Lehigh Valley rail-trail

Mile-Marker 11.5 on Lehigh Valley rail-trail. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

—“Kershaw or Lehigh Valley?” I asked my silly dog.
Dogs don’t care of course. Even the most boring destination for humans is thrilling for a dog. Smells to check out, critters to chase.
Kershaw is a city park at the north end of Canandaigua Lake. The Lehigh Valley rail-trail is Lehigh Valley Railroad’s Buffalo Extension. That Extension opened in 1892 to counter the fact demand for northeastern PA anthracite heating-coal, LV’s original traffic base, was dwindling. (Rock-hard anthracite burns cleaner.)
LV’s Buffalo Extension was extremely well engineered. But all it did was bridge railroad-traffic from Buffalo toward New York City. There wasn’t much lineside industry — it’s in the sticks.
Taxpayers eagerly subsidized highway transport; it’s more flexible. By mid twentieth century there were too many railroads across N.Y. state.
Good as it was Lehigh Valley’s Buffalo Extension was excess. Lehigh Valley went bankrupt, and was folded into gumint organized Conrail after many northeast railroads tanked, mainly Penn-Central.
Conrail eventually privatized, and Lehigh Valley abandoned. Its fabulous Buffalo Extension was pulled up, and all that remains is its wide right-of-way. That right-of-way in Monroe County (Rochester and environs) is now the Lehigh Valley rail-trail.
Previously I walked my dog at a park perhaps four miles from my home. It’s largely wooded, and used to be the water-supply for an eastern Rochester suburb. It has two large ponds behind dams. It’s a town park — no swimming. All I encounter are hikers and other dog-walkers.
I always avoided Lehigh Valley rail-trail, thinking it too far. That town park is close.
A couple months ago my aquacise instructor at the Canandaigua YMCA, where I do aquatic balance-training, wanted to meet my new dog. That’s Killian, Irish Setter #7; the craziest and most energetic Irish Setter I ever had.
That lady is also a dog-person, and has a totally blind Samoyed. She suggested we walk our dogs at Kershaw Park, which for me is 20-25 minutes away — 14 miles.
We walked our dogs there three weekends in quick succession; prompting my hairdresser to say “OOO-LA-LA! She’s after you, Bob.”
“She is not!” I snapped. “We’re just enjoying each other’s company, and I ain’t lookin’.”
I’ve since walked Kershaw myself perhaps eight more times; summer into winter. Kershaw makes my dog socialize, that town park didn’t.
I did Kershaw at least once per week — out of five park dog-walks per week. Killian gets a second dog-walk each afternoon, loose on my huge fenced property.
Later my aquacise instructor Facebooked her dog with others on what appeared to be a Canandaigua rail-to-trail. It was Ontario Pathways, the old Pennsylvania Railroad branch into Canandaigua.
I tried it myself with Killian; a “peaceful walk with nature,” she called it. I stole her line for a blog: “Some railfan you are!” I’ve walked that trail at least three more times, but it presents a bathroom problem. My prostate was removed a few years ago, so I hafta plan accordingly.
A three-mile “peaceful walk with nature” prompts the widdle-urge. On Ontario Pathways I hafta head into the woods; lunging dog in tow.
“Into the woods” is often on “private property — no trespassing.” Kershaw didn’t cause the widdle-urge. Its bathhouse was at the center, and now that it’s closed for winter, a PortaJohn was installed.
The widdle-problem determines where I walk the dog. Will Lehigh Valley rail-trail hit me with the widdle-problem? Yes and no. There is a fairly private place next to ballfields I can use. I was tiring of Kershaw, but if either rail-trail is snowed in, Kershaw will be it.
When I got up yesterday morning, New Year’s Day, all the snow was gone. Lehigh Valley rail-trail it would be.
So 4-5 miles on Lehigh Valley rail-trail with Killian. We hardly encounter anyone, but did meet one hiker. The path is incredibly wide. LV’s Buffalo Extension was two tracks, and Pennsy’s branch to Canandaigua was only one track — and not 60 mph railroad.
“We made 2019,” the guy shouted. “Slap me five!”
“I turn 75 this year,” I noted.
“Good for you,” he said.
“Keep moving,” I said. “Get a dog.”