Bike ride through the Catskills reveals fresh wonders

We checked on my mom’s car, parked in Hudson’s Columbia Memorial Hospital, before I took her home.

She wouldn’t be driving for a bit, so I explained how I would return her car to her house in the Northern Catskills. The plan didn’t really make sense to her, but the plan wouldn’t make sense to many people.

The next morning, when I pulled into the driveway of her Haines Falls home with my bike on the back of my car, my mom understood the plan. “You’re going to bike to Hudson?” she said and I nodded.

“Woo-hoo!” she said, “Adventure!” and raised her fist in the air.

I’ve driven state Route 23A between Haines Falls and Palenville hundreds of times but never ridden it on a bike. The road drops over 1,000 feet in a few short miles and the knobby tires of my mountain hummed in the winter air.

Near Kaaterskill Falls, the road is known locally as “Horseshoe Bend” and narrows dramatically. Traffic stopped while a tractor-trailer negotiated the difficult turn. This unexpected delay gave me extra time to admire the water crashing over the snow-covered rocks.

Past Horseshoe Bend, a slim veil of snow fell on what was otherwise a sunny day. For just a few minutes, I rode through a cold heaven of falling flakes past a crashing brook and towering rocks of ice.

When I returned to sunshine a few minutes later, I looked back to see the sun shining through the veil of snow, silver and glittering in the light. When I shared this phenomenon later with my mom, I didn’t tell her where it happened but she knew the phenomenon and the spot, because it happens sometimes and because in many ways, she is the Catskills, at least to me.

In Palenville, I stopped for lunch and hot chocolate at the Circle W before rolling past the congregating cows at Stories Farm. In the car, I’d never paid attention to the pretty Vly Creek that I crossed or the rushing Beaverkill, both, like me, making their way toward the Hudson. I paused to watch an eagle flying low over Timmerman Hill.

I once lived and worked in Catskill and would have told you that I “knew” the town. I was surprised then when I rode up Bridge Street and found Beattie Powers Place, a park overlooking the Hudson. On a bright January day, I stood and considered the incompleteness of knowledge and how many fresh wonders there are to discover.

At Beattie Powers Place, I leaned my bike against a tree and took in the sweeping views of the Hudson River and Olana, the historic home of painter Frederick Church, perched on a hill. I rested on a bench, my breath creating small clouds of mist until the chill prompted me back on the bike to generate more heat.

I rode across the nearly mile-long Rip Van Winkle bridge. There’s a lot I don’t know but I do know there are two sides of the river and only so many times you can cross. This is a thing we have discussed.

It is this knowledge that makes the day a gift. As I approach the east end of the bridge, I look back across the Hudson and the mountains on the western skyline.

At the end of the Rip Van Winkle, I met the Empire State Trail. I followed the blue and gold signs north by Mount Merino before meeting the bustling shops on Warren Street. I rode through town to the hospital and loaded my bike in the back of my mom’s Subaru.

I began the drive back on the route I had ridden on the bike. The sun sets early in winter, but, on this day, some light remained.

Hudson is a nice town, my mom will tell you, but the best thing about it is that you can see the Catskills from there.