It is now the last hours of February and I am living in the southernmost point of Georgia, only a couple of miles from the Florida border. Yet a small town along the shore of Lake Ontario in New York that I visited in early November continues to be a part of my life and I still find is very difficult to write about my experience there. I keep re-opening the word processing document and can’t seem to get beyond the first few paragraphs, which as you will realize are pretty generic. There are some issues of the heart that come into play.
Located about a mid-point between Rochester and Niagara Falls, the town it is about a square mile in area and shape. The 2000 census pegged the population at 862, more than 98 percent white, and it is a fairly poor area with a per capita income of $16,300.
Named Lyndonville because many of its original settlers came from Lyndon, Vermont, it was originally settled around the 1820s. Today it is mostly farmlands. I am told that Amish own a significant part of the town and that when land becomes available, they are buying it. But the real estate market crisis has all but destroyed property values.
The main street is a couple of blocks long and features a laundry, gas station, grocery store, hardware store and a post office. Most people shop in Medina, a small town about 15 miles away and a fairly new Wal-Mart has also changed shopping patterns.
My purpose of going to Lyndonville was to do three things – meet someone who I exchanged messages with on a dating site for seniors, visit nearby Niagara Falls and head over to Cleveland to the Rock & Roll Hall of fame. It did not start very well.
To get there, I travelled up Interstate 81, which runs through the heart of Pennsylvania and New York in a North-South Direction. I had visited a friend on her birthday and left from New Jersey late at night, when I drive my best. There is less traffic and no sun glare. My route took me from Interstate 80 to 81 about midnight. Earlier in the day, I had driven from the Shenandoah Valley and by the time I got to I-81, I was tired. I pulled off at the first I-81 rest stop into the truck parking area – I was pulling my trailer –and took a nap. About 1 a.m. I woke up refreshed and continued the journey.
I am an old man with a weak bladder. And sometimes my diabetes causes me to be very thirsty. And so I drink a lot of diet cola en route. The result is that I stop at many rest stops to relieve myself. That night involved at least four of them. It was nearing dawn as I reached Rochester’s rest stop and turning off to Interstate 90 to a Western direction. I did my usual rest stop business and took Pup, the pup, for a walk. I was several hours ahead of schedule and decided I could do with another nap. I went to the trailer and the door wouldn’t open. It was semi-crushed. Looking around, I had discovered the front corner of the trailer was also crushed. My immediate thought was that a big tractor-trailer rig hit me. I park with them because there are not parking spots big enough in the car area. The height was about right. I assumed it was a hit-and-run. I called the police and they told me they couldn’t really help me. I had no idea where it took place, not even the state! I then notified my insurance company and they gave me a claim number and an agent specializing in RV collision to call later in the day.
So I was faced with a choice. Should I continue my trip? While damaged, the trailer was roadworthy. And I was about 100 miles from my destination. I decided to do so. But first, I had a greasy breakfast at whatever fast food chain had the franchise at the rest stop. It did not go down well.
So, upset stomach or not, I headed north again to Lake Ontario State Highway. The highway runs along the lake and is very scenic. I had hoped to see a sunrise, but the day was cloudy. I was told by the woman, whom I will dub “Lady” for this piece, to call when I reached the western end of the highway, which I did. I was somewhere near the entrance to a state park and called. It was late October and in that particular area, nearly all the trees had lost their leaves. Suddenly the inevitable result of an upset stomach hit me and hit me hard. I had to go – and the place to go was unobtainable due to the damaged door. I had to hide behind some bushes and went outside, leaving my mess behind the state park “welcome” sign, along with several sheets of paper towels normally used to clean my windows – especially the passenger side which the dog slobbers on.
Lady arrived less than a minute after I was once-again presentable. She had me follow her to a local RV dealer who could repair it, but it would take several months since the parts were custom made. He did, however, manage to loosen the door, making the trailer habitable. I also learned the damage was caused by a deer. There was some gore left. It was not a hit-and-un. I went inside and changed my clothes. At this point, I was severely sleep deprived and very upset. It was still early in the morning and I followed Lady to a local restaurant for a “real” breakfast.
I basically blathered about how sorry I was about this and how I needed to get settled at a nearby RV park. She offered me her back yard instead and I accepted. We ran a hose and electric cord from her house and I settled in. After the nap I had needed for since early that morning. I detached the trailer from the truck and Lady took me sightseeing. She is a photographer and the area is one of great beauty. Yet I was struck by how desolate it was. There are many farms. She lives in an old farmhouse with several acres of uncultivated land in the back. You can see the lake from where I was camping; it was less than a half-mile to the shore.
We wound up having a nice dinner together. Lady turned out to be a really, really lovely woman. When we returned to the farmhouse, we spent some time talking together in the trailer.
We decided to go together to Niagara Falls the next day and did so.
Niagara Falls is an incredible sight. But it has been photographed so often, it was somewhat of a disappointment. It was a sort of “déjà vue” experience. However, I was very impressed by the torrential Niagara River. Looking out, you could see where it had uprooted trees on the banks and dragged them downwards. I could understand the “real” fear daredevils had. The chance of surviving the drop off the falls was one thing. The chance of surviving the violent river is nearly impossible.
There is a contrast between the river at the top of the falls and the bottom. The water becomes very slow moving and tranquil after the violence of the fall. While it would be impossible for boats to ride above the falls, the tour boats like the Maid of the Mist enjoy a smooth area to float in. I had hoped to take a boat ride, but they were closed for winter year. The day was mild but too often ice forms on the decks and piers, rendering it too dangerous.
I thought how the route of the water resembled a sexual climax and realized why it was so popular as a honeymoon destination.
Anyhow, the route back took us through more scenic areas and we decided I would cook dinner that night. As we ate, we talked quite a bit. As I got to know Lady, I realized that there are many issues that pushed my buttons. Yet, she is a wonderful woman and I was incredibly attracted to her.
In the morning, I woke up to realize that I had run out of propane. It was cold and the heater had gone off. We went to a local Indian reservation where it was cheaper and I also filled the truck with gas. After reconnecting the tanks, I decided to take a nap. Sometime later Lady was banging on my door smelling gas, waking me up and saving my life. It turned out that I left one of the stove’s burners at the minimal setting in the expectation of re-heating some food. When I re-connected the propane, it caused a leak.
I decided it would be too risky to leave that day, as I had no idea what the impact of the gas leak would be on my driving, though I did re-hitch my wounded home to the truck.
A day later, I headed back along the lakeside highway and into the Interstate highway system. But it was daytime this time and I reached my apartment in Port Jervis as the sun was setting. I went to bed and stayed there for a week, depressed and trying to figure out how I felt. I still don’t know. I suppose I never will.
