With about sixty miles left to my destination in the North Country of New York, my car decides to crap out in Westport. The tachometer starts going a little funky, and all of a sudden every single emergency light comes on.
I drive for about ten miles and come to a side street where the oldest schoolhouse in Essex County, New York, is still standing. I decide to have lunch at the schoolhouse and give the car a good rest. If it doesn't start, there are a couple of farms I can walk to because, hey, I still don't have cell connectivity. Off on the side of a car-less street, a schoolhouse with a flag stands right on the road, along with a sign inviting people to sit and enjoy the views from sunrise to sunset. I grab my sandwich, a water, and a snack, then get myself comfy on one of the benches.
By the time I'm ready to hit the road again, the car starts and seems to be running okay, although I can't tell if it sounds different or if I'm hallucinating from the panic and the high temperatures causing heatstroke. I decide to avoid the highway and continue on the backroads thirty-plus miles until I reach another land form much like the one where I started.
The Syracuse - Albany - Amsterdam - Plattsburgh (New York Triangle) trip is another story but separate from my solo travels and not at all horrifying, and it would earn a separate novella (which I probably won't be writing anytime soon) since it involves much more interesting co-conspirators and no wrong-way idiocy (my sister-in-law has a remarkable sense of direction that I lack).
Yes, my car has 93,000 miles on it, but it has recently been serviced, and it's a make and model that can easily support 200,000 miles. Of course it would choose now to be a jerk -- right now -- when I have zero GPS, zero cell service, and it's 8,000 degrees with 97% humidity outside. Despite being a notorious speed trap, there is nary an officer of the law in sight.
I. Am. Doomed.
As I drift over to the side of the road, panic sets in. Sure, I have AAA-plus. I can get towed to my brother's house. The problem is that I still have zero cell service and zero wireless capabilities. I'm not calling anybody for help. I push the button on the dashboard, assuming that I am shutting off the car. Nope. Apparently, the car shut itself off, so pressing the ignition restarts the car. The dashboard looks deceptively fine now.
What doesn't look fine is my heart rate. Finally, I take a few deep breaths and pull back into the road. I drive along, not pushing the speed too far. As I'm driving if locals are up my arse to pass me, I pull over, wave them along, and get back on my route. At this point, I could get on a northbound highway, but I'd rather have the car die on a backroad than die in the passing lane of route 87.
The first thing I notice as I relax in the midst of absolute solitude is that my phone starts pinging. Hey! I'm back in the land of the electronic living, at least, for now. The next thing I notice is the view - I am facing the mountains, and the sun is shining full and hot, creating areas of light and shadow across the mountainous skyline. The last thing I notice is that I am sitting about twenty feet away from a vineyard full of row after row of grape vines. (Oh, for a glass of wine right about now!)
I stop at Ausable Chasm, a gorge in the Adirondacks. Quechee Gorge (where this entire misadventure started), runs through Mesozoic-era Vermont metamorphic bedrock for over a mile, is 165 feet deep, and has formed over 13,000 years. Ausable Chasm runs through 500 million year-old Potsdam sandstone for about two miles, is 150 feet deep, and has formed over 10,000 years. I've walked the trails before and rafted back to the main lodge, but today it's crowded and oh-so-undeniably hot, and the water level is a bit low. I snap a few photos and video, then backtrack to my favorite farmstand store in nearby Peru, NY (today's destination).
It seems appropriate that my trip from gorge to gorge, chasm to chasm, bridge to bridge, has included unbelievable highs, terrifying lows, twists, turns, cool refreshing spots, sweaty uncomfortable moments, some frustrations, some surprises, and countless visions of amazement.
It's safe to admit, however, that I avoid any further stops on the way home, despite several hoped-for adventures. After my major hiccup in Westport, NY, when my car lost all power and every light flashed on, I make the executive decision to follow twisted Monopoly advice: Go home. Go directly home. Do not pass Go; Do not collect $200. I get in my car, devise the safest route home, and put pedal to metal, not even stopping to eat nor to pee. Four-plus hours of cross-fingered driving and six days after this misadventure began, I am home safe, sound, and running straight to the facilities.
