I knew I didn’t have long with the Subaru BRZ, a morning at most. So I got up early and pointed north to the best backroads I know.
I’ve been going up past Fahnestock State Park for years. Sometimes I’d drive back full of a sense of achievement, winding dirt and crumbling paved roads in my wake. Some times I would ride back on a train, my car on a stretcher.
Actually, I’ve been driving on the same damn stretch of road for years now, and I decided it was time to search for somewhere new in the area. After the hour-long highway jaunt to the parklands, I turned right where I normally turn left. I was going to get lost, and I was going to find a new favorite byway.
It took a while. I looped around some lake that was lined with driveways, got routed into some tiny town, and decided I would just head home having not found anything spectacular.
But I decided to take a different way back (partially because this Subaru’s GPS was in a particularly confusing north-is-not-the-top-of-the-map layout) and I found it.
The start was a low-level bridge spanning a little reservoir, barely more than a lane wide. So few cars went down this way, I parked crossways and stopped for pictures without pissing anybody off.
And from the reservoir the road climbed up, twisting. It wasn’t even the curves that stuck out to me, it was the heaves. Big rises up and and down, chopping up every little deserted straightaway.
There were a few stretches where the road surface was new, but most of the pavement cracked and pebbled away at the edges, dissolving into gutters on one side and falling down a slope on the other.