Perogies and the Appalachian Trail
Greetings to you from the green state of Pennsylvania! For those of you with whom I haven't maintained contact (and that would be most of you), let me first apologize. It's been an adventure and then some the last month. I left Stl on the brink personal disaster. Stayed in Indianapolis for a few days to race and generally take a breather. My friends Kelly and Chris were kind enough to provide the floor of their spare room and allow me to avoid the inevitable tent experience for a day or two. Driving across Ohio was borderline depressing. About half way into that state I began to wonder about my own state, and seriously contemplated turning around and going home. Then I hit the half way point. And no way was I going back because I'd have to face Ohio all over again!
It rains a lot in Pennsylvania. My tent still stays dry after ten years of use and love. I have pictures - of me camping in the rain, in a blue rain slicker, and my underwear (everything else was wet) - to prove it. Oh, and I slept with a gun. You never know.
I got to the velodrome on a rainy Sunday afternoon, or was it Monday? I can't remember now. No one was around anyhow. And there weren't any campgrounds anywhere nearby. There was one person - Ray Ignosh - the savior who sent me to Walmart for a PA Gazetteer, which did have campgrounds listed relatively nearby. Another really rainy night, luckily the camp host put me on high ground. For $25 a night it sure as heck SHOULD have been on high ground. At that time I didn't have further housing plans other than the ones I was acting out, and it didn't take much math to figure out that at that rate a night I wasn't going to make it more than a few weeks on the money I brought with.
Enter, the Stempa Family. There are some people in this world who deserve higher people points than others, and the Stempas, they are some of those. John, Linda, and Little John invited me into their home on the back side of Blue Mountain. They gave me a bed. They gave me pizza. Ohhh, the pizza! I hadn't been eating too well for while. It may have been the first time in my life I actually knew what "voracious" meant. Best pizza I ever ate.
The Stempas had a friend Michael who lived on the other side of the mountain. Michael must not have thought John was serious when he (John) asked if a homeless cyclist could stay at his place for the summer, because when we showed up at Michael's house day after the pizza............introductions didn't go too well. Back to the Stempa's. One more night with the comforts of Thomas the Tank Engine sheets. Somewhere in the night Michael had a change of heart, th0ugh. I think it had something to do with John calling him and lamenting that I was doomed to live in tent in the rain if he didn't help.
I now live with Michael, and Scott his son. Not only do I have a great abode at the base of Blue Mountain, but neither one of them is ever home and I clean the house once a week in leiu of rent. Not a bad gig at all. Michael is a retired professional motocross racer. He feels the same joy as I do in riding fast. Difference is, he leaves the ground in his pursuit of happiness. I like to keep both wheels connected to the earth. Scott is quiet. He rides a stunt bike (no motor) and is planning a permanent adventure to California here in the next few weeks.
Perogies - balls of mashed potatoes and cheese deep fried until golden brown. Sold at all festival events in this state, including carnivals (I've been to one so far. Every town has one, apparently) and Friday Night Racing at the velodrome.
Appalachian Trail - runs from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Mount Katahdin, Maine - 2,175 miles of single track isolation. It also runs through the Stempa's back yard, practically. They are a designated watering hole in the Thru-hiker Handbook. Strangers shower naked in their back yard and sleep in their garage. Been doing that for eighteen years now. They have a registration book to prove it.
More on Pennsylvania later. And, eventually, I'll get to the track racing.
Out!
Mindi
It rains a lot in Pennsylvania. My tent still stays dry after ten years of use and love. I have pictures - of me camping in the rain, in a blue rain slicker, and my underwear (everything else was wet) - to prove it. Oh, and I slept with a gun. You never know.
I got to the velodrome on a rainy Sunday afternoon, or was it Monday? I can't remember now. No one was around anyhow. And there weren't any campgrounds anywhere nearby. There was one person - Ray Ignosh - the savior who sent me to Walmart for a PA Gazetteer, which did have campgrounds listed relatively nearby. Another really rainy night, luckily the camp host put me on high ground. For $25 a night it sure as heck SHOULD have been on high ground. At that time I didn't have further housing plans other than the ones I was acting out, and it didn't take much math to figure out that at that rate a night I wasn't going to make it more than a few weeks on the money I brought with.
Enter, the Stempa Family. There are some people in this world who deserve higher people points than others, and the Stempas, they are some of those. John, Linda, and Little John invited me into their home on the back side of Blue Mountain. They gave me a bed. They gave me pizza. Ohhh, the pizza! I hadn't been eating too well for while. It may have been the first time in my life I actually knew what "voracious" meant. Best pizza I ever ate.
The Stempas had a friend Michael who lived on the other side of the mountain. Michael must not have thought John was serious when he (John) asked if a homeless cyclist could stay at his place for the summer, because when we showed up at Michael's house day after the pizza............introductions didn't go too well. Back to the Stempa's. One more night with the comforts of Thomas the Tank Engine sheets. Somewhere in the night Michael had a change of heart, th0ugh. I think it had something to do with John calling him and lamenting that I was doomed to live in tent in the rain if he didn't help.
I now live with Michael, and Scott his son. Not only do I have a great abode at the base of Blue Mountain, but neither one of them is ever home and I clean the house once a week in leiu of rent. Not a bad gig at all. Michael is a retired professional motocross racer. He feels the same joy as I do in riding fast. Difference is, he leaves the ground in his pursuit of happiness. I like to keep both wheels connected to the earth. Scott is quiet. He rides a stunt bike (no motor) and is planning a permanent adventure to California here in the next few weeks.
Perogies - balls of mashed potatoes and cheese deep fried until golden brown. Sold at all festival events in this state, including carnivals (I've been to one so far. Every town has one, apparently) and Friday Night Racing at the velodrome.
Appalachian Trail - runs from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Mount Katahdin, Maine - 2,175 miles of single track isolation. It also runs through the Stempa's back yard, practically. They are a designated watering hole in the Thru-hiker Handbook. Strangers shower naked in their back yard and sleep in their garage. Been doing that for eighteen years now. They have a registration book to prove it.
More on Pennsylvania later. And, eventually, I'll get to the track racing.
Out!
Mindi
posted by mindi at 8:33 AM
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