg.
While I’ve put in my share of mileage on the Ho’s ski trails, the singletrack is a mystery. I think that most of these were originally snowshoe trails linking various ski trails. At some point, many of them were cleaned up and manicured for summer cycling.
Last summer, I had a day where I incorporated a bit of singletrack on the cross country side into my run.
Over Mothers’ Day weekend, I drove to New Jersey. Took my kiddo out to dinner on Friday night. Saturday’s rehearsal with Katye Kellye and The Interruption was scheduled for late afternoon. For a change, I had a chance to get a run in before driving down the shore to rehearse.
When I lived in NJ, Lake Denmark Road was my regular roller skiing haunt. Five miles of rolling pavement, it wends through country that’s the antithesis of the tired “Jersey? What exit?” trope. It’s adjacent to Picatinny Arsenal, and on the right day, one’s workout is leavened with explosions as they test ordnance.
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