At last, fortissimo!
After our brush with death in Vermont at the hands of chili-thirsty hounds, we headed west towards the city of broken Super Bowl dreams: Buffalo, NY. The plan was to view the mighty Niagara Falls here, and then hop the border into Canada to get a glimpse of the Falls on their side. On the way, we stopped in the Adirondacks Mountains to do some hiking. The Adirondacks are massive, one of the biggest ridges on the east coast. We selected Cascade Mountain, a 4 mile hike to the peak and back down. We get to the trailhead and notice something that we had not seen before: a ledger with a check in/check out box. We read that this was for the park rangers to be aware of your whereabouts, and if you aren’t checked in by sundown, they can begin the search for your frozen corpse. It was about 33 degrees fahrenheit at the base of the mountain as we began our ascent. It was a beautiful fall morning with red and orange trees and their fallen leaves guiding us up rocky and wooded terrain. The trail was steep, and that word does not do justice to how steep it exactly was. Our quads began to burn with lactic acid buildup as we trekked forward.
The trailmarkers that kept us on the right path 
Mickey in action 
Snow dusting at the begin of our climb 
Beautiful fall scenery 
Some terrain that we traversed
We were out of breath about 30 minutes in. The higher we went, the lower the temperature got. Red and orange gave way to green and white, as we were transported from a somber fall morning, into a frigid winter wonderland. Snow and icicles beset us either side, and a frozen creek created a divide down the center of a rock structured trail.
The further we went up the mountainside, the less the trail resembled a trail, and the more it resembled amateur bouldering terrain. We started to slip and grab onto the frozen tree trunks around us, as we noticed that entire rock surfaces and fallen logs were coated with at least an inch of solid, clear ice. About an hour into our journey, we crossed paths with an older German hiker-maybe in his mid to late 50s. He was decked out in every hiking accessory you could imagine. Hiking poles? Check. Full matching hiking suit? Check. Compact backpack with all the bells and whistles? Check. He look exhausted as he trudged his way down towards us. He scanned us down; not in a judging way, but kind of like a disapproving father who just told you what you were about to do was a bad idea, and we did it anyways. We had jeans, a jacket, and I had boots but McKayla had tennis shoes on.
German guy: What are you guys doing?
Us: We are going to the top!
G: It gets really dangerous up there, please, I beg of you, be careful and make sure to wear your ice spikes.
Us: … Ice spikes?
We looked down at his boots and realized they had metal spikes jutting out of the bottom and fronts of them which were banded together by a rubber harness that kept them snug on the form of his shoes. They were like chains for your feet, and we sure as hell had never seen anything like it-let alone owned a pair. We looked at him in bewilderment and his eyes widened.
G: Please, please be very careful… I would hate to see you two get hurt.
We thanked him for his advice, and dumb-wittedly headed up towards our dangerous demise. Well, to be fair, he wasn’t wrong, the journey was treacherous. Huge boulder faces made the remainder of the trail almost impossible. Completely shelled in ice, it was very dangerous for anyone to climb them. But, we did it anyways. Yes, I know, that wasn’t the best idea, but you don’t just give up a hike 3 miles in and head back. That’s gotta be the lousiest feeling I could imagine. After our best Survivorman impersonations willed us to the top of Cascade Peak, we stood atop the peak and took in the beautiful settings that lay beneath our journey. Peak after peak scattered in the sunlight met our eyes in a wonderful sight that will stay with me for the rest of my life. It was breathtaking. It was a cool 12 degrees fahrenheit at the peak. We caught our breath, snapped a few photos, and slid back down to our car for lunch, before continuing our journey, westward bound.
Mountaintop selfie 
Atop the peak of Cascade Mountain 
Icy terrain of German Folklore 
Walkin’ in a Winter Wonderland 
Me, some white stuff, and some nature things
– McKayla Slack
We rolled into Buffalo on a frigid, frostbitten evening. We were starving. I do not know if you know this about me, but I like wings. Chicken wings to be specific, of the buffalo nature. No, I’m not talking about that weak-sauce, dry-meat, cost-you-an-arm-and-a-leg-just-to-get-them-an-hour-later-cold Buffalo Wild Wings… No, I like them perfectly crisp, juicy, and tossed in the sauce of the Gods (or anything spicy, really). Well, I don’t know how many who read this who are well read on our country’s food geography history, but the grandiose of bar food and football parties was actually birthed for the first time in Buffalo. The mecca of meat eaters was born in a manger in a sports pub known as Frank and Theresa’s Anchor Bar. In 1964, Mother Theresa’s (no relation) son Dominic was tending the bar when his drunk friends came in, asking for food. So, of course, Dom had to ask his mom for some delicious treats-as every son in history has, and will continue to do until the end of time. Well, Mamma T went into the back and whipped up HISTORY. She took the drumsticks and flats she normally used to create chicken stock, and deep fried them. Then, an angel descended upon the kitchen she was in, and bestowed upon her the sacred, secret recipe for the sauce that would become famous around the globe: Buffalo sauce. She tossed the deep fried wings in her new culinary concoction and presented them to her inebriated dinner party. As you might have guessed, it was all history after that. Her new snack went viral (or whatever things did back then when they went big) and her wings became world famous. I don’t know if an angel actually gave her the recipe, but that is the only logical explanation I can come up for the birth of such a holy matrimony of hot and savory. Kidding.
Anchor Bar: the 8th wonder of the World 
Get yourself someone who looks at you the way I look with these wings
Now, we got there at around 7 PM, and I practically ran to the door. Admittedly, this was my most anticipated food stop of the trip. New York pizza? Please. Chicago style? You mean casserole? Nah. New England Clam Chowder? Child Plea-well you get the idea. Well, anyways, we walk into the pub and sit down in a room surrounded with signed pictures of famous people gorging on their delectable dinners of buffalo wings. Long story short, I order a pound of their traditional hot wings and if it weren’t for McKayla’s voice of reason, I would have ordered another after I polished them off before the waitress even let go of the plate. I won’t go into detail about what the wondrous wings of legend tasted like, I’ll just say that if they were $100 wing, I would still have ordered a pound. For those that say Heaven cannot exist on Earth, I employ them to go to Buffalo and change their minds.
We woke up the next morning to small snowflakes covering the roads and everything in sight with a light dusting. Thankfully, we were in a place that is used to the snow, so I didn’t have to worry about inexperienced snow drivers careening into us while we drove to the Falls. We get to the mighty Niagara Falls and the snow has transitioned into more of a wet, icy sleet. It was cold, it was wet, it was foggy. Fortunately, the fog was hanging ominously just above the opening of the waterfalls, so we still could see them in their splendor. We first visited American Falls and Bridal Veil Falls as we walked in step to McKayla’s chattering teeth. For those that do not know, Mickey does fair too well in the snow, as her southern roots are not accustomed to the frigid temperature of the north. She’s a trooper, and I’m always so proud of how she powers through any arctic tundra we may go through. Also fun fact for those that have never been to Niagara Falls, there are actually multiple. There are three, to be exact: American Falls, Horseshoe Falls, and Bridal Veil Falls. Horseshoe Falls, the longest of the three, is arguably the most iconic shot of Niagara. Better seen on the Canadian side, this waterfalls shape is easily described by its name. The American Falls is also beautiful and massive, and looks like a traditional, wide mouthed waterfall that is best seen on the American side, obviously. There is a very impressive sky deck constructed just above the American Falls that gives viewers a beautiful perspective of the waterfalls and the surrounding area. The final, smallest waterfall is Bridal Veil Falls, which does in fact look like its namesake. This one is miniscule in comparison to her bigger brothers, but is still a wonderful sight-best seen from the American side.
One cold couple 
Mickey and American Falls 
Mickey in the sky with diamonds 
Mickey and Bridal Veil Falls
After enjoying the view from our home turf, we decided to catch the falls on the flipside and venture across the border into the land of unusually nice folks, mounties, and Tim Hortons. After crossing the Canadian border, we were met with the exact same weather we went through on the American side (shocker, I know). The Horseshoe Falls were glorious, larger than life, and cold. We fought for parking, sprinted to the falls, enjoyed them, and then sprinted back to the car to warm back up. What a journey it was into Canada! We pulled up our planned trek and prepared to move forward. Our next stop: Cleveland, OH. Oh, how exciting of a stop! Probably the most anticipated stop of the whole trip-right below the entire state of Kansas, of course. We looked back at the map and realized something: Why don’t we just head towards Michigan? Our end destination for the first leg was Oregon, and this route would cut 4 hours off our time!
We decided to save scenic Believeland for a later time, as we were going to spend Christmas in Selma, IN, and would be in that neck of the woods later on anyways. Se we set forth to travel through Ontario, Canada with the endpoint being Detroit, MI. Canada was pretty nice! Although in the area we went through was not as scenic as we expected. London, ON is more of an industrial town and is pretty urbanized with not much to look at. Still a nice town, but my ignorant American mind was expecting Moose to be serving hugs and maple leaf-shaped candies on every block. Oh well. We stopped by a local diner on the way and had a delicious Greek-Canadian meal that warmed our cold bellies. Once we were a few minutes from the border, we set up camp, cuddled together and said goodnight to Canada, with plans to head back to the homefront in the morning. This unexpected detour saved us quite some time on our way to the Great Northwest, and later on would buy us time to relax in future states to come.
Cheers!
-Daniel-