You know I like to hike, right? Adam and I have a repertoire of hikes that we pull from every weekend, and one of the best, which means it’s strenuous enough for us plus has bathrooms, is called the Major Welch trail, at Bear Mountain state park. Bear Mountain is just across the Hudson from Peekskill, which is where tiny bungalow is located. It has a steep, sheer rock face, plus a steady uphill hike to approach that rock face. It’s long enough, and tough enough to satisfy our hiking needs. Just a really good hike.
Except that the park is a dump. Bear Mountain was one of the first WPA/CCC-era state parks to be built during the depression, it has a beautiful old Adirondack style lodge building, an old carousel, a skating rink, a lake, lots of stuff. It had a major makeover a few years ago, and it would be a beautiful, National Parks caliber place, if it weren’t only 50 miles from NYC. As I said, it’s a dump. Literally.
The place is so overused, and so overrun with douchebags and morons every weekend, that we can only bear to go there on weekdays, park outside of the actual park and hike in, do the climb, use the bathrooms and get the hell out. Major Welch is one of the best climbs in the region, imho, and when you get to the top of Bear Mountain, you get a view of the entire lower Hudson valley, clear down to Manhattan! You can see the city from there. It’s pretty cool. You can also drive up to the top–not so cool. Because after you sweat and pant your way up the rocks, there’s all these a-holes in their cars, blocking the view. Or people who hiked up the easy trail, the one with steps and handrails. Grrr.
And what do all those a-holes, d-bags and morons do at the top, other than take selfies so tantalizingly close to the edge? (Adam has to practically restrain me…just a tiny little tap, that’s all it would take). They buy crap from the vending machines that have replaced the old hiker’s shop and bathrooms at the top! Yup. You can drive your douchy SUV to the top of Bear Mountain, hoist your woefully un-fit self out of the car, buy a can of pumpkin spice Pringles and a blue-flavored Gatorade, take you f-ing selfie, and get back into your stupid car and drive back down, leaving a trail of exhaust fumes for me to breathe in. Thanks, America. Oh that, and a trail of litter and trash and garbage a mile deep. Sweet. God bless us, everyone. We’re doomed.