Oct. 9
Saturday was a day to explore the local landscape by mapping out a rough route to drive to the many towns that share the names in our area of New York. I say rough route because I know full well now that my laptop roads software has a few gremlins in it that have giggled at me as I found myself not where it said I should be.
But, that is the fun of a drive-about. Back in my Albany days I would hop on the Harley bright and way early in the a.m. and head out to the Adirondacks, Catskills or Vermont with the sole purpose of getting lost. Right, left, right left and lo and behold I would find myself in uncharted locals enjoying views and roadside attractions I may never find again. That was the point – to go where others have gone but by sheer chance of the moment’s decision of which way my gut said to turn.
It works out just fine and many a vista opened up, a Mom & Pop diner satiated my hunger for food and conversation and a day was filed away as a memory worth the rambling. And again, you can’t get lost if you use the sun to your advantage when it comes time to head for home –sooner or later you run into a road or town you know and you find your way back.
I was a bit pissed that I didn’t gas up the day before because by magic the world market for gasoline had hiccupped and prices went up 10 to 16 cents a gallon over night – dammit. But you have to crack a twenty if you want to boogie.
I was in search of back roads for the allure they hold for me for the whole Zen of farm fields in various stages of growth or harvest, common and funky houses of those who crave privacy and quiet, pastures that offer bovine and sheep still life galleries and au natural flora that help maintain what always was – even before man trod on their territory.
I started out fine but by the fourth or so turn (after going through Alaska) I was lost. No big deal. Go with the flow that the sun and blue sky presented.
One thing I have constantly bragged about in my travels is the tree lined back roads, mostly the dirt, but also the narrow paved, that we have in our area that permit one to go from town to town without seeing much of humanity. Once I hit 60th Street (they have so many farm roads in this part of Michigan they number their roads, which helps I guess in finding a house never visited) I traveled by those fields, some with farmers up as early as I, and hit one section that turned into dirt. It went several miles as a canopied covered green tunnel I love so much when the sunlight dapples (love that word) through the leaves of trees that reach from the road sides to touch each other.
Cue the deer. A doe came out of brown corn rows, stopped to look at my coming slowly at it and then ambled into the woods without fear. Not too much further along, a heron came from behind me and flew point for me until it veered towards some water source and its breakfast.
I came first to Bath that is much, much smaller than its New York sister and as an unincorporated village, there is no population count. But, as everywhere else I saw as yet, there were many new houses that had been built around the obvious older style buildings. The trees were in a riot of fall colors and a chuckle at the naming of the carwash, “The Auto Bath,” ended the tour.
Next up was Perry, a bit smaller at about 1,800 folks than NY’s 3,600 folk burg. Downtown held some businesses but vacant ones as well. It was too early for an ice cream cone but not too early for a photog of the King Cone and its cool, smooth architectural design.
Just down the road the shot of the party barge in the tiny pond indicated that someone had a sense of humor if not a sense of nautical correctness in vessel size versus need. Love the palm trees and flamingoes.
Then the route taken was driven by the mission to swap a fire department patch in Dansville – the only other Dansville to grace an atlas in the U.S. from my extensive Googling. Though a whole lot smaller at about 436 souls, the folks there were busy washing cars, mowing lawns, and a few burning brush.
I asked directions to the DFD but once there I found it devoid of truck washing or simply kibitzing volunteer firefighters enjoying some time before the big game. Michigan and Michigan State, THE rivalry, were playing at 3:30. I went to the lone gas station/convenient store and the nice lady there gave me Chief Tim Whipple’s phone number, but alas, there was no answer. With a thanks for the help, a Power Ball ticket purchase (didn’t win), I went back to the fire hall to put the patch in the drop box.
With luck, the one brush pile being burnt was spewing enough black smoke it prompted a call to the department so when I went back to the hall I ran into Captain Scott Speck and Lieutenant Matt Valley who had scoped out the smoke. Scott gladly gave me a patch and shared with me that the department covers about 62 square miles with around 20 or so members. He said that Dansville almost became the capital of Michigan, except a fire (love the coincidence of the story telling) burned much of the town and that ended that plan.
There is little in the way of business in town, but the photo on the side of the Wooden Nickel Saloon and Café presents a bit of history of when most small farm towns had one store that met the needs of locals. Got to believe that the Sears and Roebucks catalog took care of other needs back in the day.
As I headed northwest towards Caledonia it hit me that unlike most rural roads I amused to in many other states, those in this area of Michigan have a huge number of houses on them. I am more used to a larger distance between houses on such roads and found it intriguing that so many folks choose to live on between the towns and cities. The kids must like it better this way considering they can actually ride their bikes not all that far to play.
The day was getting long in the tooth and the drive into Caledonia (about 1,370) was a quick one. It is close to Grand Rapids and has the newer retail and service business growth that Wayland, Mich. has as a bedroom community.
I pulled into the motel parking lot a little tired but a whole lot satisfied from a day of left, right, left, right.
But, that is the fun of a drive-about. Back in my Albany days I would hop on the Harley bright and way early in the a.m. and head out to the Adirondacks, Catskills or Vermont with the sole purpose of getting lost. Right, left, right left and lo and behold I would find myself in uncharted locals enjoying views and roadside attractions I may never find again. That was the point – to go where others have gone but by sheer chance of the moment’s decision of which way my gut said to turn.
It works out just fine and many a vista opened up, a Mom & Pop diner satiated my hunger for food and conversation and a day was filed away as a memory worth the rambling. And again, you can’t get lost if you use the sun to your advantage when it comes time to head for home –sooner or later you run into a road or town you know and you find your way back.
I was a bit pissed that I didn’t gas up the day before because by magic the world market for gasoline had hiccupped and prices went up 10 to 16 cents a gallon over night – dammit. But you have to crack a twenty if you want to boogie.
I was in search of back roads for the allure they hold for me for the whole Zen of farm fields in various stages of growth or harvest, common and funky houses of those who crave privacy and quiet, pastures that offer bovine and sheep still life galleries and au natural flora that help maintain what always was – even before man trod on their territory.
I started out fine but by the fourth or so turn (after going through Alaska) I was lost. No big deal. Go with the flow that the sun and blue sky presented.
One thing I have constantly bragged about in my travels is the tree lined back roads, mostly the dirt, but also the narrow paved, that we have in our area that permit one to go from town to town without seeing much of humanity. Once I hit 60th Street (they have so many farm roads in this part of Michigan they number their roads, which helps I guess in finding a house never visited) I traveled by those fields, some with farmers up as early as I, and hit one section that turned into dirt. It went several miles as a canopied covered green tunnel I love so much when the sunlight dapples (love that word) through the leaves of trees that reach from the road sides to touch each other.
Cue the deer. A doe came out of brown corn rows, stopped to look at my coming slowly at it and then ambled into the woods without fear. Not too much further along, a heron came from behind me and flew point for me until it veered towards some water source and its breakfast.
I came first to Bath that is much, much smaller than its New York sister and as an unincorporated village, there is no population count. But, as everywhere else I saw as yet, there were many new houses that had been built around the obvious older style buildings. The trees were in a riot of fall colors and a chuckle at the naming of the carwash, “The Auto Bath,” ended the tour.
Next up was Perry, a bit smaller at about 1,800 folks than NY’s 3,600 folk burg. Downtown held some businesses but vacant ones as well. It was too early for an ice cream cone but not too early for a photog of the King Cone and its cool, smooth architectural design.
Just down the road the shot of the party barge in the tiny pond indicated that someone had a sense of humor if not a sense of nautical correctness in vessel size versus need. Love the palm trees and flamingoes.
Then the route taken was driven by the mission to swap a fire department patch in Dansville – the only other Dansville to grace an atlas in the U.S. from my extensive Googling. Though a whole lot smaller at about 436 souls, the folks there were busy washing cars, mowing lawns, and a few burning brush.
I asked directions to the DFD but once there I found it devoid of truck washing or simply kibitzing volunteer firefighters enjoying some time before the big game. Michigan and Michigan State, THE rivalry, were playing at 3:30. I went to the lone gas station/convenient store and the nice lady there gave me Chief Tim Whipple’s phone number, but alas, there was no answer. With a thanks for the help, a Power Ball ticket purchase (didn’t win), I went back to the fire hall to put the patch in the drop box.
With luck, the one brush pile being burnt was spewing enough black smoke it prompted a call to the department so when I went back to the hall I ran into Captain Scott Speck and Lieutenant Matt Valley who had scoped out the smoke. Scott gladly gave me a patch and shared with me that the department covers about 62 square miles with around 20 or so members. He said that Dansville almost became the capital of Michigan, except a fire (love the coincidence of the story telling) burned much of the town and that ended that plan.
There is little in the way of business in town, but the photo on the side of the Wooden Nickel Saloon and Café presents a bit of history of when most small farm towns had one store that met the needs of locals. Got to believe that the Sears and Roebucks catalog took care of other needs back in the day.
As I headed northwest towards Caledonia it hit me that unlike most rural roads I amused to in many other states, those in this area of Michigan have a huge number of houses on them. I am more used to a larger distance between houses on such roads and found it intriguing that so many folks choose to live on between the towns and cities. The kids must like it better this way considering they can actually ride their bikes not all that far to play.
The day was getting long in the tooth and the drive into Caledonia (about 1,370) was a quick one. It is close to Grand Rapids and has the newer retail and service business growth that Wayland, Mich. has as a bedroom community.
I pulled into the motel parking lot a little tired but a whole lot satisfied from a day of left, right, left, right.