Hello, everyone.

This weekend I hopped on the bike and headed to upstate New York to scout out a potential school for the next step in my education. I thought I’d share a quick trip report and show some of the more aesthetic points of this truly amazing trip.

Wisconsin to New York, two days round-trip.

I started out from my farm in southeastern Wisconsin with a beautiful sunny sky overhead and lots of blue skies. As soon as I passed through Chicago (which I did in record time somehow), the skies immediately turned ugly. Sure enough, it rained for about an hour and a half, which made for an interesting first leg of the trip. It was not without its perks, however.

No need to wash the bike...

Things were pretty dull for about ⅔ of the trip out there, due mostly to a few states who’s names I will omit out of respect. (Just fill in the blanks between Wisconsin and Pennsylvania). Once I got into PA, however, things started getting interesting.

Fall colors begin to emerge

Colors started becoming more vibrant, elevation started changing (finally), and best of all, that wonderfully familiar smell of fall began to permeate everything. Riding a motorcycle is such an experience for the senses. I was so excited to be riding on this trip because I would have totally missed out on the wonderful smells if I were in my car.

As I moved on into New York (the state, not the city) things turned from awesome to idyllic. If you have never been to the state of New York and driven through its amazing landscapes, you cannot seriously claim that you have experienced beauty. It is truly a land unto itself. The villages are quaint, the mountains roll and cascade into one another other creating layers upon layers of wonderful topography. Add to that canvas a rich and vibrant pallet of fall color and the experience becomes absolutely breathtaking. Every crest of a mountain reveals new hidden valleys filled with rustic old barns and peaceful looking farm houses. Shelves of granite stone line the sides of the roadways, whose steely grey appearance contrasts nicely with the foliage, making the colors stand out even more. The roads curve and twist through saddles and valleys, making the otherwise mundane highway travel into an adventure that is at once completely pleasing to the senses.

As I entered the town of Ithaca, I was immediately taken back to those long-past days of my pre-adolescence, back when I only sat in the passenger seat and stared out the window at this tiny haven in the middle of the Finger Lakes region. I remember wondering to myself back then what was so great about it all. If I could reach back in time and inform myself of what an amazing privilege it was to live there, I would. Unfortunately, at the time I did not know what I had. But I think that made this trip so much more fulfilling. Now, fully aware of what a gem of a town Ithaca is, I made my way through the crowded, cobblestone streets, and began to feel like I was coming home.

The Cornell Clock Tower

The campus of Cornell was exactly as I remembered it. Large, sprawling, multidimensional, complex; pleasing on so many levels. I was not aware of this prior to arriving, but I apparently chose Alumni Weekend to visit, so the campus was packed with alums, parents, tour groups, and all manners of people coming and going. At one point I walked past an outdoor theater group. Only a few minutes later I passed a jazz trio performing outdoors. Later I observed a wedding procession led by a New Orleans Style marching band playing tunes like “when the saints go marching in”. The entire wedding procession walked through the campus, guests twirling white parasols and dancing as they made their way. What a way to celebrate a wedding!

Cornell University

After I had finished the business part of my campus tour I decided to take a quick walk down memory lane. I spent my first years of life only about an hour or so from Cornell on a small farm way up in the mountains. I barely remember any of it, but for anyone in my family that visited while we lived there, the experience was so profound that every time they see me they want to do nothing else but talk about how amazing the place was! It has been 30 years since we moved from that farm, and I figured that if I had come this far, I had might as well make the extra effort to visit the place.

The journey out there quickly turned into a post-card-inspiring trip as I passed through some of most amazing mountain towns and farms I had ever seen.

Notice anything odd in this picture?

I did not have an address, but I did remember the name of the town, and I knew the name of the road we lived on because the road dead-ended at our house on top of the mountain. So my trusty GPS got me to the center of the town, and a few minutes of wandering found me the right road.

Halsey Valley, NY. Hard to imagine more humble roots.

The drive up the hill is about a mile and a half long, and is flanked by tall, overarching trees that create a tunnel effect. I had a vague memory that as the road neared the summit of the hill the view became wider and suddenly there would be a large field with a beautiful barn, and at the far end would be our quaint little farm house sitting on the edge of the mountain overlooking the entire valley below.

As I drove the long drive up the road I wondered if I would remember anything of the place at all, or if the memories I had were just fabricated from the stories others have told me. As I came to the very top of the hill, the answer struck me. I was immediately overcome with emotion and tears. There it was, exactly as I had remembered it. The long, dirt road; the field; the barn; the farmhouse; and the view. It was as if I had reached back into the deepest recesses of my memories and connected with a part of me that has been dormant for over 30 years.

Of course, having crested the hill I was now completely exposed and could not turn away without being seen from anyone in the house. I could only imagine what the owner was going to think. I didn’t think they received many visitors up there to begin with, let alone strange men on motorcycles that arrive in tears!

The Farm

I decided that I could not simply see the place and ride away, so I turned off the motorcycle, attempted to compose myself, walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. When the owner came to the door I managed to say “Hi, my name is Eric and I grew up here” before I lost it and returned to tears. Thankfully the owner was not only understanding and welcoming, but she seemed as interested in my visit as I was!

Our barn

We had a great time discussing the property (all 101 acres of it), the farmhouse, and all sorts of fun tid-bits about the wonderful place that we have both called home. She said that her friends and family are enamored with the place the same way that my family was. It has apparently not lost its charm. I spent about 30 minutes walking the property, snapping pictures and trying to take it all in while I could. Such an opportunity seemed so rare that I wanted to make sure to take every advantage of remembering it as I could. She sent me away with a bottle of homemade maple syrup, which was like the icing on the cake since I distinctly remembered my father and mother tapping the maple trees in winter and boiling their own maple syrup. It was an amazing and emotional walk down memory lane.

The view from the patio overlooking all of Halsey Valley

The next morning I was on the road at 5:00 am, greeted by a star-filled sky and crisp cool mountain air. As the stars began to fade the colors really began to come alive. Light pillows of fog dotted the colorful mountain tops.

A ride to remember

For four hours I was completely alone on this highway of color, rising and falling through the landscape, thoroughly enjoying the thrill of the journey and the roar of my bike as it handled the winding mountain roads with graceful power. I must have looked like a complete fool to anyone that could have seen me, but I could not help but hide my absolute pleasure.

Big smiles!

Unfortunately all good things must come to an end, which is what promptly happened as soon as I passed into Ohio. (Sorry, Ohio. Nothing personal.) The rest of the trip was pretty much all business. I hit a few more rainstorms, and only a few small areas of construction. Over all it was about as smooth a trip as I have ever been on. The return trip took almost exactly 13 hours, with a total round-trip mileage of 1,166 miles. There were no problems, other than a few achy joints and some wet socks (I need to get waterproof boots).

I felt incredibly fortunate to have been able to take this trip. I have moved so many times in my life that it is difficult to really answer someone when they ask where I am from. Even though I spent only a few years in upstate New York, I cannot escape the influence that wonderful place had on me. In many ways I think I compare everything in my life to those few memories I have. Now, having seen the place through mature eyes, I have confirmed that my fondness has not been held in error.

Some say that you can never really return home. I have to disagree. Even though I had only two days there, in some way it was as if I had never left.

A journey complete.

It was the ride of a lifetime.