2013 The Eastside Story – Day 1

The sun was shining and even though I didn’t have my act quite together, today was the best day to head out, riding my star toward this year’s adventure - “The Eastside Story.” The weather man was predicting great weather today and rain tomorrow otherwise I might have stayed home long enough to pack efficiently (in the daylight) and maybe I would have gotten the cat litter changed. Poor Kitty, she may hate me by the time I return, none the less I began my 2013 journey today, July 6, 2013.

The past couple of years I’ve headed west - south gets too hot and north too lonely so there was no other direction but east and I love the Atlantic coast. I said my good-byes and headed east planning on crossing into the US at Johnston but Garmin Dan mentioned Cornwall. I ignored him for a bit then began to believe it might actually be a shorter route. Turns out the machine was just playing with my head’ cause he suddenly, but oh so politely suggested that I cross where I had originally planned at the Ogdensburg-Prescott International bridge. The border traffic was light, and though I managed to put myself in the slowest line it took less than 15 minutes to cross.

My route threw me back into childhood when I would stay with my Aunt and Uncle in Fort Covington NY during fair week in Malone. If I’d had more time I might have tried to find the farm where Cameron knocked me out of the second story barn window into the bull pen. When you land in a yard full of bovine droppings (aka cow shit) nothing gets hurt but your pride. After a quick trip home and a check by the doctor I still got to go to the fair.

The gentle, tree covered eastern mountains were before me as I crossed the bridge at Champlain into Vermont. I travelled highway 7 as it snuggled the meandering river for a bit.  The eastern mountains aren’t like the Rockies. They’re soft and rolling and somehow inviting and you can’t tell when you've switched from looking at them to being surrounded by them, and then, there I was rolling down the interstate through the mountains.
Vermont! It must be the moose capital of the US. Every 10 k or so there was another ”moose crossing” sign coupled with “stay alert, stay alive signs.” Then nearing my destination they threw in a “bear crossing” sign just for good measure. Now, if you’ve ever read one of my adventures before you know how I feel about bear. The good news is, in Vermont one could mostly expect to encounter black bear which we all know are herbivores and, unlike their western grizzly counterparts, not likely to eat tourists. Just the same my eyes were wide open and I made several extra pit stops to ensure I would be ALERT! 

I arrived safely, no bear or moose encountered, at a gem of a campground nestled in the woods on the side of a mountain. Across the road from the campground is the Route 4 Diner and Chocolatier, out front a giant smoker  running round the clock preparing pork and brisket and serving, according to several folks I’ve met here, the best ice cream in the state.

I may have to have ice cream for breakfast ‘cause the pulled pork sandwich was a meal more than fit for a queen.

Tonight that’s me – queen of the hill, my little tent is pitched on the highest freaking spot in the whole darn place. And yes, the Star and I had to climb gravel to get here!