The Way Home

Hamilton – Brewerton, New York

I guess there are many reasons that I keep thinking about my college days right about now.

First off, we’re only about 70 miles north of Cornell. So that’s one – but hardly the most important.

Then there’s the rain. It seems like it’s becoming a habit again. And today was the worst. It was raining when we awoke. It was raining when we left Carolyn and Chris’ house. It rained all throughout our ride. And it’s still raining now. 

Even the Cat in the Hat would be flummoxed. 

All this rain reminds me of Cornell because, well, it rains a lot in Ithaca. (Didn’t realize it then, but Syracuse, a city we are near right now, is both the rainiest and snowiest “big” city in the United States. I guess that’s what happens when you are east of the Great Lakes . . .)

The only positive is that it’s been pretty warm. It’s not like Ireland rain – with a cold wind blowing in off of the Atlantic so that only sheep – laden in their thick wool jackets – could be happy. No, here it’s warm enough that we can just kind of wallow in our wetness. 

I mean, it’s kind of embarassing when you walk into the lunch place and there’s literally water dripping off of our clothes, and our shoes are making that squishing noise when we walk. It’s as if we’re in some cartoon – like in Tom & Jerry after Tom falls into the lake and then crawls back out looking like . . . well . . . like a wet cat. 

Sorry. I was listing the reasons that I keep thinking of our college days. Let me get back to it.

There’s also bagels. Back in the ‘80s – before college – I think the only bagel I had ever had was from Lender’s. You might remember them. My mom bought frozen Lender’s Bagels. They were okay when toasted with lots of butter – but, really, the only thing they have in common with real bagels is the hole in the middle.

Ithaca has Collegetown Bagels. Our dormitory had big bags of bagels and cream cheese delivered every Sunday morning from there. I think the idea was to encourage the development of a community feel. The general theory was that everyone could eat a bagel and then chat a little with the other students. 

My theory: After I discovered how good fresh, real bagels – that is, not the Lender’s frozen variety – are, I ended up eating like half-a-dozen. They were just so good. Dense and chewy. With real cream cheese that was not made by Philadelphia’s. 

Amazingly, most of the world does not have bagels. No bagels in Mexico. No bagels in Central America. No bagels in South America. No bagels in Morocco. But also no bagels in Europe generally. 

I think we found exactly one bagel shop in Europe. There was a place in Bucharest that we were pretty excited about. Turned out that they didn’t make their bagels there at all. Inexplicably, they had their bagels shipped in from Greece. As if the Greeks had some special expertise. Of course, they were dry and tasteless. Exactly what you would expect. The place had just opened when we were there. Pretty sure they are out of business by now . . . After all, it’s not the Communist era anymore – even the Romanians have better options at this point.

But New York is not Romania; there are good bagels around here for sure. We had great bagels in Hamilton last night. And great bagels for lunch in some random little town again today. 

(Side note. The fact that there are no bagels in Europe is, I think, a direct result of the Holocaust and the resulting exodus of the Jews. According to my AI, bagels were invented by Jews in Poland in the 17th Century and brought to New York in the 19th and 20th Century.)

Next Cornell reminder: Tug Hill. Never heard of it? It’s one of the snowiest places east of the Rockies – with about 200 inches falling each year. It’s near Watertown – which is just up the road from where we are now – near the Canadian border. We used to drive up there when snow was in short supply in Ithaca. Jon had a Toyota Tercel back then – and I definitely remember some all-day trips to Tug Hill and back. 

Leave class. Go directly to the car. Drive two hours. Ski two hours. Drive two hours back. Eat dinner. Maybe think about doing some homework . . .

And then there was Colgate. Big C – just like at Cornell. Similar colors. Old stately buildings. Up on the hill, above the town. They even play lacrosse and hockey. 

Oh, and Syracuse itself. I’ve basically never been there – but the airport played a pretty big role in my freshman year:

I’ve managed to get through the fall, and just finished my last final exam. It’s December 23, and I’ve convinced our friend Jim, who lives locally and owns a car, to drive me up to the airport so I can fly home. I’ve never been away from my family for any length of time before, and I can’t wait to get back to Minnesota. 

I rush back from Rockefeller Hall, throw my stuff in a bag, and jump in Jim’s car. It’s about an hour drive and the plane leaves in two hours. Unfortunately, about 45 minutes in I realize that I left the plane ticket in my desk drawer in my dorm room. 

Now, this was 1987. To the extent that the internet had been invented, it was not available to ordinary mortals. There was no email. No Facebook. No cell phones. Long distance calls cost a fortune. And plane tickets – they were 100% physical. Lose your ticket – lose your flight. 

Solution: Collect call to my Mom. She ended up having to call the airline and buy a new ticket. Because it’s not like I had a credit card or anything. Just the $3.52 I probably had in my pocket . . .

I think the last minute ticket cost a small fortune, but what can you do?

All that came flooding back to me today as we passed through North Syracuse . . .

But we are making progress.

Toward home, that is.

Tomorrow we reach the south shores of Lake Ontario. The Great Lakes Region. And, I guess, the longer I go on in life the more I consider this whole area to be our territory – nay, our home. 

It’s one of the things I think we’ve learned on this trip. Home is where you can go fishing or swimming in a fresh-water lake. Home is where you can ski through the long, cold, snowy winters. Home is where there’s wild rice, and rugged shores, with pines and maples soaring toward the heavens. Home is where eagles soar (we saw one today – first eagle in a year) and flocks of geese honk as they fly in their V-formations across the sky (which we also saw today). Even the rain and the clouds are part of what makes this land home. 

Now, obviously there’s more to go. But making it to the Great Lakes feels like a pretty major landmark . . .

Of course, every Minnesotan knows that there are really only two true hallmarks of the actual finish line. 

The first?

Pearson’s Salted Nut Rolls. Sadly, I didn’t know this when we left. I probably bought my last candy bar in Iowa someplace. Didn’t even pay any attention. Just took it for granted that there would be another one at the next convenience store. And then, just like that, they were gone. Haven’t seen one since . . . 

A man is not truly home until he has a salted nut roll in hand. Best candy bar on Earth. Best protien bar. And one of the few things that you can only find in Minnesota, or its environs. 

And the second?

Well, of course, Kwik Trip. Best convenience store in the world. It might be based in Wisconsin – but now that Holiday has become Circle K, Kwik Trip is the most Minnesota gas station there is . . .

So there you go . . .

The Great Lakes. Salted Nut Rolls. Kwik Trips. Once we check those boxes we’ll be there . . .

First step – Lake Ontario tomorrow . . .