The adventure moves northward…
… through the perilous and infuriating traffic of Long Island, along the Belt Parkway towards JFK, around the Aqueduct Race Track, through the local streets of Queens, over the Throgs Neck Bridge, past the affluent northern suburbs…
Not long after leaving the boroughs of New York our course is set on the winding Taconic Parkway, a road designed for the enjoyment of the sights and sounds of the country, and maintained as such by state troopers every few miles. The fall colors become more pronounced as we drive north, and give visual texture to the haze of fog surrounding us. The day so far has taken what little energy I had out of me, but as we leave the thick, oppressive urban air behind us, my stress and anxiety melts away. My father and I settle in to our drive and ease our minds by doing what we do best: putting them to work planning our next trip to NYC.
We make a quick stop at Taconic State Park. I put my feet in the cool water of the lake and squish them into the soft brown sand. Across the water is a hillside with an impressive display of fall foliage, and in the distance the lake continues to the north.
On our way back to Albany we take the scenic route, the ‘motorcycle route’ as I call it, through Valatie and stop at Golden Valley Farms. The expansive display of apples in crates and buckets can only be compared to a perfume section of the department store. Each varietal has its own texture and flavor, many of which are crosses of each other, with their own unique charm. I wade past classic New York varieties and finally arrive at my objective, the macintosh apple, the grandest of all apples, tart and sweet, like the personality of the New Yorker enjoying it. When I reach the counter I can’t resist a sugar cider donut fresh from the oven. It and my apple strudel, cold cider and two apples are my first meal of the day. Well worth the wait.
We continue our drive through the gentle upstate New York rain storm towards Guilderland. As it is approximately 4:30pm, we hit ‘Albany rush hour’ on I-90, a slight delay of about 2-10 minutes, depending on time of day, where your car may go below 25mph, but most likely not, unless you are merging onto I-87.
Still in a bit of a mental haze, I arrive at my mother’s house and get myself sorted. I make my bed upstairs and have a slice of my mother’s apple pie, fresh out of the oven. I’m home.