Genesee River

Ridiculous as it might seem, I’ve always felt the dividing-line between east and west is the Genesee River.
This is rather silly, since the Genesee isn’t that much. It starts in northwest Pennsylvania, then cuts all the way across New York, south-to-north, and empties into Lake Ontario at Rochester.
My first encounter with the Genesee was at Houghton, where it passes on the east side. By then it is about 40 yards wide and four feet deep — substantial enough to flood.
But the college was about 50-60 feet above the floodplain on the western hillside overlooking the Genesee Valley, so the town might flood but not the college.
It’s flooded Houghton a few times, and apparently tore up the valley during Hurricane Agnes. But the old abandoned railroad-bed, previously the towpath of the Genesee Valley Canal, protected the town. It acted like a levee.
The Genesee does a number of waterfalls, mostly in Letchworth Park, but does two large falls in Rochester. Rochester is there because of the Genesee and those falls. The river was harnessed to mill grain shipped out on the Erie Canal. The Genesee Valley was the nation’s first bread-basket, and had a canal of its own (the Genesee Valley Canal) early in the 19th century.
That canal passed through Houghton, at that time named Jockey Street. Willard Houghton arrived wanting to clean the town up — it was rife with drunken brawls and prostitution. Impromptu horse races were held up-and-down the main drag, which was why it was called Jockey Street.
In 1980 we set out on a cross-country trip to the Pacific in our humble Dasher, and started east of Fillmore on the high hill overlooking the the Genesee Valley.
I was introduced to that vista at Houghton. From there it seemed you could see all the way to the Rockies. The west seemed to start there.
It was an extraordinary trip — motivated by Jack Kerouac — but the first couple days were awful.
I had hooked together scenic routes across Ohio, Indiana and Illinois, but they were just like western New York.
No real change in scenery until we hit Kansas — on a later trip we just got on I-90 and headed west.
And Kansas was exasperating because we had picked a scenic route that paralleled the old Santa Fe Trail, that across Kansas followed the old road-grid.
First a mile south, then a mile west, then a mile south, and then a mile west. Not until we hit western Kansas did our route straighten out — southwest.
The Santa Fe railroad followed the old trail at first; ziggity-zag, just like the roads. It was fairly level, but not as the crow flies.
Eastern Colorado was prairie, and we were on I-70. We passed an off-ramp for “First View,” and sure enough you could begin to see the Front Range of the Rockies. At last; took five days.
We attacked the Rockies from Boulder, after meeting some guy at a Denver gas-station that had moved there from Rochester.
We encountered the Pacific in San Francisco, drove down the Pacific Coast Highway, and turned back east in Los Angeles.
We drove straight home; all interstates. Our dog Casey, being boarded, was somewhat neglected and a mess.
It turned cloudy as we approached Rochester — just like home.
We have always lived east of the the Genesee. I feel attached to the east. West of the Genesee is not home.