Theres not much latitude between Pittsburgh between and Boston and the scenery between the two has been constant. Farms, rivers, and the rounded tops of ancient mountains. Its lovely, if only I had arrived before the foliage had all been blown away.
Call me Kal-El because I derive my power from the sun. The days when the sun is faint are the hardest. The Northeast follows its most brilliant display of color with about 5 months of oppressive greyness. Many of the houses in this region are hundreds of years old and need to comply with historic preservation standards. Usually that means white exteriors. In the Winter this asthetic does nothing to encourage me to get out of bed.
Too Lazy to Tent Camp
Upon researching routes home from Pittsburgh I realized that Eastern New York has a lot of rugged terrain. Up North are the Adirondacks and down South lay the Catskills. Google will tell you to shoot the gap between the two and make a huge, flat, detour to Albany. Thats no fun, so I decided to charge head long into the Catskills.
So Through the Catskills I drove. Upon entering the mountains I endured hours of freezing rain. The plastic bags on my feet filled with icy water and I compelled my cold muscles to sprint to my destination. It was truly awful. I arrived in Walton with hands as red as my jacket, dejected. I found some warm spaces to occupy and tried not to ruin them with my water logged… everything. I eventually convinced myself that rather than be miserable I ought to dry my clothes at the laundromat. Rather than risk another day of inclement weather in the sparsely populated center of the Catskills region I opted for a shorter and more inhabited route around the periphery. The following day was sunny and wonderful. Filled with raptors as the best days are.
The most wonderful surprise of the Catskills was the resident population of bald eagles. I tend not to get excited about large birds because they are almost always vultures, but bald eagles have splendid white tails whivh make them easy to spot. As I crested the mountain pass that marks the exit of Catskill park an eagle popped over the tree line and for a bit we soared together. Bombing down another pass. Blasting metal. Rumspringa-ing with all my might.
Im about Rumspringa’d out. I have about 100 miles until I reach the Western most commuter train that will take me to Boston. The last stretch has been a bit of push.
Looking forward to rest day,