Taughannock Falls
3 June 2017 (posted 12 June 2017)
"Everything hurts!" I stumble through the doorway from the deck into the living room, looking past the drum kit to Tom, Jack H, Dorothy, and Pete. Moose (that's what we're calling my Jack now) and I are back from dinner at Northstar, the brew pub Pete recommended, and all I want to do is upload the day's pictures and go to sleep.
"I modified tomorrow's ride," Tom says. "It should be easier."
"Uh huh."
Still, I'm the last one to turn in. I set two alarms on my phone. One is for 7:00 so that I can be ready in time for the ride. The other is for 5:15. Our bedroom window faces east. I'm going to get up for the sunrise.
I: Sunrise
The view is cruddy through the window. I pad downstairs to the deck in my Bad Ass Coffee t-shirt (yay, Cheryl!) and my brand new moose boxers from Bar Harbor (yay, Maine!). I have my camera and my phone. Sunrise is at 5:32.
The lake is reflecting pink from the clouds.
Now it's more orange than pink.
I don't think I'm going to see the sun this time. There's too much cloud cover on the horizon.
The sun is about to come up.
Yeah, it went behind the cloud.
There are more birds singing here than there were around the hotel in Bar Harbor. A robin lands on the lower level of the deck. Maybe he doesn't see me.
There's a deer munching on the grape vines. I can't get a good shot. The leaves are too tasty.
That's it, I guess. I'm going back to bed.
II: Honeypot
"Hey, Pete! Got your Camelbak?"
"That's two," he says. He's counting. I make sure to get a few more in before the end of breakfast.
I need to stretch my back again. After much searching, I found the perfect spot yesterday afternoon. Down at the bottom of the yard, there's a drop-off at nearly the perfect angle. I'd lain down between two vine stumps that I could use as handles. I heard a car drive past on the little lane behind me. They must think the renters are nuts. Well, I'm going back down there now. I'm just finishing up when another car comes by. The driver slows down. I look up and smile. Either he thinks I fell or I'm nuts. Doesn't matter. My back feels good.
"Don't forget your pack, Pete."
"That's five."
I'm going in Pete's car. He's first up the driveway. While we wait for Tom and Jack H, he says, "Take a look at this guy. I got a video of him while you were stretching."
There's a man who looks to be considerably older than we are. He's mowing the front of his yard, which drops off as steeply as where I was stretching. The yard ends on the road, with no shoulder and nowhere for the lawnmower to go but into high-speed traffic. Rather than attempt to push the mower from below or from the side, which would be hazardous in any configuration, the fellow has tied a rope to the handle. He lets out the rope, the mower churn down the incline, and he hauls it back up again. We watch him do this over and over. He still has a lot more yard to go.
"Shit," I say. "I'd just plant a mess of wildflowers and call it a day." Pete is busy laughing.
We're driving to the other side of Ithaca, to the parking lot of a shopping center where, apparently, a lot of the local club rides begin.
Pete asks, "Got any Claritin?"
"Back at the house." His allergies are acting up. Mine are too. Despite the drugs, I've been sneezing since yesterday evening.
"That doesn't help," he says. "I need some now. I'm gonna pull into the RiteAid." Tom follows. Pete is in and out of the store in a matter of minutes. We drive across the road to the shopping center and start to get our bikes ready.
Pete shouts, "Oh, man! I don't believe it!"
"What?" Tom and I ask.
"I forgot my Camelbak."
I'm laughing too hard to say anything.
"We asked you, like, a dozen times!" Tom says.
Tom tells him we'll wait. Pete jumps back into his car and peels off. Jack H rides in circles in the parking lot. Tom and I walk over to the deli. He could use a bagel. I could use some plumbing (as Plain Jim is fond of saying). When we get back, there's a couple suiting up. Her bike looks serious. She looks like a racer. We talk about the local roads for a while, until Pete gets back.
After a wrong turn or two (my GPS, which, much to my surprise, functioned perfectly yesterday, lets us know we were off course) we get to where Tom wants to be.
We turn onto Game Farm Road, and it lives up to its name.
We're inland today, south of Ithaca, where the terrain will be more gentle than what we'd seen yesterday. The wind is at our backs for now. Tom has promised that the bigger climbs will be in the first half of the ride.
Miles from anything, we come across a cluster of tiny houses on both sides of the road. They're painted in bright colors -- yellow, purple, red, green, and blue -- and at the entrance is a painted sign that reads, "Boiceville."
"I'm gonna have to look this up," I say as I pull over for pictures.
There's no good angle to get them all in one shot.
Next is a long, gentle slog and a wide-open descent. I stop at the top and wait for a car to get out of sight. Pete and Jack H are long gone. Tom is but a speck in the distance.
I catch him at the top of the next rise.
Our rest stop is in Candor. We're almost there when I spot the cows.
I pull over and say hello. They all look up and a few come over.
As I'm leaving, a woman walks up to her mailbox. "Are these yours?"
"Yep," she says. "They love the attention," she laughs. They're dairy cows. They have a good life in the pasture by the edge of the road. She says they like to keep an eye on things.
I catch up to the guys. We go through town and then double back to the convenience store. My GPS doesn't like this. I ignore its protestations, dismount, and go inside for a cold drink and a peanut butter whoopie pie (it's not as gross as the mushy-icing cookie from yesterday, but this is the first and last time I'll try a whoopie pie).
When we push off again, it's back in the direction we were headed before we doubled back. The GPS is now well and truly fucked. It's telling me to make a turn we made ten miles ago. After a few miles of misdirection, I ditch the navigation and let it go on recording, which is apparently the one and only thing this piece of shit seems to know how to do without blowing up.
A mile from the start we pass the side of Game Farm Road that we weren't on. We'd come in at the bottom of the hill down there somewhere.
III: Waterfall
We're all cleaned up and ready to go see Taughannock Falls from the bottom. After that we're driving over to Seneca, to the Lucky Hare, for dinner. Pete's daughter is friends with the two guys who have turned a small brewery into an even smaller gastro-pub sort of thing. We've been told there's a limited menu but lots of beer.
The chickens are back.
Both Jacks, Tom, and Dorothy squeeze into my car. Pete will meet us later at the Lucky Hare. The trail to the falls is only a few minutes from the house.
The sun is low enough in the sky to bounce a glare off the water.
My lens needs a good cleaning.
As we putter about at the bottom of the waterfall, two guys steer a drone high above the water and over the top into the stream above the waterfall. We all gather around them and watch the footage as it streams onto an iPhone mounted in the drone's controls. It's up so high now that we can't even see it.
As we make our way back, the sun is lower and pictures are easier to take.
IV: Sunset
The Lucky Hare is on Seneca Lake. It takes us about half an hour to get there. The first thing Moose and I spot is the kitty. I immediately make friends with him.
When I place my order (soft pretzels, of course) at the bar, I ask about the cat. His name is Daryl Hall. His brother, John Oates, was eaten.
I'm sitting across from Maggie, Pete's daughter. She's finishing her PhD in biochemistry. I know Pete will find this hard to believe, but I am trying very hard to curb my cynicism while we talk about science.
If we hang around here a little longer, we can catch the sunset.
From left to right: Tom, Maggie, Dorothy, Jack H, Jack Moose, and Tom:
When the sun gets low over the ridge on the western side of the lake, Tom and I scurry around to find the best spot. There's a deck out back, but it's crowded, and the view isn't as good as it is farther south along the property.
I wait patiently for the sky to do its thing.
Tom gives up before I do. Moose texts me. People are cold and waiting. Just a few more minutes.
I start walking back towards the car.
Last one. I want to stay longer but I can't.
We stop for ice cream in Trumansburg on the way home, of course. The sky is clear now and we see more stars than any of us are used to. Tom says that when we get home he'll focus the telescope (it's next to the drum kit) on the moon.
He does, and it's really cool to look at the details in the craters at the edge of the dark side.
I have a lot of pictures to upload. Jack Moose continues working. Jack H and Dorothy share a laptop. Tom disappears and emerges with something small and buzzing.
It's a tiny drone. I stick my hand out to intercept it. "Ouch!" Propellers hurt! It skitters to the ground.
Jack H gives it a go and crashes it, sending one of the propellers onto the floor somewhere. It takes three of us to find it. I try next and crash it twice, knocking a propeller off the second time. I go back to blogging.
It's going to rain for most of the day tomorrow. There might be a clear window in the afternoon, but none of us is really interested in getting a short ride in should the ground dry in time. Instead, I'm taking Jack Moose to visit wineries. Tom, Jack H, and Dorothy want to visit a cider distillery and then go for a hike to the waterfalls in Robert Treman Park. I want to be two places at once. Pete turns in early. He has to drive home tomorrow and fly out somewhere for business on Monday.
Once more I'm the last one awake, determined to squeeze out one short post so that I can start writing in real time again.
[So much for that. It's ten minutes to midnight on June 12 as I type this.]
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