The meal aboveSeneca Lake.
     The night at Richford – bed bugs drive me from my room (which I had won by a flip of a coin) to the other fellows room where I slept on the floor.  Early in the evening we had taken a walk around the village a quality of mystery and a feeling of olden days inSalem, (that the bright light of the next morning dispelled utterly.)
     Breakfast was gruesome – clammy pancakes, cold unbrowned fried potatoes, “iodine” coffee, the eggs alone saving it from complete disaster.  An old dirty dining room decorated in the worst of 1890 ideas; a wax model on a side board (which prompted ribald remarks from J.J.) and garish artificial roses on the table.
     Before leaving I carefully killed several bed bugs and put them in a conspicuous place on the bed.
     From here on the trip became more and more headlong. Watkins,Ithaca, Grand Gorge – all make little impression.
     We had intended on staying at Turnersville but finding no room, we pushed on towardsWoodstock.
     The Catskills were great and with a thunderstorm rumbling near, we thought at once of Rip Van Winkle.  The ride downhill to the lowlands was thrilling and seemingly endless – moon above dark deep