The Magical Donut Shop

Perhaps I go too far in calling a donut shop magical, but when you take a 1970s laundromat, complete with its usual sounds of clothing churning about in washing machines, or thumping away in dryers, and you tuck a little donut shop in the front, where a woman makes fresh donuts all day long and puts on the topping of your choice, well that is pretty wonderful. Some would say sublime.

I had read about this little gem of a place, and could not wait to arrive in Tupper Lake to discover it. I turned onto the main street, and there it was, right on the corner.

But I am getting ahead of myself. As short as the day was, it did take me four hours of riding to cover 80 km, thanks to almost 1000 meters of climbing. When I started out this morning, it felt like -1 degrees, so I bundled up with arm and leg warmers, anorak, toque and gloves. I was toasty warm on the descents, but not sweating on the climbs.

The clouds were hanging low over the nearby mountains when I began, but by the time I reached Long Lake, there was a little blue sky and sun shining through. As with many of the Finger Lakes, much of the shoreline is privately owned, so it was a challenge at times to find spots to take photos, but where there’s a woman there’s a way, and I found a laneway down to the edge of Long Lake.

Having cooled off while stopping, I pedalled feverishly up the next few climbs trying to shake off the chill. When I reached the outskirts of Tupper Lake, I was greeted with 4 miles of newly paved road with a wide, wide shoulder, allowing me to ride with abandon.

The next thing I knew I was downtown, my day of riding complete, with the rest of the day to putter and explore the town.

Well of course I lingered at the laundromat, which was nice and warm, and which offered a wonderful opportunity to people watch. The nun who arrived in her habit and running shoes was clearly a regular as Tina,  the donut shop owner, (yes I learned her name upon reading a great piece by NPR) greeted her warmly.

I learned that Tina has been making donuts for 34 years and her dad, who was there as well, owns the laundromat. In between her rolling quarters, we talked donuts and cycling, and then more customers arrived, so I departed and headed for the library. It was lovely with its view of the lake and high ceilings, and the librarian was very welcoming, asking if I needed any help.

I spent a few hours reading and people watching, especially when a grandmother my age brought in her two charges, and they ran about getting clues for some kind of treasure hunt. They then got to choose a prize from the treasure chest which the librarian opened on the large table I was sitting at. The grandson was quite cherubic, while his younger sister, all of three, was a little pixie who had endless questions for her grandmother. The grandmother realized only after the small chest had been opened what she had gotten herself into, as her precocious granddaughter picked up one prize after the next, asking what is this, what is this?  Grandma finally gave pixie a ten second window in which to choose a treasure, and she chose what her brother had chosen, a small plastic top that she tried to spin on the table. Turns out the old fashioned toys still have appeal, even when they are made out of cheap plastic.

With her new toy and her dolls grasped in her arms, she marched out the door, and I packed up my belongings to head to the Park motel. Well it sure isn’t The Lorca, but it is neat and tidy, with towels and shower products laid out on the bed for me.

Tomorrow I will head for Watertown, which will be a beefier ride of 150 km, so I will say my adieus and make myself a salad with all of the things I got at the farmer’s market right next to the motel.

Today was short on riding, but long on much needed conservation. I am grateful for my pumpkin spice glazed donut, but even moreso for the words exchanged throughout the day.