A young boy rides his bike near the Cold Stream Bridge in Piseco, New York. The bike is made from at least two other bikes. The handlebars have no handgrips, and the seat is of bare metal. There are no fenders on this bike either, but the bike serves his purpose by allowing the seven-year-old to be away free to move around fast or slow.
Evidence of this is the rear tire, which is bald from the many high-speed stops caused by applying the brakes and sliding the tire along and wearing it out. Today is different. This day, the ride has a mission because the boy has just heard on the radio about the United States having to go to war against the North Koreans.
To better describe “My Piseco,” we should begin at the banks of Cold Stream at the end of what is now Haskell Road. This road actually ends at the home of Ila Simons, and there is only a wagon road from there to Cold Stream.
At this time, from the 1940s forward, there are only a couple of small hunting camps found along the wagon road. Deer hunters are transported by horse and buggy to places beyond Cold Stream where they would set up tents for staying back in the woods for deer hunting.
Through the years, life seem good being a kid and not yet a teenager. Some Christmases that come to my mid happened in these years. Most were pretty good for what we had, and most important is the fact that my dad was able to afford Christmas on certain years.
He always did the best he could. As proof, there is one Christmas he provided us with some amusement. There was a commotion downstairs early Christmas morning, so Chuck and I ran downstairs to see what the heck was going on.