Day Too Many Since the Last Update

I don't think I have the patience to write, nor will I ask you to read, all of my observations from the last week in one sitting. So much like the plan for this ride, I'll just go state by state and we'll see how far I get.

Lake Seneca

Upstate New York is still green. It's technically fall though while a few of the trees have started to turn colors and lose their leaves most plants are still verdant and throwing off their evil, post-nasal drip inducing toxins. The roads, themselves, are in middling repair and travel through some very beautiful scenery over rolling hills and past a surprising number of wineries. Since I've NEVER heard anyone say a single word about any wines from New York I didn't bother stopping to check any of them out. Sadly, though the views were beautiful, the turns I was trying to find just did not reveal themselves. Most of NY's upper state roadways were clearly built solely for the task of moving goods and people from one place to another over the fastest possible route. Yeah, I don't get it, either.

I did manage to find this eastern homage to the LA hipster scene.

And for the race fans I stopped to check out the Glen (they wouldn't let me on the track).

Failing to find the unpaved roads I've been hoping to try didn't mean I couldn't find poorly paved roads! Please note the respectable level of grime I managed to accumulate between Rochester and Tonawonda. Yes, the ride was cold, wet, and dirty, and I loved every minute.

Pennsylvania is an entirely different world. The roads were clearly laid out by following the path of least resistance first found by the cattle and sheep. Avoiding the interstate meant that I had little choice but to carve and lean from village to village on ribbons of dirty asphalt with a minimum of 20 directional adjustments per mile. Of course, the fun had to be spoiled somehow. How are there still woods in a state with a logging truck population roughly equal to the total number of miles of paved roadway? 200 miles of twisty back road goodness quickly became 5 hours of sitting behind or passing logging trucks.

In the towns was a different issue. In California we're allowed to share lanes with cars in order to advance through traffic. In New York, it's illegal, but the occasional utilization of a motorcycle's greater power to weight ratio and smaller profile didn't seem to bother anyone. But in PA the moment I DARED nose up to a right turn alongside a driver that wasn't turning that direction I got howling horns and flying fingers. The typical Pennsylvanian just takes it as a personal affront if anyone gains a traffic advantage. My belief is that the disadvantages of being on a motorcycle should be rewarded by allowing access to some of the advantages of being on a motorcycle. I may not be welcome back in PA anytime soon.

Finally arriving in the historic district of downtown Philly I checked into my hotel and was informed that I'd be charged the same $25/night to park as any car. I asked, nicely, if some accommodation could be made since I didn't need to actually utilize a parking spot, but was flatly refused. That's fine, there's plenty of room to ride around the gate.

I spent a couple of days wandering the city, where I discovered that good local coffee is difficult, but not impossible, to find. Philadelphia has something called the Reading Terminal Market. In LA we get the Farmer's Market at 3rd and Fairfax, and we have the Grand Central Market, but both are shades of the original. Both Los Angeles versions have a touristy vibe to them. The Reading Market definitely gets its share of non-locals, but there's a distinct feeling that it is an active shopping district where real people get their real groceries on a regular basis.

Some very enjoyable wandering brought me to Old City Coffee, where I found a really quite good Kenyan brew.

 Next I went searching for my grandfather's old photo studio.

Yes, it looks like my sister, but that's my mother, her mother, and a dog.

Here's what stands there, now.











Other striking things about the city of brotherly love are that most of the cops are on foot and there are a LOT of them. The following pictures were all snapped within a minute of each other, with no precinct in sight. There was, admittedly, a Dunkin' Donuts across the street.

I'm not sure whose idea it was to prank the city, but someone filled the LoVE fountain with grape Kool-Aid. It looked funny but tasted DELICIOUS!

I took advantage of being in Philly to meet my cousin, Jennifer, for lunch (no picture), some other family friends, and my mother's cousin Willy. Imagine a world where Frank Zappa, Henri Matisse, Mark Twain, Sam Elliot and Anton LaVey can all be merged into a single bagpipe playing free spirit charmer and you might have a reasonable assemblage of parts partially approximating the man who took a day to show me around the Philadelphia suburbs much of my maternal extended family have called home since the 1920's.

 

Oh, and this is the sort of gap the typical PA native doesn't want a motorcyclist using:

Thankfully, I was off to Washington DC, where they understand that every motorcycle means one less car.