The yellow Chevy van was parked across the street from the house where my wife and I had been staying for the past two weeks. It was my mother-in-law’s house. We had fallen behind schedule in our efforts to outfit the van to serve as our new home for the foreseeable future.
Mother-in-law was gracious enough to invite us to stay with her while we finished the job. Otherwise, we would have had to renew the lease on our apartment. It was early June.
We had been living with some roommates in a rented house near the university campus. One of our roommates, Justin, had recently departed for a voyage similar to the one we were planning. In his case, however, he was traveling by bicycle.
Having finally completed outfitting the van, my wife, Linda, and I were packing our gear, preparing to depart on our journey to unknown destinations.
Technically, we would be considered homeless since living in a vehicle is defined as homelessness.
Once settled into the van, I had no particular direction in mind, no specific destination. The lack of a specific direction was appropriate since I lacked any direction in my life in general. I had graduated from college a year earlier without any idea of what direction I would pursue. My father had offered to support me and pay my expenses if I decided to pursue a college education. Otherwise, he told me, I would be on my own. So, I went to college — with no particular direction in mind.
We were off to a rocky start to our journey. The van was beginning to look cluttered and unlivable. I suggested to Linda that we were taking too much stuff. She became agitated and snapped at me, saying that I was trying to deprive her of her prized possessions. In reality, she was experiencing some general anxiety over the prospect of becoming an itinerant wanderer with no stable home. Once that was acknowledged we were able to resolve the peripheral issue. We decided that clutter was inevitable in such close quarters. We would learn to live with it. We also realized that anxiety was a natural consequence of venturing into the unknown.
The packing finished, we said our farewells to mother-in-law and promised to keep in touch. We had already made our farewells to my folks. It was time to depart.
Although we were generally aimless, we did have an initial destination planned. We would start by aiming for Prince Edward Island, Canada. — -
A friend, Robert, who wished to visit his grandmother, but needed transportation, had arranged for the three of us to stay with her on the island.
We were in no hurry to get there. The distance from our starting point in Buffalo, New York, to Prince Edward is over a thousand miles. As the only driver (Linda had no driver’s license), I would limit each day’s travel to no more than a few hundred miles.
Linda and I had married about six weeks prior after sharing a home for about a year. We met for the first time at a tavern in Buffalo. I had just begun the second semester of my junior year; it was February 1972. I had recently returned from an eventful winter break excursion in Miami Beach, Florida. The events that occurred during that trip are described in this story:
{Actually, Linda and I had met once before our first meeting in the tavern. The story of that meeting is told here:}
I didn’t remember that very first meeting, but I do remember the first time we left the tavern together. A friend from high school, Dennis, had returned to Buffalo to bid adieu to the old gang before leaving to join the Marines. We took him to the tavern for a farewell celebration. While there, I encountered Linda. She and I spent the evening together. At the end of the evening, we offered her a lift home. During the ride home, Linda and I rode in the back seat. We made arrangements to get together the next day, our first date of many more to come. Dennis made an offhand comment that we seemed like a natural couple and would probably end up getting married. The next time I saw Dennis it was twenty-five years later at a high school reunion, where I was finally able to tell him that his prediction had proven accurate. Unfortunately, it was also necessary to tell him that earlier that week, Linda and I had separated in contemplation of divorce.
It was early afternoon on Friday, June 7, 1974, when the van rolled out of Buffalo, which was never again to be our home city.
Some friends had planned to meet us at Allegheny State Park, South of Buffalo, near the Pennsylvania border.
We picked up State Route 219 south. After driving for about an hour, we reached the park. We decided to pitch our tent. Our friends arrived on Saturday, June 8, and set up their camps. This was to be our farewell party. It was a hot, humid summer day.
We lit a campfire Saturday night and consumed too much beer and too many marshmallows.
Our friends departed Sunday afternoon, as they had to be at work on Monday. Sunday was another hot summer day. Linda and I hung around the park for another two days.
Monday, Linda bought a bag of peanuts to feed a chipmunk who made himself a guest at our campsite. Before we left, she had enticed him to sit in her lap and take peanuts from her hand. Later, we were struck with some summer thundershowers. The temperature plummeted.
A raccoon came to visit after dark. We made the acquaintance of some of the folks in neighboring campsites. Tuesday was chilly and very unsummer-like.
On Wednesday, June 12 we decided to head west to Cleveland, Ohio; I felt an urge to visit some extended family who lived in that city. While Linda and I enjoyed the time we spent in Cleveland, Robert appeared quite bored. We left Cleveland on Sunday, June 16.
We decided to drive to Corning, New York. I had no particular reason for choosing that destination other than the need to travel eastward to eventually reach Prince Edward Island. Aiming for Corning would allow us to travel across the Southern Tier of New York, thereby avoiding the larger northern cities. We followed I-90 out of Cleveland. Just past Erie, Pennsylvania we picked up NY-17.
Most of Route 17 was a divided, limited-access highway. The western portion, upon which we now traveled, passed through the Allegheny Reservation of the Seneca Nation of Indians. The Seneca Nation at that time had prohibited the State of New York from converting that section to a divided highway. It was a two-lane road that wound up and down like a roller coaster through the rolling hills, farms, and forests characteristic of southern New York. It made for a pleasant drive with fine scenery. Being the aimless wanderers that we were, we were in no hurry to get anywhere. I preferred driving on ordinary roads rather than Interstates, or other limited-access highways, whenever I could. So, I thank the Seneca Nation for preventing that pleasant, scenic route from being developed into a highway.
Sometime between then and now, the Seneca Allegheny Resort and Casino was built on the reservation near Salamanca. The old Route 17 has been converted to I-86, a limited-access highway and part of the interstate system. There is a highway exit at the casino entrance.
On the side of the highway opposite the casino is the Seneca Iroquois Museum, a worthwhile stop if you happen to be passing through that area.
Linda mentioned that she had once visited the Corning Museum of Glass; so, when we reached Corning, we went straight to the museum parking lot. It was late in the day; the museum was closed. I had a short conversation with the security guard who had come to the museum door. After I explained our situation, he invited us to boondock in the museum parking lot for the night. He offered to leave the museum door unlocked so that we could use the restroom.
Our first night in unfamiliar territory….
We sat with this man while he told us story after story. His favorite topic was the major flooding that the city of Corning had experienced two years earlier. The city was still rebuilding from that disaster. The guard took us into the museum and showed us a display of photos taken during and after the flood. He was most proud of the photo that showed him on the museum roof. He was using a two-way radio to report the location of citizens who were stranded on rooftops so that they could be rescued by helicopter.
He showed us the museum’s display of ancient glass. Some of the pieces had survived for thousands of years only to be shattered during the flood. Fortunately, experts had retrieved the remnants and carefully pieced them together skillfully enough that only upon close examination could one tell that they had been damaged. It was impressive work.
In the evening, we took a walk through downtown Corning, most of which was in the river flood plain. Much of the residential area was on steep hillsides above the river. Above that were forested hills. In town, we encountered a 30-year-old hippie who claimed to live in a lean-to on one of the forested hillsides. Robert stayed to converse with the hippie for a time, while Linda and I walked on.
That night we camped in the museum parking lot.
The following morning, Monday, June 17, we drove up a winding road to the hilltop campus of Corning Community College. A college campus, I had learned through experience, usually has at least one pleasant picnic sight; we were not disappointed. We found a grassy grove of trees with some picnic tables. I placed our Coleman gasoline stove on a table and lit the burners. Linda cooked a delicious vegetarian meal, and we ate. Linda was a practicing vegetarian. Since she did most of the cooking, I was, by default, a de facto vegetarian.
When we had finished our meal, cleaned up, and packed our cooking equipment, it was early afternoon. Following a short rest, we continued east and picked up NY State Route 7, heading northeast toward the Albany area, the state capital. Today, one would use I-88, which parallels Route 7, but I-88 had not yet been constructed in 1974.
I had cousins in the capitol area, a married couple who owned a small family business in Schenectady, adjacent to Albany. They had offered Linda and me a position in the business. They needed an answer since if we accepted, they planned to expand the business, otherwise, they would not expand. Since Schenectady was not out of our way, I decided to give them my regrets in person. The offer was an attractive and unusual opportunity. It would have been tempting to accept. But as a couple without goals or direction, we made what for us was the wise choice to decline.
On Wednesday, June 19, after a pleasant visit and some sightseeing in the capital area, we departed. Traveling east along NY Route 7 we crossed the state border into Vermont, leaving our home state. We entered the town of Bennington and made a stop for fuel and to buy some fresh ice for our food cooler.
We were careful to shop for the lowest fuel price. It was not economical to drive around an area when doing so since we would spend the money we hoped to save by burning extra fuel. Instead, when we passed through a village along its main road, we learned to stop in the middle of the commercial area since the stations at either end of town usually had the highest prices. Our budget was limited to the cash we had saved from our jobs.
As luck would have it, while we were working to prepare for this voyage, the price of gasoline doubled. It rose to 60¢ per gallon from its former 30¢. This was due to a collective action by petroleum-producing nations upon whom the US depended for its supply of crude oil from which gasoline was refined. Those events were beyond our control and seriously inflated our fuel costs.
After fueling up and grabbing some state road maps, which were given away free by the fueling station, we continued our journey along Vermont Route 9 (Route 7 veered sharply to the north out of Bennington; we decided to continue east toward the Atlantic coast).
Route 9 wound through the historic Green Mountains. Along the way, we came to a private rest area near the top of Hogback Mountain in the town of Marlboro, Vermont. The facility consisted of a souvenir shop outside of which there was a large wooden deck. The trees on the southern downslope, adjacent to the deck, had been cleared to allow an unobstructed view. The range of view from the deck was around 100 miles. At the edge of the deck was a row of coin-operated binoculars. We had, among our gear, our own binoculars saving us the expense of using the facility’s. The view with or without binoculars was spectacular. I have seen nothing like it before or since.
Years later, in the mid-1990s I took a similar drive along Route 9; the facility was still there. I was able to enjoy the view a second time. By this time, Linda had ended our marriage. I was enjoying the view with my soon-to-be second wife.
No mere photograph can capture the true splendor of that view.
After enjoying the view, we continued east toward New Hampshire and the Atlantic coast. We soon left the mountains and entered the New Hampshire coastal plane. At Keane NH, we entered Route 101 as Route 9 veered to the north.
Outside of Keane, we picked up our first of many hitchhikers. In 1974, it was much more common to encounter hitchhikers than it is today. During our voyage, hitchhikers provided us with companionship and company, as well as significant information about local circumstances. Our choice to offer rides to those we encountered proved to be a significant enhancement to our voyage experience.
As the soil grew sandier, we knew we were getting closer to the coast. Fun fact, New Hampshire has the shortest coastline in the United States. It is thirteen miles long.
In chapter two, you will join our adventures in Hampton, New Hampshire, one of our last stops before reaching Prince Edward Island.
