I promised you all a little story about our trip 'round the dangerous environs of the southern Catskills, over to western Massachussetts, and eastward toward the hills of Boston. So here it is, pictorial-like.
After a harrowing experience the week before, when the Volver decided to give out (again!) as I rode northbound in the brilliant sun on FDR in Manhattan (the cause, if you really want to know: the “bracket” that held the “alternator” “fell off” and apparently hit some sort of “belt” that helped the “fan” cool the engine. The result was an immediate overheating of the engine. I stopped on Houston Street, opened the hood, and asked the policeman standing nearby why my anti-freeze was boiling. “You’re engine’s overheated, son,” he said. (Except he didn’t say “son,” but it feels better and more anti-authoritarian for me to imagine it this way.) We took the car to our favorite mechanic on 3rd Avenue who, despite being really really nice, may or may not know what he is doing. He “fixed” the car, and on the morning of Saturday, July 1st, we were on our way to Bloomingburg.
What? You’ve never heard of Bloomingburg? Neither had I.
We had a reserved a campground there, which was just south of the Catskills. When we arrived, we were a little suprised. There were families everywhere! How dare they! We wanted nature, quiet, and trees. Two out of three ain’t bad. Two or three families had pitched tent across the road from our spot, and when we arrived one was blasting that stupid Damn Yankees album from many years ago (the one with the Nuge on guitar and containing the single “High Enough”). To their left resided a Ukrainian or Russian group of families that soon began blasting their own ear-splitting crap, this of the Euro-techno variety.
We pitched tent.
I was depressed. This was not the secluded nature that I’d hoped for. But we cured that with a little Superman at the drive-in. It was my second time in four days.
We went hiking, and the place got better and fun.
On Monday we stopped by Northampton en route to Boston. We canoed with Maggie and Barry and, best of all, went to a driving range.
I don’t know what Nicole would have done without my help.
We spent July 4th with the Gattis in Boston, which was wonderful. They’re good friends and have babies and nice things like that.
We also saw Jess and John, who are equally nice. It’s sad that we don’t get to see them all more.