Four and a half hours later and 160 miles south into PA. No intervening photos because all energy and attention were devoted to avoidance of death. This may be a slight overstatement in retrospect but there were significant doubts during the commission of this act. Let me rewind. NY has the Finger Lakes in the area we traversed, mostly high plateau landscape, well flattened by many succeeding glacial ravages before man caused this "global warming nightmare" (not my words or belief). My Dad grew up here. His Dad was a motorcycle messenger in WWI, joined the Post Office after that War to End Wars. That vital government job kept the family safe and warm through the Depression. My Dad told of 1930's family vacations in their Model A Sedan, Grandma and Gramps with the 3 kids, bound for Florida every summer. One week driving south, 2 weeks on the beach and one week back home. WWII saw Grandpa recalled as Director of APO/FPO mail services for the Southeastern US. My Dad enlisted at 18 into the Air Corps, finishing that War as a P-47 fighter pilot in Okinawa. Gramps went back as Postmaster of his hometown PO. My Dad continued flying with the USAF. As his oldest son, I did catch the flying disease. As his rebel son, I went Naval Air, flying off aircraft carriers as opposed to the Country Club Aviators in USAF Blue. Best choice I ever made! That led to my interest in old planes and old cars - both nasty habits first introduced to me by my Dad. As a result, there was always something ancient and mechanical in parts and pieces in the workshops while our kids were growing up.
OK - back to the travelogue: Unlike this route thru NY, the PA portion strikes diagonally up, over, around, down and across the claw-like series of ridges that define the Alleghanies. The early Air Mail pilots of the 1920's and 30's called this the "Hell Stretch", a well earned Nom de Guerre. These hills are littered with smashed Swallows, Stinsons, DH-4s, Jenny's and a Lockheed or two. Steve used geo and sat nav mapping apps on his phone to plot the safest course thru for us. Basically, we'd stick with the lower runs, following the many tributaries of the Susquehanna River as they tumbled and raced downhill. Despite the best efforts we still had a dozen or so stiff ascents, straining second gear followed with flying downhill assaults on the Mail Truck's brakes and my sanity. We swerved and screeched and jockeyed with the guard rails for over 3 hours in the Susquehanna State Forest. Eerie places, that. The Black Forest Inn buried hauntingly in a dense and dark forest of ancient pines. Who the heck thought that would be a great spot for a resort? Not a village around for miles. After one particularly religion-inspiring plunge downhill we were greeted by a sign placed by those ever-fun-loving PA DOT workers - "Welcome to the Highway to the Stars" and the promise that we had at least 2 of the highest summits in these parts to conquer. Since the road back was bad, the only option at the time was to press on. Neither the Ford nor I found any humor in that cheerful sign. Finally we spit out the bottom approaching Lock Haven, home of the last profitable Piper Aircraft factory and its airport, visited annually by scores of Piper Cubs on their "Sentimental Journey". But that's not our destination. Further west lies Bellefonte Airport, which is near the original 1920's grass strip used by pioneer air mail pilots. The strip is now a high school but the airport pictured here has an extensive tribute to the air mail of 100 years ago. Being a Mail Truck and a retired commercial pilot, we simply couldn't pass up the visit while we were in the vicinity. The hangar rats flocked out to talk air mail while the MT marked its visit, depositing a small puddle of oil on the ramp. That leak, by the way, seems to drip from the base of the oil fill tube. Perhaps not.
>). With the run, thing will get smoother
