We reached Old Forge, New York on the eleventh day of our trip. We were about half way through our allotted time for the trip. We were a bit road weary and we were starting to encounter more climbing. The realization that we would probably not make it all the way to Bar Harbor was becoming clearer. I was a bit disappointed.
Our visit to Old Forge helped improve my attitude.
With my limited knowledge of the area, I would proclaim Old Forge as the prototype Adirondack small town. All of the elements are there; old cottage and cabin architecture, an old downtown area, a great diner, and a river that has been dammed to form a lake. Several stores specialized in camp furnishings and there was even a place that specialized in camp signs.
A camp is what we would refer to as “the cottage up north” in Michigan. A camp is invariably rustic (even when new) and would appear to be furnished with log furniture and colorful woolen blankets. This observation is based on what we saw in the store windows. It also appears that there is some type of law or regulation requiring that the camp be named. All along the route we spotted signs such as Loon Cove, Eagle Peak, and Duck’s Butt. These signs range from elaborate carved wooden masterpieces to simple planks with hand painted scrawl.
A very common camp name appears to be “Moose Crossing”. We saw these signs throughout the Adirondacks, but never saw a moose. I believe that this is some type of cruel joke perpetrated by the locals.
We arrived in Old Forge after a fairly long day of riding. The day had been punctuated with Brian’s second broken spoke (non-drive side), meeting Kermit, Kermit’s suggestion that we eat at Slim’s in Boonville (very good potato soup), a scenic ride along the Moose River, and the discovery of a small waterfall near the spot Brian had picked to take a break. With the exception of the broken spoke, it had been a good day.
Dinner was acquired at the supermarket deli. The fried chicken, macaroni salad, tabouli, and fruit were loaded on to the BOB and we headed for the campground two miles east of town.
The registration building housed a computerized registration (with 3 computer stations), camp store, coffee bar, game room, TV room, laundry, and some other stuff. There was an evening family movie and boats to rent. It seemed pretty civilized. The lady then told us not to store any food at the campsite, especially in the tents because of the bears. She said that if we were bothered by a bear to simply use the phone located at the registration office to notify park management. We weren’t exactly sure how this worked since the registration building was about 400 yards from our camp site.
Our campsite was quite rustic. We were greeted by a doe munching on vegetation in our camp. Our presence did not seem to faze her and she simply moved down the hill to another camp site when I was taking her photo.
At this point of the trip we had a fairly well established order of camp activity. First we would “do the numbers” (as Brian called it) to record mileage and average speed. This was followed by making journal entries, eating, and setting up the tents. We usually spent some time reviewing the route maps and deciding on the plan for the next day. By the time we got cleaned up, it was about 8:30. It was not yet dark but we usually climbed into the tents and had a race to see who could fall asleep first.
This night Brian added an additional activity. He gathered every bit of food (energy bars, etc.) in his packs and buried them deep in the bag of his BOB. He then moved the BOB as far as possible from the tents. I simply ate the last of my snacks from my handlebar bag and threw the empty wrapper under Brian"s tent (just kidding). As the old joke goes, I only had to be able to out run Brian (and I think I can).
The problem was that just the thought of bears prevented our normal sleep of the living dead. Listening for bears made for a fitful sleep. That is until it started to rain. And rain. And rain.
Continued….
Wes
