Good Enough for a Whore House, not a Church

Well, Rochester was good. Emotionally straining because I'm a sixteen year old girl who can't hack being around my ex for an extended period of time, but I managed. We did have fun though, Katie, her friends, and I. I crashed an after exam celebration that was acceptably riotous, and enjoyed the sexual bunch cracking jokes that I only have half understood. Something about jerking around the prostate of an examination model. Very entertaining. Highlights of the stay in Rochester include; Salsa dancing, climbing at the red barn, refreshing Nick's driving skills, and a garbage plate. Thanks Joe for showing me the ropes.

Time to go home to the mountains.

I made it as far as Keeseville and realized I didn't actually know how to get to where I was going. With out cell phone reception or a coffee shop with wi-fi, I decided to set up shop at a familiar campsite. Not far off the road, next to a small river, I set up my tent and started a fire. Good timing I suppose. I hadn't even finished setting up my tent before the snow started. The snow didn't bother me. I was hoping to see if I could stand up to winter camping. It would have been nice to be ready for it, but waiting until I'm ready just isn't something I do. I finished my dinner, a can of tuna and a home-brew, and hung out by the fire as the cold set in.

It's funny, I often day dreamt about being alone in the wilderness, and how I would just sit, meditate, and ponder life's questions that have no answer, but when I actually was there, I had Push It stuck in my head. So, I jammed out to the sweet sweet sound of Salt-N-Pepa instead.


After the tunes subsided, my thoughts cleared, and, nightfall was upon me. I pried myself from the fire that was barely keeping my toes warm and crawled into my tent, where I made my best efforts to find coziness in a frosty sleeping bag. Not literally frosty, at this point, but that is certainly what I woke up to. Over the course of the night a light snow had set in and built up a good coat of ice over the tent, and a fine layer of frost made everything on the inside shimmer.

When the temperature dropped low enough to wake me, I figured it was nature's alarm clock. 6:30 on the dot. Not bad nature, not bad. I packed up and headed toward the nearest town that might have one of them fancy cafés with the internets and what not. As luck may have it, I didn't need it. Half way to Lake Placid, my cell phone picked up a bar. It wasn't a lot, but enough to hear Anita's voice message giving me directions. I whipped that 4x4 around and headed up the mountain to the Sayers' residence!



Out of all the places I have been in my life so far, this is my favorite.

Over the next few days, I was well taken care of by Peter and Anita. The Doc shared stories, wisdom, and beer, and I lent a hand on the lean to.

Working on the lean to is how I spent most of my time. As the routine went, we'd get up in the morning, have coffee, I'd stare out at the mountains while Peter or Anita cooked breakfast, eat, then Peter from up the hill would swing by, pick us and the tools up, and we'd get to work. I did a lot of chiseling, most of which was notching the rafters to the ridgepole. Before long we were laying felt paper on a brand new lean to.


Well, my work there was done. I hope to return in the not to distant future, but the road is calling my name once again. Tonight I will lay my head in Brooklyn.