We had high hopes for today's sojourn, since last night I carefully laid out the driving directions, turnoffs, and distances on paper and knew just where we needed to go. But things began to go wrong almost immediately. Since the camp was located in such a tangle of tiny village roads, we trusted Her Highness, the GPS, to lead us to the main road. She did her job admirably and soon we were coursing down Route 94 toward the town of Columbia, the Berg that I had chosen for it's proximity to the route on which we wanted to travel north. This meant a slightly southwesterly vector for about 15 miles or so.
But as we got close to where we thought Columbia would be found, the GPS suddenly ordered us to turn left off Rote 94, cross a tiny, narrow bridge allowing no more than 10 tons, and climb into the trees on an equally narrow road. Of course after yesterday alarm bells were immediately ringing in my head, but we went on hoping that Her Highness knew what she was doing. This sentiment didn't last long.
After we had climbed the mountain goat trail for about ten minutes I finally decided to turn off the GPS and head back to Route 94. There was no way, I told Concetta, that the town we sought was going to be located at the top of the world. Fortunately, we just then came abreast of a "T" intersection and were able to turn around and retreat. This time when we approached the tiny truss bridge that was wide enough for us alone, I didn't even bat an eye, but just charged right across.
Once down at the bottom of Route 94, the thing that I had feared would happen happened. We ran smack dab into the Turnpike. Turnpikes are almost always bad news. Limited access. High costs. Lots of toll booths. Nothing to see but other cars and trucks.
So, the first thing we did was stop for gas. In New Jersey, for some reason, a chap is always on hand to pump your gas for you. I decided to ask him the proper way to head north and avoid the toll road. I could see on the map that there was such a road, but I just needed help to find it.
"Well," he said, "you take the last exit before the toll both and there's a narrow road that heads north next to the river. There's a camp up there.
We didn't want to camp, but it would tell me something if others had taken RVs up the road. "Could I get this rig up there," I asked him.
I should have gotten a clue when he paused for many seconds, looked the rig up and down, took his ballcap off and scratched his head, and said, "Well, I've seen guys pull trailers up there."
"Okay," I said, "and thanks for the advice." The tank filled we headed out onto the Turnpike, found the turnoff just prior to the toll booth, and exited. Within moments we found ourselves on yet another narrow "goat track" that looked like it might be a good place to ride your mountain bike. But take a 31-foot RV up there? Most people would have begged off.
Not me, of course. I rolled right on up the road.
"Did you see that red traffic light?" Concetta asked, when we'd gone about a hundred feet.
Actually, I had briefly focused on it, but I wasn't sure what it signified so decided to ignore it. I stopped the truck and turned to her. "What do you think?" I asked. "Maybe we should wait for a green? Like maybe it's red sometimes and green other times? Like maybe it's only a one-way road and you have to wait your turn?"
Concetta shrugged and that simple shrug caused me to lose my nerve. I put the rig in reverse, back around in as tight of a turn as I could without slamming the bumper into the bank on the uphill side of the road, then put it into drive and approached the edge of the cliff where you could see the river fifty feet below.
I could feel Concetta holding her breath as over and over again, much as we had done in Blacksburg, Virginia, we inched forward a couple of feet to the the edge of the cliff, then reversed a couple of feet until the rear bumper was up against the hillside, then do it again. Little by little we got the rig turned around, then headed back the way we had come. Before long we had headed back east, crossed over at the gas station where I'd gotten the advice, then got back on the Turnpike. Moments later we were rolling up to a toll booth.
"That will be six dollars and fifty cents," the toll booth lady said when I handed her a dollar.
"But your sign says a dollar," I said. "There's just two axles on this rig."
Looking rather humorless, the toll booth lady proceeded to inform us that motor homes paid a higher rate. She didn't seem to be inviting further discussion on the subject, so I launched into a different tack.
Is it easy to see the road that heads north from the Turnpike," I asked her.
"Yes," she said. Just take the Route 611 off-ramp and it will take you north." She held out her hand for the six fifty and I obliged by handing her a twenty. She grimaced almost imperceptibly, but proceeded to count up my change and hand it to me. "Have a nice day," she said, though I sincerely doubted she meant it.
"Okay," I told Concetta, "we can relax. All we have to do is look for Route 611 and we're in business." At that point I really should have double-checked the toll booth lady's advice, but I didn't. When we came to Route 611, we exited the Turnpike and headed in what we expected would be a northerly direction. Our goal, other than to just travel toward New York State, was to enjoy the Delaware Water Gap, which I had seen in old postcards, but had never before visited.
But moments later, as we hit our first village along Route 611, a roadside sign announced that to see the Delaware Water Gap you had to turn right HERE right NOW and take Route 209. At first we sailed right by that left-turn opportunity, but with some difficulty, that involved tying up both lanes of traffic while I made a torturous U-Turn, we made it to Route 209.
To my horror, almost immediately Route 209 dumped us back onto the Turnpike. "No. No. NOOOOOOO," I said, though not to the GPS. I had left her off since she had betrayed us earlier that morning. With some difficulty we managed to get off the Turnpike, travel back east, get off, get back on, and then take the route 611 exit for a second time, feeling just as foolish as you might expect we'd feel.
Anyway, for the remainder of the morning we berated the designers of Route 611 for their parsimonious natures when it came to placing directional signs. At one point we sailed right on through an intersection and out of town only to be faced with the certainty of being dumped right back on the turnpike. "This just isn't right," I told Concetta, and we turned around and went back a few miles to the town where we'd lost the "scent." Sure enough, as we approached this particular town from the opposite direction, there was a very prominent sign indicating that a left turn was needed. We should have turned right coming from the other direction, but there was no sign to tell us that.
Still our short journey on Route 611, which turned out to be routed through the heart of the Poconos, was quite interesting and pleasant. Most of it is posted at very low speeds so you have plenty of time to see everything (like the photo of the building at left that we found on Route 723 off 611). By the way, we never did get to see the Water Gap.
The only problem was that Route 611 didn't really go in a northerly direction, but mostly in a westerly direction. Since I hadn't checked the map, we only belatedly discovered that we had been getting further and further away from our intended route north. After that discovery, we branched off on Route 723 and headed in a more northerly direction.
Later that morning, when we had finally reached east/west-running Interstate 84 near the northern border of Pennsylvania, we came upon a roadside rest where we could walk a bit and have lunch. Then we set out for our evening's destination of Cooperstown, New York. It was time to get down to business and put some miles on the rig.
Though we've always downplayed the need to be anywhere at any specific time, the 27th of May finds us in our 49th day of travel. We HAD hoped to have reached the state of Maine somewhere around our 45th day, so we could start for home and use about the same number of days returning as we had spent coming. That would bring us home after about three months on the road. Obviously, we had to pick up the pace if we wanted to get our lobster rolls in Maine before summer was over.
Once on the road we plugged in our somewhat UN-trust-worthy electronic navigator and let her lead us to our evening camp. This she did without complaint or mistake, which encourages me to forgive her -- at least until she screws up again.
We WERE hampered for about an hour this afternoon when we ran into a colossal screw-up I'm sure PennDOT was identifying as "crucial road construction." The engineers had decided to tear up a solitary bridge in the slow lane of Interstate 81, and then leave on an extended Memorial Day holiday. While the construction guys were gone, the huge influx of interstate traffic was forced to funnel down to a single lane without any PennDOT presence to keep things orderly. I'm sure it could have been handled in a much more elegant way. Consequently, we crept along at five miles an hour for a solid hour.
But once that tribulation was behind us, we made pretty good time and arrived at the Cooperstown camp about a quarter to five. I was surprised to find that no one was home, but by 5:00 p.m. the owners had come in from working in one of the nearby cabins and checked us in. The camp is really a little rough around the edges, and most everything should be upgraded and/or replaced. Still, the owners are very personable and the camp is remote and pretty and, best of all, quiet.
This afternoon, after we had set up and I had started on the blog, a rather ferocious rain storm blew in and dosed us with a considerable amount of rain. While that was going on, lightening must have struck the park electrical system, as our power instantly went out. Fortunately, the RV surge protector that I had purchased way back in Springfield, Illinois, came to our rescue. While protecting the RV circuitry, the surge protector recycled automatically in two minutes and came back on line. No fuss, no muss, and money well spent.
So now the rain has stopped, the air has become cool and less muggy, and we've turned off the air conditioner. The sun is just setting over the surrounding hills and forests, and everything appears to be right with the world. So until tomorrow, we wish you Happy Travels!
Note: Since we didn't have much opportunity to shoot photos today, all these photos save the one of the rock school house are of our camp tonight.
No comments:
Post a Comment