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cheap beer and water temperature changes
Monday, July 27 2009
Gretchen was off to attend a prescreening of a film in Woodstock, something I'd originally planned on doing with her, but the day was turning out to be a fairly hot one, at least by the standards of this summer, and when Ray popped over inviting us to go swimming at "the swimming hole," I decided that this was what I wanted to do instead.
Ray drove back to his cabin saying he'd call me in 45 minutes, which gave me a wide expanse of time to putter around (45 minutes for Ray amounts to 2 hours of time in the Earth's quasi-inertial frame). I ended up doing a little light welding for the greenhouse window latch project, attaching a long bolt to the short handle on a conventional window slide bolt, which will allow me to attach a big handle to make closing the greenhouse windows easy. This was the first welding I'd done since my "welder's tan," and I was sure to don a teeshirt this time.
Ray's brother-in-law Adam have me directions to the swimming hole, which was one I'd never gone to before. He told me a location that I took to mean the intersection of Sawkill and Zena Road, a crossroads I call "Not A Store" after the "store" there that has this message in its window. There's also a field behind this store with a sign saying "Land Not For Sale." But there are no scantily-clad women standing around in slit miniskirts and teeshirts reading "I'm Not a Prostitute."
So after buying a six pack of 16 ounce Busches at the Stewarts at the beginning of Zena Road, I parked a short distance down John Joy Road, just east of where it crosses Sawkill Creek. There are more cars on John Joy than I'd expected, and they're going fast and impatiently, so had to hurry the dogs across the road and then down to the creek. At this point (42.018079N, 74.075017W) it's rambling through boulders and there are places one could swim if one was so inclined, but it didn't look like many had been here before.
I forded the creek sat on the bank for awhile waiting to see if Ray and the crew would show up (I could easily see out to the road). Sally was wandering off and it made me concerned that she was going to end up in the road, so I followed her, eventually ending up in a huge opening, the grounds of Zena Elementary School. Had school been in session, I might have tripped over masturbating preverts in the bushes, but the only creatures present were small and furry. I didn't see any, but their smells were so compelling to Sally that I literally had to carry her away in my arms. Mind you, she weighs over 40 pounds, so this is not something I resort to often.
I decided to drive further up Sawkill towards Woodstock, not knowing that Sawkill actually ends at Not a Store and the road going northwest from there is a continuation of Zena Road.
The swimming hole I was looking for was unmistakeable once I saw it; it had a large parking area crowded with about a dozen vehicles on the side of Zena Road (42.038066N, 74.085553W). I walked in a short ways and found my people (and their dogs) lounging on some rocks. Ray was in the water doing that slow-motion swimming he does.
I gradually waded into the water, but I found it a bit cold for comfort and I kept being distracted by Sally, who kept disappearing and I was afraid she'd wander into Zena Road (she's grown increasingly neurotic and easily-bored in her old age).
I'd brought my snorkle and goggles, so when I finally went under, it was a good way to look at fish and pebbles and what not. I didn't see any golf balls, but they're not uncommon amongst the cobblestones; there's a big golf course on the Sawkill closer in to Woodstock.
Eventually the others left, leaving just Ray and me to sit on the rock outcrop, drink our beers, and interact noncommitally with passersby (both human and canine). Once it was just Ray and me, people felt more comfortable taking up positions nearby. Judging by the number of single men without pot bellies, we had the feeling that this area (which includes a dam a short hike further up the creek) was "pretty cruisy," at least by the standards of Woodstock.
I drove Ray back to his cabin, and once Linda and her mother were out of the hot tub, Ray and I climbed in (it's not big enough for more than two people), continuing to drink our beers (by now we were done with the Busches and had moved on to Millers). I didn't end up being all that drunk, but between the different temperatures of water and the cheap beer, my head was starting to hurt.
Ray and friends would be barbecuing chicken for dinner tonight, so I drove back home. Gretchen seemed favorably impressed that I'd give up a chicken barbecue to go home to the land of permanent veganism, but it seems that, slowly but surely, I've changed. Though I know I'd still like chicken, at least purely from a culinary standpoint, I don't find chicken as tempting as I did not so very long ago.
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