Bienvenue a Plattsburgh!
Sep. 20, 2003: After climbing Marcy, I drove to Plattsburgh, getting there at night. Unfortunately, there was some kind of swine grower's convention or lumberjack rodeo or some convention or other in town, and all the rooms were either too expensive or booked. Furthermore, I was dismayed to find that the highway signs in the Plattsburgh area were bilingual. Aren't we going a bit too far for our Canadian "friends?" Can't they wait until they get over the border for the bilingualism to begin? Not finding shelter, I boarded the ferry to Vermont. That's where I was going anyway, since I wanted to climb Vermont's highest point, Mt. Mansfield, the next day.
The ferry scared the holy bejeesus out of me, especially because it was night and I was right next to the railing separating me from Lake Champlain. I wanted to get out of the car, but I had this mental image of me falling over the railing. So, I locked the door and waited it out. It's not like I haven't been on boats before, but I don't think I've been on one at night.
There was a hot rod convention in Burlington, so I tented it at the Shelburne Campground after getting some useful beta from a Patt Morrisonesque motelier whose card is not immediately to hand.