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I have been visiting my sister in New Hampshire since I was 3 years old. Every trip to N.H. would also include two trips to the Old Man of the Mountain - one trip on the way there and one trip on the way back home. When I purchased my Harley, the first thing that I did was to spend two hours disassembling the tank to have it repainted. I wanted to stand out and be different. I had the tank painted with the Old Man of the Mountain on it. It did stand out and it was different. |
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While waiting for the ride to the sky, I was approached by a reporter from the Concord Chronicle. She wanted a ride on my Harley. I asked her to step away and take a look at the bike and explained that this was the only ride she needed to complete her story. We spent the rest of the day on the ride with some fellow Illinoins. We finished up the ride at Weirs Beach and said our goodbyes. Months later, I received a letter in the mail from the Concord Chronicle with the front two-page article enclosed about the trip we took on the Harley and the Old Man of the Mountain.
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I will be making a return visit again this June with five friends and the Old Man of the Mountain.
Tommy Auger, Dyer, IN
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I am a single mom of two boys. Every year for the past four years we go camping up in the White Mountains. The one thing that we would look forward to is seeing The Old Man of the Mountain. To us, this meant New Hampshire. Like when you go to Disney, when you see Cinderella's castle, you know you've been there. We just came back from a camping trip, it's just not the same. He will be terribly missed.
Kim Patenaude, and boys
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I have written a poem [below] which was published in Poetribe Selected Poems 2003, page 16:
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FAREWELL, OLD MAN
Your strong, jutting jaw weathered the blow
Of Appalachian wind for centuries.
Time carved New England face: stern
Lips taut, creased brow, and a pilgrim's intense stare
Eastward, as the cyclical sun broke through.
Old Man so close to God,
Did you ever get tired watching
The sorry glories of the world?
When your joints became fatigued and weathered,
Epoxy packed your cracks.
When your brow split with winter's icy grip,
Metal rods strengthened your fractures,
Held up your aging face,
The way Botox, tucks and lifts
Strive for youthful grace.
But behind our vision
Obscured by fog-
Your granite gaze gone forever.
They want to clone you now, Old Man,
Create a manmade replica
For future generations to see.
But perhaps your faceless landmark serves best
To remind us,
As we stand gazing up at the mountain,
That not even rock is eternal.
(c) Patricia Rose Pflaumer, Weymouth, MA
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