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by Mike Furtado
Copyright (c), 2003, My Daily Driver -- All Rights Reserved

USS Constitution I was lucky enough to have been born and raised in Southeastern New England. I was 34 years old before I decided that it was luck. I grew up playing on the beaches of the Rhode Island coastline in the summertime and sledding the snowy hills of eastern Massachusetts in the winter. I complained about the heat in the summer and complained about the cold in the winter. I didn't appreciate the beauty of the changes of seasons in New England. I finally moved to sunny Florida, looking for "greener pastures" two years ago. What I found here is that I loved "home". I will likely move back in the next couple of years. But the beautiful seasons aren't really the point to my story.

New England is the birthplace of The United States of America. Our history was all around me. Just a short drive to Boston and as a child I saw the USS Constitution, "Old Ironsides". I stepped into history. This U.S. Naval ship, built in Boston and christened with a bottle of Madeira in October of 1797 was named for the document that created this great country. Not many kids from Wisconsin got to see that. Nearby I saw the Bunker Hill Monument. Built to commemorate the Battle of Bunker Hill, a critical early battle of the American Revolution where the famous words "Don't Fire Until You See the Whites of Their Eyes!" were uttered into American history.

The Breakers More recent additions to American history are all around my home. Thirty miles to Newport, Rhode Island and I saw some of the greatest mansions ever built. Opulence that rivaled the palaces of royalty the world over, lovingly preserved for future generations, like mine, to marvel at. Back to Boston I frequented the Boston Aquarium, one of the best in the world. And the Museum of Science where I remember having so much fun I laughed like the child that I was. And today I remember lessons learned there like it was just yesterday. Wonderful as these experiences were, they are also not the reason I write today.

A few hours drive to the north is the great state of New Hampshire, "Live Free or Die". I always loved that slogan. New Hampshire is home to the White Mountains where Roadside America attractions abound. I visited "Santa's Village" when I was still young enough to believe. I saw the famous dancing bears show at the famous "Clark’s Trading Post". I trekked into what seemed the bowels of the earth in the Polar Caves where I viewed the world’s largest known boulder. I rode in a car over 6,000 feet to the top of Mount Washington, on a road barely wide enough for two cars to pass, and without a guardrail. At the summit you can see a hundred miles or more on a clear day. A truly amazing experience.

The Old Man of the Mountain And I saw the "Old Man of the Mountain" a granite rock formation jutting out from the side of Cannon Mountain, an awe-inspiring sight, and New Hampshire's most recognizable symbol. His face appears on state road signs and more recently on the state quarter. "Old Man" souvenirs are sold in every roadside gift shop and old country store in the state. And he is the reason for my story.

The Old Man is a natural rock formation that was created by a series of geologic events beginning an estimated 200 million years ago. And for the last century, state park officials have done everything humanly possible to preserve this icon and protect it from the same forces of nature that created it. Stabilizing cables and epoxy cement were the tools of choice, and they held him aloft for a very long time. Until Saturday, May 4th, 2003 when they were all that remained on the sheer cliffside. The Old Man had collapsed into an indistinguishable pile of rubble at the base of Cannon Mountain.

The Old Man is an icon of Roadside America, a symbol of independence and stubbornness, and he will be missed dearly. If you have the opportunity to travel the old mountain roads of Franconia Notch, New Hampshire, look for the signs that lead to Cannon Mountain, take a drive by, and give the Old Man of the Mountain a wave and a toot from your classics horn. We may not be able to see him, but rest assured, he will always be there. tire


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