History: NY's and mine.

I'm feeling a bit squirrelly

From Niagara Falls, through Rochester and then Syracuse we spent many miles along the Erie Heritage Trail. Though ground stone, it has a very good surface and out of harm’s way. Though mostly recreationally used now, the 363 mile construction was quite an engineering feat that opened the region up for agriculture and industry, resulting in New York surpassing Philadelphia in commerce. Riding along the way one can imagine its heyday, and be inspired to research more history.

Mid Upstate NY is vaguely familiar to me. At a young age, while living in Illinois, we’d all pile into the car and drive cross-country to Greenwich, where my Father had purchased 20 acres of land we’d camp on. I suppose we pretty much followed this route. Then later, when we lived in Massachusetts and “downstate” we’d travel there to spend a week or two camping. It is where we city kids were first exposed to rural life, for the land originally was owned by a local dairy farmer. Dad taught us to shoot, burning through bricks of .22 caliber ammo. Then he took us out to kill woodchucks, or down to Cossayuna Lake to go fishing, and evening’s we’d cook over a Coleman gas stove. He’d tell funny stories about his war before we’d sleep in a tent, and later a lean-to. He’d dig a latrine, and eventually we had an outhouse. Our water was carted up from Connery’s farm in old milk cans loaded on a wooden flatbed trailer behind a 1952 International Farmall Super-C tractor. Those summers I’d sit in his lap and he’d let me drive, and push the throttle levers up…

Suddenly our world fell apart. My executive father and his wife divorced, he fell from grace in the corporate world, the family collapsed, and he almost went bankrupt. That “funny” war always haunted him, and I later realized greatly influenced how he raised his 4 sons. All he had left was a new wife and those 20 acres of land. He sent for me and my younger brother. We lived in poverty but I didn’t quite realize it; we subsistence farmed that land, cut wood, built a chicken coop, did odd-jobs, trapped fur, hunted, fished, and survived and thrived. It was so hard. I got the hell out of there 10 days after I graduated high school 40 years ago, and have only visited a handful of times. Eventually Dad was granted a full medical disability for his war wounds, sold that land and lived 30+ years more RV traveling the country, eventually settling in a Florida home his widow lives in today.

During those hard years I did earn enough to buy a $40 ten-speed bicycle via mail order from Montgomery Ward. What a tank that thing was, but I didn’t know that as I flew down North Road, clocking speeds up to 60 mph (according to my cable drive dial speedometer) and smoking the breaks trying to stop at the bottom. I was young, immortal, the son of a soldier that grew up knowing all about WWII and Vietnam, destined to be my generation’s fodder. I had no future other than the military.

I’m going back soon. Not home, for it isn’t home for me. Our travels take us to Saratoga Springs tomorrow, and the next day, Rutland VT. I don’t know what route the FCBA is taking, but I’m going down memory lane. I’ve found a route about 10 miles longer that will take to put all behind me. I’m going down the hill on North Road, and not at 60 mph because I’m no longer immortal. I’m older than my Father when he left that place. I doubt I have 30 years. I do have today, and today I’m happy, so all the miles getting here were worth it.

Time is precious. Today’s is running out, so I’m just going to toss this out there without so much as an edit. Sorry for any errors, but I don’t have time to correct myself. I gotta go. Things are happenin’ in Herkimer.