Olean, New York

With the Fourth of July imminent I’m not sure if I want to be in rural New York for the occasion.  In one community after another vendors of fireworks have set up tents selling their merchandise with the enticement of “Buy one, get one free.”  I’ve already heard quite a few being tested.  Chris and I were barraged by what we thought was a series of gun shots our first night camping together, but were actually fireworks.

I had somewhat set a goal of cycling around New York until I found a license plate, hoping I would succeed while I picked off the thirteen Carnegies in the western end of the state.  I have just two remaining and have yet to find one.  I would like to drop down to Pennsylvania after the final Carnegie in this part of the state and start in on the fourteen Carnegies in its west that I have yet to visit, including six branches in Pittsburgh that I didn’t have time for on a previous visit.  I may just have to forego that New York license plate, as it would be over one hundred miles across the bottom of the state to the next Carnegie in Elmira.

Along with all the fireworks for sale is a lot of firewood.  There are regular stands along the road with bundles going for three or four or five dollars, all on the honor system.  The town of Alfred had an honor system cabinet full of books and clothes and knick knacks.  At first I thought it was a mini-version of Telluride’s legendary Free Box, but it was accompanied by an explanation that it was a fundraiser for homeless cats and dogs started in 1973.

An even larger cabinet solely of books outside the Carnegie in Hornell was a version of a Little Free Library.  It didn’t want books in exchange or even books returned.  It was primarily filled with books discarded from the library that were free for the taking. Two little girls were avidly perusing what it had to offer, as the library behind wasn’t open.  

I caught the director of the library leaving in the rear of the building and asked where the addition to the library began as the bricks were so evenly matched.  She pointed it out and said it was done thirty years ago and increased the size of the library by 2,000 square feet, more than three times it’s original 600 square feet.  She confirmed that Carnegie’s portrait was on display,  but offered no invitation to give it a peek.  Not a single librarian has been willing to allow me a quick look at their closed library even with a neckerchief around my face, or maybe because of it.

The Hornell Carnegie was the only one in a series of six that did not have a Main Street address.  It was on Genesee, a Seneca word meaning “beautiful valley.”  I’ve been cycling through a series of them, some separated by strenuous climbs of a mile or more.  There are two Seneca reservations in the area.  Chris and I passed through one along the coast before Buffalo with the usual casino.

The small town of Perry felt no more inclined to open its Carnegie than Hornell.  It had a long gentle ramp added to its side leading to the front entry, which was barred by yellow tape leaving no doubt that it was closed

The former Carnegie Library on the campus of Alfred University was on the fringe of the campus on Main Street.  It retained the Carnegie name as Carnegie Hall and was now an administration building.  The long building was distinguished by a gorgeous set of interlocking bricks and hadn’t been added on to. The compact campus featured a ceramics museum to go along with a ceramics major.  

I had a long, steep climb over a high ridge to another beautiful valley and the small town of Andover and it’s Carnegie.  There was a small park across the street with several benches, including two under cover with a nearby electric socket.  I would have sat on the steps of the library for at least a few minutes but one needed a password for its WiFi even though signs advertised that its WiFi was available. If I had been desperate for WiFi I would have ducked into the post office or the nearby shops asking if anyone knew the password.  That would have been a fun exercise.

It was another pretty ride through forested terrain to Bolivar and it’s Carnegie.  My eyes caught the word “Open” on a sign out front on the sidewalk and I had a quick surge of hope until I read the rest of the sign—“for curbside pickups.”  It’s WiFi demanded a password too.  A sign on the door said to ring the bell for pickups.  I rang it and asked the librarian for the password—bolivarlib.  She verified that Carnegie’s portrait was on display and that the library hadn’t had an addition in its 110 years.  It was identified by simply “Library” over the door flanked by a nineteen and a ten.  A National Register of Historic Places plaque was to the right of the door. 

 Out front was a stack of saltine crackers with a sign reading “Free, take what you need.”  No one came by while I was there.  

The Carnegie in Olean, a much larger city, was in the very center of the city next to an equally grand post office just past a large roundabout.  The library was now “The Old Library Restaurant.”  Even though it had a dozen tables out front in a lovely garden setting, it wasn’t open.  Next door to the restaurant was a Bed and Breakfast seemingly affiliated with the restaurant bearing the name of the Library Inn.  

I’ve come upon at least two other Carnegies converted to restaurants, one in Denver and another in a small town north of Indianapolis.  And if Wikipedia is to be trusted two more await me in Pennsylvania.  Hopefully I’ll get a chance to see the bookish natures of their interiors.

This part of New York is the domain of 7/11s.  I am happy for each, not only as a reminder of their sponsorship of a Tour de France team in the ‘80s, but because they are offering Big Gulps for the unbeatable price of 49 cents.  The weather doesn’t overly demand them, as it’s been refreshingly mild, hovering around 80, but a 32-ounce cup of flavored fluid with as much ice as I want at that price is hard to resist.  Along with the sodas on tap, they have Powerade, but just the standard blue-colored one, unfortunately not the mango that Circle K has on tap.  I won’t mind at all paying the Circle K price of 69 cents when I return to Pennsylvania for that mango-treat.