INDIAN SUMMER

There are many phrases in the American version of the English language - Indian Summer being one. You would think that in these misdirected ‘Times of Woke’ some dimwitted ‘Knight of Wokedom’ would start screaming about this term. But, no. It seems everyone likes a few good days of Indian Summer. Why do they call it an Indian summer? The precise origin of Indian Summer is uncertain, but here is a commonly accepted de nition: A warm, tranquil spell of weather in the autumn, especially after a frost or period of abnormally cold weather. The weather was still warm in India — thus the term “Indian Summer.” For us, it meant rearranging our scheduling a bit and wiping the calendar free of anything for a couple of days midweek in mid-November. Well, free of anything except for riding motorcycles to where ever.

words + images: Brian Rathjen

Although the day might feel late springish, the reality was that, with the clocks falling back the weekend before, we had a limited window of riding time. Morning tasks and errands were vanquished hastily this day and we were on the bikes on the road in time for a moderately late breakfast at the Elias Cole - a perennial fave of ours and a place that offers a great doorway to the roads of Sullivan County and the Upper Delaware River. Roland the chef had ‘The Best’ pumpkin pancakes this morn and carb’d, caffeinated and ready to go ‘till dinner we rode north on Route 23 but quickly vectored east onto some of the lesser ridden northwest Jersey roads. We had created our routes just a few hours earlier. I had put the morning route together and Shira the afternoon journey to our overnight destination. We’re both happy making routes and we each have our own formula. It has been said that my wife is a QOG - Queen of Gravel, but I know she doesn’t do it on purpose, yet looks for roadways that pop out as peculiar, different, and off-the-beaten track. Yup, she’s good at this. Many times, the roads are so anomalous that gravel could almost be an afterthought. My routes, on the other hand are… Hey, where did this gravel come from? We were not a couple of miles out from the Elias Cole and we were off the pavement and onto the gravel. “Nice,” was all I heard through the Bluetooth. I shrugged it off as there were plenty of homes along the road and here is a Backroads Tip for you all; If you are on gravel and a bit upset by this… here’s the deal: If you are riding by homes, it can’t be that bad, right. People live here. But if the only thing you see is rabid dire wolves and dragons then choose your battles. It’s okay to turn around… ain’t no one gonna make fun of you. Back on asphalt, we headed north and then slightly west over the edge of the Kittatinny Mountains that runs from the Hudson River and south far into Pennsylvania. Along this way, Guymard Turnpike, we rode past a compound about which we have long been curious. To our thought … if you want to be secretive and hidden DO NOT POST ARMED GUARDS! Dragon Springs does just this and we noticed. Who wouldn’t? Well, a lot of people have taken notice of this not-so-secret “Secret Place.” Surrounded by forests, atop a small mountain, and guarded by armed security, Dragon Springs is a refuge for persecuted Falun Gong practitioners. Few outsiders are permitted inside. About 100 people are said to be living in a 400-acre property in upstate New York, in the shadow of the Shawangunk Mountains. It’s meant to be a mecca for the estimated tens of millions of Falun Gong Followers, members of a religious and political group persecuted in China, which calls the group a “cult”. Googling this place, and the group that calls it home, opened a huge rabbit-hole that is de nitely more Seymour O’Life’s domain and not mine and we are sure the good doctor will be on this sooner or later. A quick ride further north on Route 209 and then we jockeyed over Oakland Valley Road. This road has a lot going for it as it mimics the pretty Neversink River – Algonquin for Mad River - running past the small race track in Cuddlebackville that sees both motorcycles and karting doing laps. Along the road, there is a Historic Marker. We try to make a habit of slowing down when we spy them as somebody thought something was important enough to make a sign for it. This one surely was. Silent Movies; and it marked where the Caudebec Inn once stood.

Although many Silent Films were made in Fort Lee, a cheap ferry ride from upper Manhattan, famed lm-maker D.W. Grif th, in search of new and fresh locations, discovered the region. In 1916 Grif th recalled, “I discovered Cuddebackville, the most beautiful, altogether the loveliest spot in America…There is a quality about the light there, particularly a twilight that I have never found elsewhere; it is transcendently illuminative for [moving] pictures.”

Page 26 It was here that the rst “fade to black” or blackout was used, as Grif th hated the sudden end to scenes in his lm. The rst one was created using a simple cigar box. D.W. stated, “Taking a cigar box, I had it placed in front of the camera lens. The lid of the box was lifted gradually before the lens so that when the scene was projected on the screen, instead of that sudden stop – it faded off.” The picture in which this effect was rst used was The Last of the Mohicans, starring Mary Pickford and Owen Moore. We had an entire warm Indian Summer afternoon to ride before this day would fade to black. Following the route that endeavored to follow along with some previously unridden (at least by us) slivers of asphalt, we scooted past the tiny lakes that make up this part of Sullivan County, New York. We rode around the Woodstock festival site, once home to our great friend Sam Yasgur, who ew west just a few years back. His story of how, one Sunday during dinner, a helicopter landed on the farm and his dad, Max (yes, that Max), was approached about having his farm host a little music festival was hilarious – and the rest is Rock & Roll history. From Bethel, the route brought us into some of what I call “Boldly Go” roads. This part of the trip was a real keepa’, as the Sullivan County roads, just west of Jeffersonville, rose over the valley, down some sweeping farm roads, and generally had us with Shit Eatin’ grins lling our helmets. I am pretty sure we will be back this way very soon. Not soon afterward we hung a tight right onto Route 97 north towards Hancock. This part of Route 97 is truly stellar – especially the views from the viaduct near Basket Brook. Umm, remember earlier when I had touted that I rarely put us on gravel? Well, whattaya think happened? Heading towards County Road 28 and the promise of more fantastical pavement, we had a few miles of uphill gravel that went from “This is okay to… is that a dire wolf?” in less than a mile. Recent rains left deeper and deeper ruts, so – we turned the tiny sportier bikes around and enjoyed the highest point on Route 97 as we rode into Hancock. We have been to Hancock many times and have held several rallies and gatherings at the Hancock Hotel - a place that is very motorcycle-friendly and would love for you and your friends to roll up to their door for lunch, dinner, or an overnight stay. But this day we were looking for a place that we had long heard about but never had the opportunity to seek out…Delaware Delicacies Smoke House. For decades now Ray Turner has been smoking varieties of sh, trout, shrimp, salmon, as well as bacon and gouda, at his very end-of-the-road hideaway. But Turner is famous for something very special indeed. Smoked Eels. Here is your word for the day – catadromous.

Freshwater Eels are the only catadromous sh in North America. “Catadromous” means that they spawn in salt water and live as adults in freshwater. Anadromous sh, like Salmon and American Shad, spawn in freshwater but live as adults in the ocean. Although the Eel looks snakelike, it is a sh. The Delaware River in Pennsylvania has the most abundant population of Eels in the nation because there are no dam obstructions to prevent Eel’s upriver migration. Think of this next time you jump out of a raft to cool off while heading down the river from Landers. Eels were huge business a hundred years ago and in 1912, called an “offyear,” 50,000 Eels weighing more than 44,000 pounds were caught in Pennsylvania. Today, Eels are caught mostly by anglers looking for food and sport. Eels are remarkably good eating, especially smoked. This is where Ray comes in. His smoked eels are the stuff of legend. Turner’s secret to this sweet and savory river bounty? He brines the eels in salt and dark honey before smoking them over applewood. If you have ridden along Route 97 and noticed the large v-shaped wooden constructions in the river – that is probably one of Ray’s eel weirs. But if you think eels are different – meet Ray Turner. With a long white beard and a very loner-esque air, Ray de antly bangs his own drum. Be forewarned – Ray is very serious about COVID-19. VERY SERIOUS. After keeping our course on a road that was getting more and more remote by the yard we were greeted, even before we were off the bikes, by Ray asking loudly from a distance. “AreuvaccinatedDouhaveamaskWash u’rhandswiththedisinfectant!” I personally, long ago, have had enough of this… but, I can sometimes pick and choose my ghts. I wanted to see the inside of Delaware Delicacies Smoke House. So, I conceded… this time. Like getting stuck; I regretted it. Ray did not have any eel this day but did have a good number of choice words for New York state, politicians, and the government in general. I was allowed to stay as I answered his question about my voting record. I am sure Ray is a nice man – odd, but nice – maybe. I was losing patience at this point and stepped outside. Shira is far more congenial and diplomatic and came out with a good sample of the smokehouse’s sh. We packed the smokey booty away and went back into Hancock to ll up at one of the more historic lling stations in the region. The Old Bat Factory might be a Mo-

Page 28 bil station but this station is found in the old Louisville Slugger Bat Factory and has a great little restaurant as well. World-famous Louisville Slugger baseball bats were made from Hancock timber for over 85 years. Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Joe DiMaggio, and Ted Williams all set records with bats that started out in the Hancock mill. Fueled and caffeinated we headed out on Shira’s half of the day’s ride. It might have been a beautiful day, but now we were in a bit of a race with the sun to see who would end their day rst. We crossed over into Pennsylvania riding along some neat and paved roads heading west a bit and then south, along the Lackawaxen River... Somewhere along the way the roads, that were clearly paved looking on Garmin’s Basecamp, showed to be less than that, and I ate Shira’s dust for a good amount of miles. We vectored onto cleaner pavement and then, just as I thought we’d beat the sun to Hawley and The Ledges Hotel, our planned overnight, Shira’s turn-signal came on and we headed down a small (but thankfully BACKROADS • APRIL 2022 macadamized) road called Creek Road, outside of Waymart. “Where are we headed?” I thought. I had to ask, as we rode up the dirt drive to CreamWorks Creamery. Unlike many creameries and homemade ice cream shops, CreamWorks has been supplying locals with farm-fresh milk for decades – just like it used to be. They had ice cream to go, as we had to as well, as the sun was dropping fast and we still had 30 miles to ride. Mr. Blue, you did it right But soon comes Mr. Night creepin’ over Now his hand is on your shoulder Never mind I’ll remember you this I’ll remember you this way Electric Light Orchestra

We passed by the long Prompton Lake, created back in the 1960s with the help of a 1230-foot long and 147-foot high earthen dam that was built in response to severe oods on the Lackawaxen River in 1936, 1942, and 1955. Today it offers a great park to hike, explore, and sh. It looked great in the golden light as the day rolled into the night. What a beautiful day. We rode across US 6 and Shira asked if I wanted to just cut the last bit of the route off and make straight for Ledges?

BACKROADS • APRIL 2022 Heck no! And with The Hornet Deer Alert Systems blaring (not just an advertiser, but a necessity) we rode the last bit of her excellent route into Hawley and down the winding road, along the natural cataract rock ledges of Paupack High Falls to the once ne glass factory, now a very stunning and upscale hotel that combines natural beauty, deep history, and modern amenities to make it a very worthwhile overnight destination.

That evening’s dinner at the hotel’s restaurant ‘Glass’ was only overshadowed by the stunning falls and the rising half-moon with Jupiter just above. The soft light, the waterfalls, and rocks…the image looked as if it was painted by Thomas Kinkaid. What a way to end that gift from the Road Gods called Indian Summer.