Thursday, May 17, 2012

Driving To The Farm By Way Of Plattsburgh, Part 1

Yes, indeed, another weekend trip up to the farm had begun. But this time I'd decided to take a new route, driving all the way up to Plattsburgh on the Northway and then taking Route 11 west to the farm. The problem was going to be the lack of places to give the dogs a rest stop. So at exit 29, just below the High Peaks exit, I pulled off the road into the abandoned Pioneer Town. I drove for several miles back into the hills looking for a good spot to let the dogs out but a man and his Lab were using the area so I drove back out to the highway to keep searching:

Right across the road was this abandoned gas station at which I'd stopped for gas and snacks many years ago on my way to and from hiking the high peaks:

I pulled my car behind the empty gas station and let the dogs out:

The soil, as is common in the Adirondacks, was as sandy as a Cape Cod beach and the dogs and I trotted back toward the forest. But our immediate goal was that sand pile:

Seamus was the first to climb up onto the sand pile:

Once we'd all arrived atop the sand pile, I realized there really was nothing of interest there:

We explored for a short time but then I realized that old Wally was not with us and called the dogs back toward the car:

This might make a fascinating place to explore one of these days, but we were on our way up to the farm and I had to get the dogs all back into the car and continue our journey:

I drove to the city of Plattsburgh which was much larger than I'd realized. Then I turned west on Route 374 on my way to Route 11. This was a bit of a short cut and would also take me through the famous little town of Dannemora. When I first espied the notorious prison, surrounded by razor wire, I stopped for a photo:

But the really interesting part was the high walls and guard towers which abutted the highway. The somber and ominous prison walls seemed odd next to the left-over Christmas decorations:

Route 374 is also the town of Dannemora's main street, called Cook Street, and has prison walls on one side and businesses on the other, a very odd juxtaposition:

I've been told that one commonly sees sharpshooters in those guard towers but I saw no one on that Sunday morning. But we were at least seeing new sights and exploring the countryside. I'll post more tomorrow:

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