LAKE MINNEWASKA TRIP 1971
May 1 - 2, 1971
SATURDAY, MAY 1: Unpack and put things in their place, bringing in firewood from the bunkers in the hallway for the workable fireplace, and then John puts two glasses and the bottle of heavy wine into a paper bag and we're out to see what the surroundings are like. The carriages drawn by horses look ludicrous on automobile tires, but the ride seems pleasant, but we don't want to spend the money. We're out on the high road to Cliff House after going out on the porch, going up to the top to look over the land, now entirely under clouds, then across the top floor to poke into the topmost room, which could be lovely, and then up the winding trail, sometimes on the road, sometimes on the path, looking at all the lovely sitting places under their broad-brimmed hats of roofs, remarking about all the "rock gardens" which pop up every few feet, just like the advertisement said. Cliff House looks just as old and musty as Wildmere, and not quite so large, but the view from the first circle over the valley is quite spectacular, even though fog is beginning to cover some of the distant parts. Around to the lake side and listen to the Russians shouting their conversation to each other, and sip our wine and sit in "Shelf House" and look over the lake to Wildmere, watching the sun trying to come out of the clouds, watching the patterns of the ripples of the lake turn to molten lead under the reflection from the sun, and we necked gently and kissed as the wine took effect and the silence, broken by the shouts of tourists from across the way, began to drive in on us. The sun got lower and it got more chilly, and we went back along the top and down to the boat dock, saddened that it cost a dollar an hour for a canoe, and you were never really alone on such a small lake, and we looked out over the water as it got dimmer, and sat and sipped more wine, listening to the silence that was so intense there was a tone of it in my ears. Back to our room to change for dinner, making a fire to warm up the room, and down to the dining room to see others even without jackets, and we both settle on the ox tongue and see something that looks very much like three slices of pork butt. The gravy was tasteless, the barley soup tasted canned, the cottage cheese and peach salad was uninspired, the rolls were cold and hard, the linens were stained more than they were cleaned, the sour cream from the herring was slathered across everything when the waitress put the knife and fork BACK from the plate onto the tablecloth, the corn was awful, the baked potato passable, and my cherry sundae was made livable only because she brought an ewer of chocolate syrup, because John had seen the four dykes at the next table have the same thing. The enormous dining room was only half-empty, the old couples sitting around looked dowdy, the elegant couples looked at the wrong place, and only the Japanese looked elegant in his tailored suit. The maitre 'd looked like an older Evan who was now COMPLETELY down on the world. Back up to the room at about 9, and John put the blanket from the bed onto the floor, and set up a new fire, put on the radio, then wanted me to settle down for his "Body Ballet." He started in on it with such intensity that a number of things came to my mind: this was going to be the same thing as Bob Rosinek did, and I'm going to be hung-up because I'm expecting HIM to do it, and not John, and I can't tell John about that, since he prides it as HIS idea. Then I'm sure John is looking to SEXUALLY excite me by doing that, while I know it only makes me feel relaxed so much that sex is difficult. And then I don't want him thinking that my body is nice, and then when I don't do anything with it, disappoint him. Then he's so SET UP the evening for sex, I'm turned off even by the excessiveness of it. So I demur. He gets annoyed, but we don't talk about it until later, and I see how annoyed he DID get at it: why couldn't I let him do what he wanted to do; I wouldn't have had to be sexy about it, that could come later, why didn't I just give my body up to his hands, he wanted to get to know me, etc. etc. It was awful. So we started on conventional sex with the champagne, and then John smoked, and the music came on, and we both tried to get each other to the peak of sensation without relieving it, and finally we'd both gotten beyond the point of pleasure, and I wanted only to come, and so John also grabbed his own cock and we lay in a loose 69 position and jerked ourselves off, and I was feeling like a stupid fool for the evening, and John was stoned by now, so it really didn't matter AT THIS POINT. We sort of fell into a doze before the fire as it got lower and lower, and then he put another log onto it and we crawled into our twin beds. Immediately to sleep.
SUNDAY, MAY 2: John was up about 2 to put another log on the fire, and I woke at 4 to feel a chill in the room and the fire going out, and put another log on the fire, but when I woke at 7, I was sorry to see that it was out, and the log I'd put on had smoked, but hadn't caught. Down to breakfast and the sugar cake was good, the eggs tasted artificial, the sausage came in two tiny pieces, the hotcakes were hard, flat, and cold, not to mention an unpleasant taste, so we didn't finish them, and the coffee was not as good as last night. We ordered a box lunch to take out with us, and then decided to walk around the lake. It was cool under the trees, and it looked like it might rain at any minute, though it was clear on our mountaintop. Loads of snow nestled in piles in the shadows, and sodden streams made the going soupy. There were no willows around, and no flowers, so it seemed more like the tail of winter than the head of spring, and we kept seeing places falling into ruins from lack of upkeep. At the opposite end we saw that the rock-path leading to the sitting-hut at the end of the lake was under about a foot of water, so it was at spring swell, and a stream run out the end and down into the valley, hidden beneath fog far below, though the air was clear enough for us to see plainly a piper cub circling over the lake. Horseback parties passed and people shouted in conversation from the other side of the lake. We took the lower path under the Cliff House, and rambled among the boulders and slag from the hill, looking up in amazement at the huts far above us, looking at some of the sheer cliffs falling straight into the water. Thankfully, there was little canoe activity, so we had the lake almost to ourselves. Down to the dock for swimming and saw the same oar-finned bees propelling themselves underwater, though there seemed to be no fish. No bird-calls broke the silence, and we saw no wildlife whatsoever: no squirrels, chipmunks, owls, deer, though there were robins on the lawn at times. Look through the falling-apart dressing rooms, noticing the daisies drawn by someone whose name or persuasion seemed to be "Gay," and up the rotting staircases around masses of rock and down to the public swimming beach, where the water was clear and not as cold as expected. Then over the familiar path to the hotel, to pick up our box lunches and take off about noon, trying to find Lake Awosting. Found a map on the wall and copied off it, but we went down a long stretch of road that turned into unimproved trail that passed old houses abandoned, yet retaining roomfuls of furniture, and finally asked someone where the lake was, but he shook his head and said he didn't know about anything like that, yet I couldn't help but feel that the hotel had just sold it, it must be around somewhere, and they just weren't about to tell us. Back to the main road and we took another way back to the city, since it was only 1:30 and we didn't have to be at the road until 2:30, and it started raining gently, and we drove around Wawarsing and Napanoch and the Rondout Reservoir, and down through Woodborne and Fallsburg and Glen Wild to Route 17, which took us to the Thruway, while John ate his sandwiches, and finally we changed driving positions so that I could eat what was left of the box lunch, two sandwiches of fatty and gristly roast beef with only a thin slice of lettuce on the white bread to give it the slightest bit of interest, another shared orange, and a piece of jelly roll that wasn't very interesting, and the Cokes still sat in the front of the car. So the food was completely awful, and I think that was true even THOUGH the waitress said the cook was on vacation, and the rooms were much too musty to be enjoyable, and there have to be better places to stay for a weekend, and I'm so happy we didn't have to pay the $50 they wanted to charge, but accepted going back to the first $44.