Oct. 3
I am pulling out Thursday and taking Route 17 (now Interstate 86) once again out of New York on this newest westward ho adventure.
The adventure is to visit the eight other towns and villages named Wayland in the U.S. and the one neighborhood (RI) that shares this moniker. The thread that binds is the commonality of the name and my hope is that I will be able to write what it means to live there from the folks I meet. To see how they mirror and differ from my growing up days in New York. Though I lived in North Cohocton (you've probably heard of it), I went to school in the big city at Wayland Central School and came to identify with it from the experiences and having lived there many times after graduating and coming back after lots of far flung excursions of living and working in other states.
My first stop will be Wayland, Michigan. Those in Iowa, Illinois, Missouri, Texas, Kentucky, Ohio, Massachusetts and Rhode Island will follow.
This trip is a far cry from the first mad dash across the continent I took back in November 1976 with my college budhro TB in my recently purchased pseudo-hippie wagon – the 1965 Chevy panel truck pictured.
Back then, like so many from that era and at the age of 21, I wasn’t sure who I was, what I wanted to do, or how to do it. But I did know that I didn’t want to sit idly by waiting for something to happen. So, armed with an overabundance of naiveté wholly eclipsed by an unsubstantiated enthusiasm that comes with the book reading of my youth, I headed out to see what the world could offer in the way adventure education.
The industrial primer truck held a narrow bed with storage below, a built-in kitchen of sorts sporting a brand new Coleman fridge, two burner stove, 5-gallon water jug, and pantry area. Teebster and I whooped it up as we crossed into Pennsylvania from our Corvair-supplied deep cushion seats.
Many a trip sitting next to my Dad in the multitude of big rigs he drove over the years had given me a love for the road and now I was in command of the wheel and the route to be taken from the many colored highways my first Rand McNally Atlas offered.
I don’t know how they could live this long, but I seem to have the same butterflies occupying my stomach that popped out of their chrysalis 34 years ago. Not sure what genus they are. Hoping they are Monarchs.
Below are a few photogs of the New York Wayland, a village of about 1,780 that is nestled in the rolling hills of the Finger Lakes region. Shown are (from top clockwise) the Gunlocke Company (office chairs, desks, etc.) which has been the main employer in the town for over 100 years; a mural at the Wayland Fire Department; the WFD, the Theodore Van Tassel American Legion Post No. 402 (built in the '20s as a Post, theater and community center); downtown; Victory Park (youth sports); St. Joesph's Church; Wayland-Cohocton Central School; Public Library (originally funded by Howard Gunlocke); another Main Street shot; Kiesl Road (where life began); and Loon Lake, just outside of the village, but in the Town of Wayland.
The adventure is to visit the eight other towns and villages named Wayland in the U.S. and the one neighborhood (RI) that shares this moniker. The thread that binds is the commonality of the name and my hope is that I will be able to write what it means to live there from the folks I meet. To see how they mirror and differ from my growing up days in New York. Though I lived in North Cohocton (you've probably heard of it), I went to school in the big city at Wayland Central School and came to identify with it from the experiences and having lived there many times after graduating and coming back after lots of far flung excursions of living and working in other states.
My first stop will be Wayland, Michigan. Those in Iowa, Illinois, Missouri, Texas, Kentucky, Ohio, Massachusetts and Rhode Island will follow.
This trip is a far cry from the first mad dash across the continent I took back in November 1976 with my college budhro TB in my recently purchased pseudo-hippie wagon – the 1965 Chevy panel truck pictured.
Back then, like so many from that era and at the age of 21, I wasn’t sure who I was, what I wanted to do, or how to do it. But I did know that I didn’t want to sit idly by waiting for something to happen. So, armed with an overabundance of naiveté wholly eclipsed by an unsubstantiated enthusiasm that comes with the book reading of my youth, I headed out to see what the world could offer in the way adventure education.
The industrial primer truck held a narrow bed with storage below, a built-in kitchen of sorts sporting a brand new Coleman fridge, two burner stove, 5-gallon water jug, and pantry area. Teebster and I whooped it up as we crossed into Pennsylvania from our Corvair-supplied deep cushion seats.
Many a trip sitting next to my Dad in the multitude of big rigs he drove over the years had given me a love for the road and now I was in command of the wheel and the route to be taken from the many colored highways my first Rand McNally Atlas offered.
I don’t know how they could live this long, but I seem to have the same butterflies occupying my stomach that popped out of their chrysalis 34 years ago. Not sure what genus they are. Hoping they are Monarchs.
Below are a few photogs of the New York Wayland, a village of about 1,780 that is nestled in the rolling hills of the Finger Lakes region. Shown are (from top clockwise) the Gunlocke Company (office chairs, desks, etc.) which has been the main employer in the town for over 100 years; a mural at the Wayland Fire Department; the WFD, the Theodore Van Tassel American Legion Post No. 402 (built in the '20s as a Post, theater and community center); downtown; Victory Park (youth sports); St. Joesph's Church; Wayland-Cohocton Central School; Public Library (originally funded by Howard Gunlocke); another Main Street shot; Kiesl Road (where life began); and Loon Lake, just outside of the village, but in the Town of Wayland.