Friday night
Leaving mid Friday allowed me to select mostly secondary roads to get to Phoenicia. The new Mapsource software lets you select back roads to highways on a sliding scale. I set it one up from all back roads and it chose a perfect mix of secondary’s, and even through in a dirt road as I cut across Rhinebeck headed for the Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome.
The aerodrome wasn’t open yet but I wanted to do a drive by anyway. It had been years since the last time I was there. As I recall, it was a cold, damp Memorial Day weekend when Jo and I, along with Mike and Darlene, and Lee and Craig, all headed over here. Most of us were embarrassingly unprepared for the cool, rainy weather. At one point we all headed into a nearby town, located a supermarket and bought all the fixins for a “keep-us-warm” stew. To this day we all remember that cabbage stew as the best stew we’ve ever had. Funny how as desperation increases so does the taste, and memory of the food.
Phoenicia is wide spot slightly off of Rt. 23. If you don’t take the right hand turn at the Phoenicia sign, you’ve missed it. The town center has everything you could want for a weekend stay including a bar/restaurant, package store and a “supermarket”. I use the term supermarket only because that is what the sign advertised. This is the type of store that has the transmission fluid right next to the baby diapers, directly across from the paper plates and cups. I grabbed a package of plastic cups, added a couple of blow pops (grape and cherry) and headed for the checkout.
Just a rock’s throw further down the street I stopped in at Phoenicia Wine and Spirits. I browsed the “Red” section as the owner watched an old colorized John Wayne flick showing on the TV behind the counter. After picking out an Australian Shiraz that guaranteed an “intense spice and blackberry flavor”, I brought the $8 bottle to the counter.
The Phoenicia Black Bear Campground is actually walking distance from the town center. It sits alongside the Esopus Creek. George, the owner, met me as I rode in. “Pick any spot you want, I’ll catch up to you later” he said. I picked a grassy site that had a high center for the tent.
I unpacked, setup the tent and walked around the campground trying to get a cell phone signal so I could check in at home. After two laps around the loop it became clear the bars were not going to appear. I didn’t gain a signal strong enough to make the call until about 4 miles down the road. I got the answering machine. My duties fulfilled, I headed back to camp to make some dinner.
Once the fire calmed down a bit I laid the sausage over the coals for a nice, slow roasting. As soon as the first one split I poured the rice into the jetboil pot. Moments later I had a meal fit for hungry biker (they are much more finicky than kings).
Before the sun completely set I needed to get the gear stowed and the food and garbage treed. George had mentioned that the bears were around and although they have never had a documented case of a bear attack in the Catskills, he wasn’t sure if that was because there were no attacks or if there simply wasn’t anyone left to report one. I threw a line over a branch in a neighboring site and hoisted the bear snacks high up into the tree.
As I sit here tapping away on the netbook the fire has finally created enough embers to sustain itself without the fanning from my camp plate. The peepers have broken into full chorus and the night is crystal clear. I think I’ll retire to the chair, perfectly positioned upwind from the smoke, directly
under the Big Dipper.
Where
is that Shiraz?
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