Travels With Stu

I had never put a trip on hold for as long as I had put my road trip to West Point. Back in the fall when I was running out of my walks around New York City I panicked because I didn’t have a job and wasn’t sure where I was going with my life. The only solace I could find in life was by walking, running and traveling. They were the only things in the world that seemed to make any sense to me.

So when I stumbled into a random bookstore near Columbia University in the Upper West Side of Manhattan on an Autumn day I was totally shocked when I saw the “Lonely Planet New York State” book. I had stopped by the bookstore a few weeks before because the walk I had been on suggested checking out the bookstore and I remember being amazed that this was the only bookstore in all of New York City that actually sold the New York State LP. The fear of the bookstore selling out of this book was a terrifying reality to me because by owning the LP, I was buying myself some security and stability in some way. I knew I’d have something to do if I hadn’t landed a job and was done with my NYC walks. I was at a point in my life that provided absolutely no security of employment, so many questions about life, and I just wasn’t feeling all that great, and most importantly, no one was around. Traveling and walking was an extremely personal experience and I remember being very sad when I finished the last of my 25 NYC walks towards the end of September. I had spent an entire month walking over 100 miles of the city. The natural progression in my mind was to begin exploring New York State.

Exploring the towns of Sleepy Holow (Tarrytown) and Hyde Park along the Hudson River were very powerful and moving trips in my mind. The weather was perfect, not too hot nor cold in October and the leaves changing color made the Hudson River Valley majestic. Although I was the youngest person exploring FDR’s House, Kykuit House, Washington Irving’s House, and all those other places I stopped by on those trips, I felt at ease with life, and had accomplished a peace of mind. I was having an incredible time doing what I loved to do more than anything else I could do on my own.

So when I hopped in my car a few weeks ago on a Sunday morning and picked up Matt and Bry adrenaline ran through my veins as I unconsciously connected this trip with my past New York State road trips. However, this trip was different from the beginning, and I wasn’t sure what was going to happen. The most noticeable difference was that I wasn’t traveling solo, I had two of my closest friends in the world accompanying me…this was supposed to be a “normal road trip” because I wasn’t by myself.

The drive from Long Island to West Point isn’t a significant distance, only 73 miles. I wanted to be on the road by 9am so we could catch the 11 AM tour and then spend the rest of the day exploring the area and not have to be rushed at any point. Months ago when I went to Sleepy Hollow Bry had shown a strong interest in joining me on the trip, but I went solo because he had IM’d me at 3AM and I didn’t feel comfortable waking him up at 8AM that same morning. Since then, Bry has held a grudge against me for not including him on that road trip and I was hoping this trip would heal any wounds from the Sleepy Hollow trip. I didn’t care what time he went to bed the night before, he was going with me on this trip. Unlike my situation with Bry, I had purposefully delayed my West Point trip just so Matt could join me. I guess somewhere in my mind I’ve thought of Matt as my traveling partner and I’m willing to accommodate him more than anyone else when it comes to traveling. This might not be saying much though, because I don’t usually accommodate anyone when I’m traveling or planning on going on a trip. If I want to see a place I go see it usually without any warning or explanation. A lot of people think I’ve turned traveling into this escape because of my frequent excursions without any thought. I think that traveling, or at least road tripping, is a reaction to something that’s been brewing in my mind for quite some time, and even though I may not vent these thoughts or feelings with anyone, I always have a destination in mind when I hit the road. So, I don’t think my traveling behavior is that random.

After driving through the Bronx and entering the Palisades Parkway I checked my tank unconsciously after remembering my panic attack months earlier when I reached “0 miles left” and couldn’t find another gas station for miles before pulling over and paying $3.45 a gallon at the only gas station in the area. I saw that I had enough gas to get us to West Point but we’d definitely need gas for the trip back. Driving with Matt and Bry wasn’t totally different than driving solo, as the music from my iPod played in the background, while we chatted about what to expect in West Point, and Matt and Bry kept letting me know that I’d have to drive quickly to make the 11AM tour.

We pulled into the Visitor Parking Lot at 11AM as Matt and Bry ran inside the Visitor’s Center and I parked my car. It would’ve been really annoying to have to wait until the 1PM tour, so I was relieved when I was told that they were able to get tickets. I thought it was a little ridiculous that the tickets were $15, but I imagined that we’d be able to walk around the campus, check out some buildings and maybe even see parts of the Hudson. I had paid much lower fees for my other Hudson River sights and seen those types of attractions, but I would soon learn that the West Point tour is filled with disappointment.

“The tour bus is leaving in five minutes,” someone said when the three of us were walking through the gift shop. Matt found a new cup for his muesli and bought it, which kind of surprised me because I rarely see Matt buy anything from a souvenir shop, but the muesli cup is an essential part of his traveling life as I remember. After my moment of shock, the three of us followed the crowd outside where we we saw a line of people with an average age of around 70, maybe it was a little higher.

“Stu, I can’t believe you’ve actually done this stuff on your own,” Matt nudged me as we waited on line behind the white-haired folk.

“What do you mean?” I asked Matt, not really sure where he was going with the conversation.

“Just look around. We must be at least 50 years younger than anyone else on the tour. I can’t believe you’ve been on other tours with people who are 50 years older than you, and you don’t feel weird at all,” Matt laughed and finished his thought with, “You’re an old man in a 22-year old body.”

I thought this was funny, but I was also concerned that maybe other people were thinking along similar lines. I enjoy traveling to see new things and have new experiences, but I hate going on any type of “tour.” I think it’s dumb to pay a hefty price to do something I can do at my own leisure and for free - walk around. Matt’s comment reminded me of when I lived in London and Trev and Alli, my two closest friends from London, told me similar things about how I dressed. Apparently I dressed like I was 40 years old when I first got to London, and after months of Alli’s education I returned to my 20-year old normalcy. But no one had made a comment about how I’ve dressed or acted in a very long time, at least nothing negatively, so I was worried that perhaps in my post-college life I’ve adapted some more “mature” customs after working with people much older than me on a daily basis. I examined myself, seeing that I was wearing my father’s blue jacket, a pair of jeans, brown shoes, and a hoody sweater, and told myself that Matt was just giving me a hard time, but it made me think about how youthful I presented myself. Even though I sometimes feel much older than the 22 years old I am, I want to keep a youthful feel and look.

The three of us headed to the back of the bus and I sat right next to the toilet which made Bry laugh about my misfortune. A mixed smell of over-sanitation and the rank smell of what people must do in a bus toilet sucked any fresh smelling air away as the three of us ended up suffering for the next 5 minutes when some voice on the announcing system welcomed us to West Point.

“For the ridiculously overpriced tickets we charged you,” the voice started, “we will be showing you as little as possible of the campus, and will use your funds to increase the size of our humongous visitor center,” the message ended. “Great,” I thought to myself, as I yearned for the experiences I had in Sleepy Hollow and Hyde Park where it was me, my car, my guidebook and the only thing guiding me was my zeal for exploring a new section of the world. West Point’s tour was too militaristic for me, but I kept my mouth shut about my initial concerns, but the three of us kept making fun of the craziness of the situation of being surrounded by 80 year olds. “I can’t believe you’ve done this numerous times before,” Matt turned to me, laughing as I leaned my head on the bathroom’s wall, waiting for our arrival onto the campus.

When we got off the bus, there was only one thought that ran through my mind, “it was FREEZING.” Snow covered the ground for as long as my eye could see, but instead of walking around the campus, the 30 people on the tour were herded like cattle to a stand of bleachers, where Matt hurled himself over the side rail as Bry took the more pedestrian, civilized route of climbing the stairs for a seat, and I stood in front of the crowd gazing over the field and campus.

“This here is a large green field, with snow covered on it. Behind the field are large buildings where the students sleep, eat and live. You won’t be seeing these buildings because they are interesting and you would gain a greater appreciation and knowledge about the campus. To the right you can see an impressive statue of one of our most famous graduates, Cornelius Buxley Mcluaghlen, who actually didn’t go to West Point, but accomplished a lot of wonderful military deeds and he watches over the campus.” After five minutes of not really understanding anything that was being spoken, and freezing my ass off, the tour reached what I thought as its highlight, the Hudson River.

I was kind of worried that this organized tour would forget to include the most basic element of why I wanted to visit West Point, to see the Hudson River and understand how the school and the river coexisted, and fortunately we were able to look at the river for a few minutes as well as a memorial statue that had a phalanx shape to it, and after some poorly made attempts by the tour guide to make jokes, everyone got back onto the bus, and the three of us made our way back to the shit-scented back row.

We arrived at a church moments later, as I wondered why this was part of the tour. I guess I had created this false vision in my mind about West Point because it was a military camp. I wanted to see soldiers firing guns, and doing military drills, and maybe even kill something or someone, but over the course of the tour I saw no more than five students dressed in a very impressive blue suit winter attire and white military hat, walking stoically through campus. No one was fighting each other or doing army games or military drills. It seemed like an ordinary college campus to me and this was somewhat disappointing. I felt like I was 17 years old again visiting colleges and having some tour guide tell me how great their library was, or how old some other building was, or how their college had the first microscope in the northeast region of their county and city, or some crazy stuff like that that means nothing to me. Even though I was thinking these thoughts, having Matt and Bry around for company made everything seem even more bizarre as we made fun of the tour and our situation for the entire hour long experience.

The church the bus dropped us off at was described as “majestic,” “impressive,” “grand” and other things of that nature, but it looked like any old church to me, and didn’t seem all that impressive. Perhaps my travels around Europe have stunted my appreciation for churches because I’ve seen hundreds and hundreds of very impressive churches, but I can’t say anything bad about the church on the tour, because it was beautiful. However, it was just a church to me. Matt, Bry and I left the group for a few minutes to walk around and take some pictures of us praying or doing something religious, before we left the church, hopped on the bus.

“Thanks for visiting West Point Military Academy,” our tour guide said over the loud speaker. “We hope you had a good time,” as the tour bus pulled into the visitor center.

I was so upset that the tour was such a disappointment, and I paid money to be part of it. Matt and Bry looked at me as if this was how I spent my weekends driving through upstate New York, but I felt that there was no way I could explain to them how different and dull the West Point experience was without insulting them. I think the biggest difference between West Point and any of my other road trips was that I had no freedom at West Point. The three of us were constrained to very strict rules, and there wasn’t any time for wandering or experiencing West Point.

Before heading back to the city, Bry, Matt and I hit up the Main Street of West Point which was even less desirable than Gambier’s commercial district. There was one street with three or four restaurants which were all very tacky or looked somewhat dangerous, but eventually we decided to eat at the local diner. I ordered myself a buffalo chicken sandwich, Matt got some salad and Bry ordered something relatively healthy as well.

“Usually the trips are more involved, and exciting,” I told them when we waited for our meals. “I rarely have been on tour buses for any of the New York Road trips, and even when I have been I’ve had the freedom to wander around. This was very different guys,” I tried pleading my case but Matt and Bry wouldn’t have any of it. I felt as if they thought that all my road trips were similar to West Point, when in fact, West Point and its rigid structure was completely opposite to my usual trips. I had to go on tours at Washington Irving’s House and Val-Kill, but they were usually over an hour or two and I got to walk around. I felt as if West Point was the biggest scam I’d ever encountered on any trip I’d been on, and felt terrible that my friends had to experience it with me.

I almost forgot to get gas on the drive back, and turned my car around before reaching the highway and filled it up with $20 worth of gas, which barely gets me anything, but it was enough for the drive back. I drove through Bear Mountain State Park, and thought it’d be fun to walk around some of the trails, but Bry and Matt were eager to return to New York, and I didn’t want to force them do something they weren’t interested in.

Overall, West Point was a ton of fun because I was traveling with two of my closest friends and their company totally affected how I approached West Point. I loved having someone to share my critical thoughts with and my feelings, instead of writing them down or keeping them to myself. I enjoyed seeing how Bry and Matt reacted to certain things I found interesting, and often thought to myself, what they were thinking about my road trips and traveling behavior. I enjoyed having someone to talk over a meal with, and appreciated not being alone. However, I thought that West Point was so different than any of my other road trips, and I wasn’t sure if I thought this because I didn’t get to walk around at my own leisure, or if I thought this because I was in a different mindset because I was traveling with my friends. Perhaps I should try new road trips with them when the weather gets better and I can make more valid conclusions about the pros and cons of traveling solo and with other people.

I don’t suggest visiting West Point.

I woke up after a surprisingly restful night’s sleep and packed my belongings before a quick shower and checked out of the hostel. I hadn’t truly experienced Lake Placid proper in my mind because it had been so cold the night before, so I made my way downtown and headed for the Olympic Center. I parked my car and headed into the Center where I was free to walk around at my own leisure, which I did for about 30 minutes and wasn’t that impressed by the facilities. I headed back to my car and since I had already seen downtown I had to come up with other activities to keep me busy, so I made my way to the ice skating rink located near downtown. I parked my car headed to the ticket booth, but saw that the rink didn’t open until 1 in the afternoon so I grabbed my LP and saw what else I could do in Lake Placid until I could go ice skating.

It was somewhat bizarre and insane how my desire to go ice skating increased with every passing hour while I was in Lake Placid. I don’t care much for ice skating, and I hadn’t gone ice skating in years - not since I was in Connecticut with my friend Zach and we went on a whim about six or seven years ago. I don’t know why I suddenly wanted to go ice skating, but perhaps the fact that it was winter and being in a sports-linked area made me restless.

I headed to the ticket booth and saw a sign that said that there wasn’t any ice skating until 1pm. I thought this was ludicrous, and looked at my watch and saw I had about three hours to kill until 1 without any set plans for the rest of the day. I decided to give Lake Placid another walk through during the day and ventured into the bookstores in town and wasn’t that impressed by either of them. I checked their travel sections to peruse through their Lonely Planet guides, or to see if they had any walking guides, but I didn’t see anything that caught my interest and continued down Main Street. I returned to my car, pulled out my New York State LP and saw that John Brown’s grave was nearby.

Once again, this is another example of me doing something that I would never do unless I was on the road, and it’s one of the biggest reasons why I love to travel. I do things out of the ordinary. I go to museum’s I usually wouldn’t care about, go out at night when I may stay in, go see random towns and villages, with the only goal of trying to soak in as much of a cultural experience as possible in a short amount of time. Even though it was freezing outside and snow was everywhere I was excited about my next destination - John Brown’s grave.

I was somewhat caught off guard to see signs pointing towards the grave, and his house. John Brown is a famous American abolitionist who was hanged for leading a raid on the US Arsenal at Harpers Ferry in West Virginia. I thought it was interesting that Brown was born in Ohio (I went to Kenyon so I have a special place in my heart for Ohio) before returning to New York to help implement a new social project where any black man who wanted land would be given land to farm. Brown taught these men farming techniques. It was also at his home where Brown and his followers organized the raid that occurred on October 16, 1859, when Brown and his followers attacked the federal arsenal. They were captured on October 18 and hanged on December 2.

I parked my car in the circle nearby the house and started walking toward the graves which were surrounded by a large gate and fence. The weather was freezing and there was snow a couple feet deep, so my feet became very cold very quickly. I was walking around in my sneakers, jeans, jacket, hat, scarf and gloves, and I knew that I couldn’t venture too far into the property before losing feeling in my feet. I passed the graves, checked out the house and its exterior and made my way to the woods behind the house.

I love walking through the woods, and before the previous day I didn’t hesitate before heading deep into nature. But the combination of the cold weather, my numb feet, the snow, and having something very large and dangerous sounding growl at me the day before made me somewhat hesitant about walking into Brown’s woods. But, I told myself that I couldn’t live my life or travels in fear so I started walking along a trail and took pictures of the pine trees and headed in about five minutes before I realized that my feet were extremely cold and it would be foolish to go any further. I marched back to my car and saw that it was still early in the day, before noon, and it would be an ideal time to head for my next destination, Saranac Lake.

Getting upstate takes forever, but once you’re there, it didn’t take long to get from one town to the next. I read that Saranac Lake was once a major tuberculosis treatment center in the late 19th century, a time when tuberculosis killed more Americans than heart disease - woo hoo!. The first sanitarium for treatment was established in 1884 by Dr. Edward Livingston Trudeau, a New York physician who was diagnosed with tuberculosis early in his career and decided to a place he had visited for pleasure, instead of Europe for treatment. After much hardship he successfully opened the Adirondack Cottage Sanitorium just northeast of Saranac Lake.

With that thought in the back of my mind, and that LP described Saranac as “being kind to anyone who passes through,” I couldn’t imagine not having a decent time in the town. Once I passed a sign welcoming me to Saranac Lake I was driving along a very large lake that was frozen over at parts, and had numerous houses built along its border. Nothing really stood out, no skyscrapers, or even large buildings, I believe the church had the highest point, and I suddenly fell a little for this town. I parked my car in a town parking lot along its Main street and decided to poke around the city for awhile since I wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere or be anywhere.

Parking in the town was free, which was a nice relief after Lake Placid which ticked me off with their parking meters I refused to use, so I immediately liked Saranac Lake. Walking along its main streets I passed beauty shops, cafes, furniture stores and other little shops and stores along the way. I wasn’t looking for anything particular, but just wanted to walk around until I got really hungry. I felt as if I were reaching the outskirts of the town after walking for 20 minutes and headed into a Bar-B-Q joint. I needed something warm, and looked over the menu, but couldn’t decide which meal sounded less dangerous - venison or quail - thanked the men behind the counter and continued my walk along some random town street.

I saw one other person walking along the street towards me and found out that there was indeed food straight ahead so I eagerly picked up my pace and quickly walked to a restaurant that looked as if it came out of the 50s or 60s. It was much warmer inside and I made myself comfortable at the bar.

“Need a menu, honey?” a woman in her 50s with light blond hair and a pink apron asked me as I grabbed a seat.

“Sure thing,” I responded as I shook my hands trying to regain feeling in my fingers. I was handed a menu and was totally blown away by the prices.

“You can get breakfast for three dollars?” I asked aloud more trying to confirm this in my mind than anything, but was surprisingly answered with a “Yep.” Somehow I had jumped into a time travel machine and literally found myself in the 50s. Nothing on the menu was more than a few dollars, as I tried to think how this restaurant sustained itself with such low pries.

I ordered a hot chocolate with whip cream, an orange juice, sunny-side eggs, bacon, corned beef hash and potatoes for a whopping $7. The food was phenomenal as well, and I started up a conversation with some locals who looked no younger than 80.

My first question whenever I find myself in these small, obscure towns, and it’s usually my first thought as well, is “what do these people do with their lives every day?” I usually have plenty of difficulty answering that question in my life and I live in New York City, apparently one of the most happening places in the world, but I was having difficulty imagining what life in a small New York town would do to a strong-willed man. Before I could get into a conversation though my food was being served and I was voraciously cramming food in my mouth as my body continue to warm up.

I ordered another orange juice and got the tab which ended up being the best $10 I’ve ever spent on food in my entire life and left the diner. I walked back towards the lot with my car but decided to head towards the lake instead and gaze out at the frozen water. “What the hell am I doing here?” I’d ponder to myself. “What is anyone doing here?” What I loved about the town was that it was extremely peaceful and quiet as I tried to take it easy for a few minutes before making my way back to the car.

I drove around the town and passed by the Robert Louis Stevenson Cottage -where Stevenson lived in the winter of 1887-88 to fight tuberculosis. I parked my car in some person’s driveway and walked over to the house which looked dark and closed, so I wasn’t terribly surprised when the door was locked and no one was around. I peered into the darkened windows but didn’t see anything terribly interesting so I jumped back in my car and drove over to Cottage Row.

Cottage Row was a surprisingly delightful area in the town. The houses were very colorful and the architecture reminded me of Frank Lloyd Wright’s houses in the outskirts of Chicago with their bright colors and conical tops. I quickly took pictures as I drove by, hoping none of the inhabitants of the houses would be alarmed by some stranger taking pictures of their place.

Unfortunately, my things to do in Saranac Lake had been completed and I wasn’t sure where to go now. I didn’t know if I’d ever be this far north in New York any time soon so the thought of driving to Massena, New York, near the Canadian border - only 66 miles away - was enticing. But then I told myself that was an insane idea, and I wasn’t going to drive to the Canadian border on my final day of the road trip, solely because of the lack of time and I eventually needed to head back to Long Island.

I pulled my car to the side of the road confused and uncertain what to do for the rest of the day, until I remembered that I wanted to go ice skating. I turned my car around and bolted towards Lake Placid with a new found enthusiasm and inspiration. About 20 minutes later I was back on the Main Street of Lake Placid and I parked my car in the free area before heading back to the ice skating rink.

“So, can I go ice skating now, Ma’am?” I asked the woman in the booth.

“No, you can’t. You can come back at 5 and skate then if you’d like,” she responded in a witch-like voice that made my blood curdle, and my heart skip a beat. This woman really had it out for me for some reason. I thanked her, headed towards the bookstores in town and killed about thirty minutes before making my triumphant return to the rink.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not even that big of an ice-skating enthusiast, and I hadn’t gone in years, but the combination of this and this woman’s behavior towards me gave me this huge thrill to go ice skating, so when I returned to pay for my $7 ticket for skates and my skating ticket I had the biggest damn grin on my face. I collected my ticket and was told to head to the back of the building to pick up my skates. A woman on a stool greeted greeted me, asked for my skate size, when I sheepishly asked for an 11 to be safe thinking skates would be loose, and got them on for skating.

As I prepared my skates for what could have likely been the last activity I accomplished with working legs (assuming I’d have a terrible accident and become paralyzed) I thought of all the times when I was so much younger when I played ice hockey and the hours it would take to suit up for my practices. I don’t know how I became turned on to ice hockey, but after a year or two of skating around with a stick and crashing into walls instead of stopping with my skates, and completely failing to successfully complete a crossover while skating, I hung up my skates and called it quits at age 11. It’s too bad I wasn’t able to complete that crossover move back then, because perhaps I would’ve been a decent hockey player, but tonight I was looking forward to enjoying my first skate in years.

I slowly walked out of the lobby area and hit the ice without falling. I started my lap around the rink and felt wonderful in skates. I was gliding at a decent speed and every movement seemed effortless. I had been wanting to go ice skating for the past two days and it ended up being everything I thought it would be plus so much more. I skated continuously for the entire two hours, only falling once when I was distracted by a group of men applying a blowtorch to the ice for some maintenance reason, but that was it. The entire night I skated and glided by others, except the speed skaters, and loved every second of the experience. I was having an incredible time, and it was nice to hear classic rock songs being played over the loudspeaker.

I asked an elderly couple to take a picture of me on skates because I explained to them none of my friends would believe that I went ice skating, knowing in fact that none of my friends would give a damn, but I thought that it would be nice to have. The couple had to use their camera because my camera’s battery had died, and I have yet to receive that picture…sigh.

I took my only break from skating after an hour and got some water before hitting the rink again and going for another hour nonstop. My ankles were cut up pretty badly afterwards, and I surprisingly never felt cold throughout the night, but I was ready to head back home after two hours of skating. I handed back my skates and made my way to the car, preparing my mind for the 315 mile drive back to Long Island - 315 MILES! That’s 5 and a half hours!

Before hitting the road I wanted to celebrate how much fun I had had during the weekend and everything I was able to see and accomplish with an ice cream at Ben & Jerry’s. I was astounded to see that I wasn’t the only customer getting ice cream on this freezing January night in Lake Placid, but I quickly ate my ice cream before starting my drive back home.

I plugged home into the GPS system but it was taking me in a strange direction so I performed a U-Turn to head back towards Lake Placid when I looked in my rear view mirror to see flashing lights going off behind me. I didn’t want to block the police car so I pulled over to the side, and was confused when the car followed me to the curbside. A man walked out of the car and put on that extremely annoying bright flashlight attached to cop cars and made his way to my window.

“Is there a problem officer?” I asked the man as I rolled down my window.

“Do you know how fast you were going back there?” he replied. It was almost as if our conversation was taken from any movie, book, tv show. I almost felt as if I knew what I was going to say next, and how the officer would react before we’d eventually end up in a high speed chase with bullets flying through the air and me driving my car off of a ramp, flying 200 feet in midair before safely landing on a highway back to New York City.

I handed my info over to the cop and he spent the next 45 minutes observing and reading my papers. I didn’t know what was taking so damn long, and was considering going to the cop car to provide assistance so I could get back on the road, but thought this would be a terrible decision so I waited in my car patiently and pissed off, listening to my music until the cop returned.

“Well, I’m going to give you a traffic violation instead of a speeding ticket,” the officer told me as I wondered what the hell this exactly meant.

“Thank you officer. I really appreciate it,” was my response, as I hoped this meant he was letting me off for some unknown reason. He explained what I would have to do with the ticket and about my court date, but I told him that I lived in New York City and was visiting on vacation, but fortunately I could do everything by mail. I was a little upset when he left, but honestly, what could I do? I got screwed over.

This kind of put a damper on what was an incredible trip upstate, but I was able to recover emotionally and made my way back home, safely and in one piece. The trip itself was really interesting and enjoyable. I got to see a totally different part of New York, and everything went well except for the final part of the trip. I was glad that I went on the trip, and was excited to make my return to the Adirondacks to complete the second half of the road trip sometime in the near future. Although the Adirondacks may not have everything New York City may provide, but I wondered how incredible it must be for runners. I loved the trip and it helped me re-focus on my work and life in general, and I had a great time as well. It was a great experience.

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