2020-07-21 42 -77

Tue 21 Jul 2020 in Corning: 42.8846141, -77.3548799 geohashing.info google osm bing/os kml crox

Location

A cornfield near Centerville, New York (between Canadaigua and Brookfield)

Participants

• David

Expedition

Okay look, before I begin: I KNOW. Don't lecture me. I know I'm not supposed to trespass. But, what if, just a little trespassing?

I guess I should explain myself. I'm coming back to geohashing after many years' absence. I did it quite a bit when I was living in Denton, TX (Latitute 36, Longitude -97), but never logged anything. I've moved to Rochester, NY fairly recently. I also recently made a lot of upgrades to my old, beloved bicycle, and wanted to put her to the test. I decided 50 miles would be a good test ride for my new gear. Today, this hash was exactly 25.9 miles (42.7 km) from my home in Rochester. Perfect, I thought! But a fly in the ointment: It was clearly in an agricultural field.

No matter, I said to myself. The house the field certainly belongs to is right there, just across the road from the field. I fancy myself a reasonably likable person. I can just knock on the door, ask for permission, no problem.

I was eager to get back in the game. I was, it turned out, too eager.

I reached the house across the street no problem. There was a black pickup truck in the yard, so I knocked on the door, hoping to find the field's owner. No answer. Several knocks later...still nothing. I hadn't planned on this. Nobody home? I had planned on people being home and rejecting me. I had planned on people being home and accepting me. I hadn't planned on this. And I damn well hadn't come 26 miles by bike for nothing. I was Getting To That Hash.

I decided that my opportune route would be to hang a left on SH-20 just south of the hash, stash my bike somewhere safe, and then walk through the woods until I arrived at the cattle pond just west-southwest of the hash. Then I could dart out, covered by the trees, snap a pic, and no one would be the wiser.

I found some conveniently mowed trails cutting into the wooded area. Perfect! I excused my indiscretion by rationalizing that, well, maybe this was a semi-public park, people locally didn't mind others wandering down it. It's a beautiful little area, down the creekbed. This, as it turned out, was the most relaxed portion of my expedition. The trail soon ended, leaving me to thrash my way through dense underbrush with some wicked thorns. Now, I'm a country boy myself, but I'm from Texas, and where I'm from, the underbrush is oak scrub and brambles. This was like nothing I'd ever seen. This was New York State at its most robust, green, and dense. This was New York State owning my Southern ass with its completely overwhelming underbrush. This was a lot of plants knowing they were going to have to sow their seed in the next month or they were getting buried by an early snowstorm. This was botanical war, and I was the self-imposed victim.

My legs were torn up as all get out by the time I actually made it to the treeline, but I did make it. I could see the hash--it couldn't have been more than 50 feet in front of me. But just as I was about to make a break for it, I heard the sound of a tractor coming towards me through the trees from the southeast. And then it struck me: The pickup truck? The house?

The farmer wasn't gone. He was WORKING. He was mowing the edge of his fields for easy access. And I was right along that edge.

Well, that's all the signs I need. Underbrush scraping me up, tractor bearing down on me, and I knew it was wrong to begin with? Shoot, I hightailed it outta there and back into the treeline quick as a white-tailed deer.

Never did make the hash. But did have a couple of nice pints at the Irish Mafia Brewing Company a few miles to the west. They make a decent pilsner. I recommend it.

I don't recommend trespassing. Never again, scout's honor.