Day Six - The Adirondack Mtns
Blue Mountain Lake Travel Blog› entry 8 of 12 › view all entries
At home, the fall colors don't usually come in until the first week of November. We were hoping that upper New York State would be different and that we would be blessed with some beautiful reds and golds. With that in mind, we started our day in full leather, ready to ride. Us Southerners just can't stand anything lower than 75 degrees, so we usually dress warm. Well, I should say that the "girls" get cold. The guys are tough, you know, and don't need their jackets.
We took Hiway 30 in Malone and headed south. After a bit, we realized that the trees weren't in full color yet, but that didn't dampen our spirits. The day was overcast and gray, but we were dressed warmly and didn't feel the cold.
The road was perfect for motorcycle travel. No traffic. Well maintained. Of course, we were always watching for a whitetail to jump right out in front of us. That would be a disaster. Jerry and Randy have a sixth sense. They seem to know where the deer are and take it easy, always watching the side of the road for any movement. Luckily, the deer stayed in the forest on this day.
By the time we reached Blue Mountain Lake, it was lunch time and we were starting to get cold. The Adirondack Museum was welcoming and warm, so we decided to stop and eat lunch. Of course, no trip is complete without souvenirs, so we did some shopping, too. The view from their dining room overlooked the lake and there was some color at this elevation.
After a leisurely stroll around the museum and some shopping, we knew we had better head on down the mountain. We had miles to go before we could sleep. We took a detour around Albany to avoid traffic. The Catskills were beautiful, rolling hills. The Hudson River rolled along beside the road, mile after mile, and I couldn't help but think about The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. As a little girl, I was very familiar with Washington Irving's story and it always scared the bejeepers out of me. Now I was a grown (very grown) woman and I was riding through the same hills that were made famous by the Headless Horseman and poor old Ichabod Crane.
We followed the Hudson as far as we could, but our route forced us to say good-bye as we turned our bikes toward the Southwest and moved deeper inside Pennsylvania. Once past Bethlehem. we started looking for a place to spend the night. The day had been good to us, again. Actually, every day without injury or mechanical failure is a good day.