A Beach In New York State: By Gareth Smith

I remember that I forgot my wallet with my drivers license right before I pulled out of the drive way. I stopped, got out with the car while it was still running, found my wallet on the desk with all of the keys and shit, and then left. This fact is no omen or anything. It was just a little detail. 

Following this perceived near-mistake, I put Lake Erie State Park into google maps on my phone (it would be a one hour and eleven minute drive along state highways and county roads, not on scary interstates), put a podcast on and drove down the street. 

My choice to go to Lake Erie State Park was more or less made out of a combination of creative laziness, lack of interesting options for this assignment, and yet a desire do drive an unnecessarily for distance. Being in quarantine and the subsequent boredom that is entailed can really kill any major pushes to be creative. I was having trouble thinking of any clever places that might actually be interesting enough to write a paper like this one on. Keeping this in mind, I had exhausted pretty much all interesting places in the vicinity of Warren that I could go to for the first time, and I had the thought that this state park might have enough going for it. I also had the bright notion that driving farther would make this experience exponentially more memorable. So taking each of these factors into account, I looked on a map and found this Lake Erie State Park. 

Maybe twenty minutes into the drive, I got a little uncomfortable. It was that feeling you get during a long, uneventful car ride where your limbs get a little heavy, maybe you feel a bit hot, or perhaps you feel kind of anxious. This is an interesting feeling; not very pleasant, but certainly not unbearable. 

I had made the choice to listen to a podcast on the history of Rome. Under most circumstances, I would have potentially found it fascinating, but in this circumstance It was not possible for me to keep me mind on it. My mind would drift to other places. 

I remember that google maps lead me on to a road called Chautauqua County Touring Road 380. It was a back-country, farm road that winded its way through the rural rolling hills.  New York State (the location where my journey took place) has terrible roads. It was impossible to to maintain consistence in my driving. One minute, I’d be going down a misangled road. Then I’d be driving through a streak of pot holes. It was a very tough place. Compounded with this, I was aware that New York police like to set up lots of speed traps. I have no idea if this belief was true or not, but none the less, it made me cautious at least. 

All that being said, the landscape was a mixture of dark brown, maroon trees, grass colored with tarnished green and khaki, and rundown old farm houses and barns. Everything was empty and desolate. I could count the number of cat I passed on 380 on one finger.  It was nice. I wouldn’t call it beautiful, but it was nice. “Gloomy” would be a more appropriate description.

The road leading to park from the highway exit was well maintained, I remember. It was a smooth, light-grey, asphalt surface with two yellow lines that lead down its center. However, I was taken aback by how narrow it was. It was uncomfortable. I slipped off of it several times Lucky enough for me, no one was driving on the opposing lane. 

When once I had entered the park, I didn’t notice much of interest at first. Eventually I came to a fork in the road. If I went one way I’d go to a camp ground, and if I’d go at the other way I would come upon the “beach,” inn and picnic area. I took the latter entry. 

I drove down the road and passed a trailhead to a nature path. I think it was to show the the viewer some kinds of trees. I recall that it had a sing proclaiming that no dogs were allowed this trail. 

Soon I pulled into the pulled in on oversized parking lot (probably an acre, perhaps two in size). And there were probably two cars there. I turned the podcast off, got out of my car, and started down towards the “beach. There I saw a man walking his two Yorkies. The grass by the sidewalk to the “beach” seem trimmed and well kept. 

I walked down the trail coming off of a small knoll, and I found myself at the entrance of the “beach.” It a short rocky bluff: a pile of dark-grey plates of slate that were the size of vinyl records. This bluffs covered in small branches of drift wood like the feet of a large crane. The grey ski and brown-blue color of the lake complimented the day’s gloomy look. There was a tiny, little boat on the lake just bellow the horizon. The wind was then overwhelming and I soon retreated back up the grassy knoll.

On my way back to the car, I passed an inn. The rundown, gingerbread house aesthetic of the place thoroughly spooked me. One of those standard “closed, call back later” sings withe clock on it was hanging in the window. I wasn’t sure if it was permanently closed of if the park authorities were planning on having it open in summertime. I circled the building, glanced inside through a window, and saw totes and bins full of arts and crafts supplies. To this day I am still puzzled by this in. It reminded me of the restaurant be the shore in “The Goonies.”

I passed by a picnic area with a series of metal tables that were flipped on their sides. 

Then, I was back at my Car. I turn the podcast about Rome back on and I left. 

I past that nature trail and stopped with the intent to check it out. Maybe twenty seconds after I had pulled into a parking spot at the trailhead, I lost every ounce of interest in trail. Either this, or I had no actually interest in it in the first place. Im not sure.

Once again, I entered into google the route I would be taking home. Last time I took the route that lead me down that Chautauqua County Touring Road 380. This time I would change it up. This time I’d be taking a slightly longer route (about five minutes longer the the last one, so about one hour and sixteen minutes). You Know, I like to change things up sometimes. 

I, again, left on the narrow entry road, and headed down the highway. Like before the road was bumpy and cover in pot holes like goose shit in a local park. 

Like before the podcast about Roman history fail to engage me. Like before my mind drifted to other places: beautiful long take action scenes of a Korean prince slay dozens of zombies (from the show “Kingdom” on Netflix, a show I recently binge while in quarantine). 

The road I was on on started to be noticeably different to the Road 380 I was on before; it was tighter, surrounded by swamps and much windier. However, there still were many houses in shambles.

The road was hard to drive on. It wound its was up and down hills and rounding tight bends. I was difficult to manage my speed and keep near the speed limit (note that I am also a relatively bad driver so please do not take these descriptions as excuses). 

All the while i was trying to mind the speed traps. I’d always be looking behind me for the lights of police cars. I was paranoid. I was a rabbit scampering away from things like caiman living in the amazon.

Then it came up on me. A police car was pulled off on in a drive way. I looked down and found that my speed was fifty five miles an hour, but the forty five. I slowed down quickly and soldiered on. I waited and waited for the lights behind me. He had to have seen me, I told myself. However, with each passing second I thought about about it. That police car was pulled over in the driveway of what looked like a crack house. They were probably arresting someone for possession.

Eventually I rounded a ben a and could begin to see a lake in the distance. It was kind of pretty, but remember that the day in general looked bleak. 

The other lane of the road then spilt off. Then the road became a four lane interstate. Then the speed limit jumped to sixty-five miles per hour. The I was surrounded by a few dozen cars. And it was slightly daunting. There were SUVs and sedans driving like assholes and eighteen wheeler semi-trucks tailing me. There were vehicles everywhere. My speed limit was all over the place. However it was always under the speed limit. I rationalized to myself: my speed is jumping all over the place, so maybe I am the asshole. Then I remembered: I don’t want to get caught in one of those speed traps, so I’m definitely not one of the assholes. So I kept on driving just like that.

I eased onto the exit that google told me to ease onto. A few minutes later I ended up in downtown Jamestown, New York. 

Due this quarantine, I was expecting the to be less people in the downtown of lightly metropolitan city. I was mistaken. You could have easily thought that it was rush our in any other city.

In any event, there were still many cars and it was very confusing, the roads were very bad (as they tend to be in New York), I was still driving very badly, and I was still paranoid of speed traps. All I had to do to make all of these problems go away was make it to the Pennsylvania border. I knew if I could do that there would be less traffic, there would be pretty much no speed traps, and I could effectively drive how ever I wanted. These might as well all have been true. All I had to to was get to that broad. 

Then I saw the sign. Welcome to Pennsylvania. And I was Deeply satisfied.