Solitary man

Sunday morning dawned with thick fog settled over the Delaware River Valley. Sleep had been good for the most part, with only one brief instant where the tent just felt too small, but opening up the inner flap and letting the stars shine in made a difference. There was dew on the ground and an abundance of wildlife again wandering around the campground and the local roads. A solitary man on a scooter crept away from the campsite.

Three doe wished me a good morning and a farewell through the fog. Unfortunately, the dim conditions and the foggy morning prevented a better photo. After carefully threading the scooter along the gravel drive, the road eventually came into view. Once out on it, the close encounters began. The first was another doe who decided to cross just a few yards ahead, the second was a flock of about ten wild turkeys (one of whom could not figure out whether to stay in the road or get out of it), and the third was a Muscovy Duck that decided he needed to stand in the middle of the road. This was all prior to hitting the New York line.

Port Jervis loomed out of the morning fog at 7:30, and the GPS said, go straight. This led through the second tunnel of the trip which returned the exhaust noise delightfully. After two miles, it seemed a good idea to check the GPS and see if this was indeed the best route, this led to a reverse course and a turn onto US6 East which was a fortuitous turn of events as a Dunkin Donuts was just a few blocks up the road.

While getting all the gear off and parking the scoot on its center stand, a man approached, noted the saddlebags and the obvious traveling gear and PA plate and asked about the scoot. He was incredulous that it was only a 150cc and it had come successfully up from Lancaster and was heading up to Massachusetts. This kind of conversation seems to come up at least once on every trip. "You're from Lancaster, PA? And you came all this way on a scooter? Are you nuts?" That's pretty much the jist of it. We chatted for a bit over coffee and he asked how long it would take to get to Mass. The estimate was at least by 2:00, but probably sooner and he seemed to think this was a low estimate.

After taking my leave and getting all the gear back on, 6 east rolled away under the wheels. about ten miles later, it seemed like a good chance to stretch the scoot's highway legs a bit, so we headed east on I-84 for a while, using the opportunity to get over the Hudson River. By this time the fog had lifted and the river was visible for miles in both directions. Once over the bridge, a short hop on one of route 9's many tributaries eventually led to the Taconic Parkway, which led in turn to rt. 44, then 7 north. After passing through Sheffield Mass and turning onto rt. 23, the Berkshires rolled past.

Through this time I'd been watching for a church to visit for Sunday morning service, but either the service was already done, or I was too early. It wasn't a bad thing really as a ride on a scooter gives plenty of time for prayer and meditation.

A short time following 23 led to the rt. 57 split off and it seemed a good idea at the time to take the road less traveled. It was quickly discovered why this was so. Winter is rough on roads in the north and few towns have the money to keep them up, so there are potholes that have existed since the time of Paul Revere. This was not so in Tolland, where the road surface had been recently paved, but crossing into Granville dashed all hopes that such a lovely thing to exist indefinitely.

Eventually, after more twists and turns and a couple more towns, we arrived at Mom's house. After greeting her, getting the gear off the scoot, and removing the grime of camping and the road, more family arrived with Pizza and lemon meringue pie to celebrate Mom's birthday. There were no further travels for the day and it was good to relax and be with family, even though the solitude of the long ride was over.