At Lake Placid Station"
The Adirondacks are dotted with rural railroad stations, quaint buildings quietly serving their purpose and extremely pleasing to view. Each town's is unique, with a sign proudly stating the location. When trains were replaced by automobiles, these beautiful structures fell into neglect. Luckily many have been rediscovered and new tourists trains are again stopping at their platforms. We visited this Lake Placid station years ago and noticed the wonderful light poles. One can only imagine steaming into the village on a cool evening and being welcomed by the graceful lights. We went back a couple of years ago to see a train stopped there, the station restored and turned into a delightful museum. But I forgot to look for the lights, I'm not sure if they are still there.
We have some cross country skiing friends who moved from Glens Falls to Lake Placid, and a while back we were invited to a little dinner party of three couples. We threw our skis in the car just in case. There wasn't a great deal of time for skiing so the three guys and I decided to take a little stretch around a field where a new, monstrous house was being constructed. The skiing didn't take a long time and the roofless house seemed to grab our attention. Who isn't fascinated by lumber slowing turning into a building? Since our host knew the people he asked if we would like to go take a look. We removed our skis which leaves Nordic ski boots on our feet. These are hard plastic on the bottom with extensions protruding at the toe, quite unfit for walking on hard surfaces. We climbed the steps and started exploring the framed-out rooms making loud stomping sounds with our rigid heals on the flooring, enhanced by the empty basement below. I tried to walk softly but the sound reverberated through the frigid north country air. My husband, Gino, in the meantime left the group and decided to see what the cavernous basement looked like. His foot just hit the top step, when he noticed too late that the entire flight was covered with a thin layer of ice. The next thing we all heard was deafening sound of the cross country skier tumbling down into the darken hole, groaning in pain as he went. Then there was only silence. We all hesitated, listening for signs of life and then took off running to the other wing, drowning out Gino's pleas not to come, he was alright. We sounded like a frightening herd of Clydesdales galloping across the plywood. He knew our host, a giant of a man, and a doctor, would be the first to arrive, hit the top step and crush into a little puddle of flesh, fleece and nylon. Not inventorying for broken bones Gino managed to get to his feet and stop the rescuers from sharing his fate. Luckily he was just bruised and crawled back up the steps to safety. We managed to get back to the warm house with a roof and haven't explored any construction sites since, at least not basements.
The Adirondacks are dotted with rural railroad stations, quaint buildings quietly serving their purpose and extremely pleasing to view. Each town's is unique, with a sign proudly stating the location. When trains were replaced by automobiles, these beautiful structures fell into neglect. Luckily many have been rediscovered and new tourists trains are again stopping at their platforms. We visited this Lake Placid station years ago and noticed the wonderful light poles. One can only imagine steaming into the village on a cool evening and being welcomed by the graceful lights. We went back a couple of years ago to see a train stopped there, the station restored and turned into a delightful museum. But I forgot to look for the lights, I'm not sure if they are still there.
We have some cross country skiing friends who moved from Glens Falls to Lake Placid, and a while back we were invited to a little dinner party of three couples. We threw our skis in the car just in case. There wasn't a great deal of time for skiing so the three guys and I decided to take a little stretch around a field where a new, monstrous house was being constructed. The skiing didn't take a long time and the roofless house seemed to grab our attention. Who isn't fascinated by lumber slowing turning into a building? Since our host knew the people he asked if we would like to go take a look. We removed our skis which leaves Nordic ski boots on our feet. These are hard plastic on the bottom with extensions protruding at the toe, quite unfit for walking on hard surfaces. We climbed the steps and started exploring the framed-out rooms making loud stomping sounds with our rigid heals on the flooring, enhanced by the empty basement below. I tried to walk softly but the sound reverberated through the frigid north country air. My husband, Gino, in the meantime left the group and decided to see what the cavernous basement looked like. His foot just hit the top step, when he noticed too late that the entire flight was covered with a thin layer of ice. The next thing we all heard was deafening sound of the cross country skier tumbling down into the darken hole, groaning in pain as he went. Then there was only silence. We all hesitated, listening for signs of life and then took off running to the other wing, drowning out Gino's pleas not to come, he was alright. We sounded like a frightening herd of Clydesdales galloping across the plywood. He knew our host, a giant of a man, and a doctor, would be the first to arrive, hit the top step and crush into a little puddle of flesh, fleece and nylon. Not inventorying for broken bones Gino managed to get to his feet and stop the rescuers from sharing his fate. Luckily he was just bruised and crawled back up the steps to safety. We managed to get back to the warm house with a roof and haven't explored any construction sites since, at least not basements.
SOLD
