Finger Lakes Day Two: Owls, Irving, and Ithaca

 Mallards on Keuka Lake

30 September 2016

I checked in on the lake at 9:00 a.m.

Vultures were keeping watch on a streetlight at the edge of the lake:

A solitary vulture perched on the buoy:

 Geese and gulls gathered on a sand bar.

They were staying off the lawn because of this guy:

So that people could walk on the path without stepping in goose poop:

Keuka Lake on an overcast morning:

Today we'd travel to Ithaca, stopping at a few wineries along the way and ending at the famed Moosewood restaurant. This was Jack's idea; I'd never suggest that he suffer such a crunchy venue. Like very good wine, he reasoned, very good food isn't easy to find in the Finger Lakes. More on that later.

Our first stop was Anthony Road Wine Company on Seneca Lake. I took part in the tasting this time.

We couldn't get close to the real vineyard, but there was a small garden with varietal vines that we could walk among, now that the drizzle had stopped. I took pictures of rotting grapes:

And of healthy ones:

These are Concord Grapes, the kind that make terrible wine and good jelly. They smelled sweet, even from a foot away. Jack wiped away the pale film on a grape. "That's yeast," he said.

Next was Red Tail Ridge, a few miles away, where an affable, charming, and chatty server held our attention. She told us about the straggly little Teroldego vine that she has named Irving and has given pep talks to, warning him that if he doesn't produce, he's going to be yanked. Apparently he and his brethren listened, because this year was the first that the winery was able to harvest its Teroldego grapes.

 

This is Irving.

Across the road, this beefy vine shows Irving how it's done:

We were close to the northern end of Seneca Lake, so we stopped in Geneva for lunch at a throwback luncheonette, where I was hungry enough to eat a muffin top and half the bottom too.

Next, driving in and out of drizzle, we headed down the eastern side of Seneca, to Red Newt Cellars. By now, I'd almost figured out the difference between fruity and sweet, and could distinguish an off-dry from a dry Riesling. I also sipped something that tasted like a green apple Jolly Rancher.

From there, the back of the car clinking with wine bottles, we drove to Ithaca. It began to rain in earnest as we walked through a blocks-long street fair, and in an out of bookstores (one with a snarky display of banned books).

We stopped in a candy shop, where I got another dose of owls:

I wish I could say that Moosewood served the best vegetarian food I've ever eaten, but I can't. I felt compelled to avoid the things I knew I'd like (salads, pasta), and go for the things that required thought and skill (a thick soup with mushy mushrooms and mushy tomatoes, and a stew with mushy squash and mushy peppers and flavors I've never much liked). It was good for what it was; I just don't much enjoy those sorts of things. The berry crumble I had for dessert was worthy, though.

We walked back through part of the street fair in the rain.

To get back to Penn Yan was an hour's drive through pitch-black roads and fog. It was a challenge, and when we got back to the hotel I was pretty much wiped out after a day of doing almost nothing.

Back to the Finger Lakes, Day One

Decoy Owl, Hampton Inn, Penn Yan

29 September 2016

Summer was too busy, too stressful, and too fleeting for me and Jack to get our act together and go somewhere for vacation. We didn't get around to making plans until Jack started teaching again, and by that time the lakefront bed and breakfasts had no vacancies. After poking around for a bit, we found a hotel with a lake view. I figured we'd be up on the seventh floor with a parking lot and highway between us and the water.

We drove to Penn Yan, New York, on a murky day. When we checked in, we entered a room easily twice the size any bed and breakfast would have given us, with a sofa, table, kitchenette (no stove), and a door leading straight to a patio overlooking the lake: 

Jack, whose laptop had melted down first thing in the morning, immediately opened his computer to finish restoring what had been lost. I grabbed my camera and took a walk along the gravel path next to the lake.

The little dot on the grass near the center of the picture is a decoy owl, of which there are several:

It's not Maine, but it is rocks with algae:

I don't know if I'll be able to achieve the state of zen that I found in Maine, but I do hope I can forget the rest of my life for at least a few minutes.

Hey!  A groundhog! I thought it might be a beaver, but when it turned to run, the tail said otherwise.

There's a dock at the Top of the Lake restaurant next to the hotel. If you zoom way in, you'll see a decoy owl on the piling to the upper left of the front of the boat:

Rocks and cement debris at the water's edge:

Jack eventually got his laptop back into working order, and then mine started acting up. Temporarily unable to blog, I picked up a book and started reading. That was weird.

Chilly Flat Damp Delicious

Delicious Orchards, Colts Neck

24 September 2016

The order I placed for a new cycle computer got lost in the ether; I dug out an old one whose receiver is held to its mount by electrical tape, and used more tape to affix the too-small mount to my fat handle bar. It served me well today, and if the new computer doesn't arrive soon, the tape on this one might be gummy enough to hold it through the rest of the season.

It was with a certain amount of restraint that I didn't ride from home to Tom's house today.  If I'd worked at it, I could have lengthened the trip over and back enough to make a century. I resisted the compulsion to find an extra ten miles somewhere, and instead met Jim and Tom at Tom's house to add a more reasonable 4.5 miles each way.

Good thing. "It's kinda sorta raining," I said by way of a greeting.

It kinda sorta rained on us on our way to Etra Park, where Pete, with his car, a rare thing, exclaimed, "What is this?"

"I'm sorry," Tom said. "I forgot to add you to the email about extra miles."

John B pulled in on his bike.  It was still kinda sorta raining.

It kinda sorta rained on us for the better part of 30 miles. 

Much of this was through suburban and exurban neighborhoods, which is far less scenic than most of us are used to. There was more traffic than we'd like. I guess this is why we rarely go out to Colts Neck.

We took a shortcut through a neighborhood that displayed the very definition of McMansion, up to and including not one, but two driveways with plaster lions as sentries. I never understood the plaster animal thing. I guess I'm not rich enough to get it.

When Tom stopped to change batteries in his GPS, at the corner of Casino and Ketchum, I took a picture of the most rural thing we'd seen so far, an empty lot behind a wire fence:

A few miles later, on Merrick Road, we got to some good stuff. It was now truly raining.

Pete, Tom, and John waited under a tree half a mile away while Jim and I took pictures.

Once in Colts Neck, it was clear we were in Trump territory. ~Shudder.~ 

"If I were here with a car I'd buy all the pretty things," I told John as we sat down to eat at Delicious Orchards. 

If you've never been there, imagine what a farm stand would look like if it were a big box store. Imagine a single brownie as big as a sheet of regulation copy paper. 

Pete was eating one of these when I sat down:

"What is that called?" I asked,

"A Circle of Death," he said, and when he finished it, started in on another, because everyone knows that a cyclist needs two circles to keep moving. Jim was eating fried bread. Whatever Tom had looked more reasonable. I ate the top off of a pumpkin muffin. It was good.

How Jim and Pete didn't barf on the way home is a testament to their metabolisms and proof that a B pace really is too easy for them.

We were about five miles away from Etra Park when the sky began to clear to our north. To the south, the clouds rolled out, and when we got to the park, I took pictures.