Night One: Hammocks, Cops, and Amber Alerts

Our first night on this roadtrip was... well, unforgettable.

The sun was already down. By the time we left the ghost village of Frontier Town, it was 1:30 a.m. — pitch black, silent, and cold. The roads were empty as we continued toward Pottersville, New York, searching for a place to crash for the night.

That’s when we found it: the ruins of an old, demolished hotel hidden off the main road. A crumbled foundation, overgrown weeds, and a patch of woods just beside it — the perfect spot for a bit of stealth camping.

We parked the car with a view from a distance and headed into the trees with hammocks and tent in hand. It felt like the kind of place no one would bother checking. Remote. Forgotten.

We barely had time to finish setting up. Hammocks hanging, the tent inflated — and boom. Out of nowhere, a police cruiser pulled in, floodlights slicing through the darkness, scanning the forest around us.

No time to think. We walked out of the woods calmly, not wanting to startle him. His energy was tense — like something was seriously wrong.

And then we understood why.

Amber Alerts had just been issued.
A 9-year-old girl had been abducted in Lake George, just south of where we were camped.
It happened earlier that evening, while she was riding her bike around 6:15 p.m. in Moreau Lake State Park.

Tragically, her body was found the next morning, just a few miles from where we unknowingly set up for the night.

There are no words for the horror of that news.
Just silence.

The officer checked our vehicle, our gear, the tent, the trunk — we showed him everything. He took our names, asked a few questions, and then, to our surprise… wished us good night. He even said he’d be patrolling nearby to make sure we didn’t get bothered.

It was a surreal mix of tension and strange hospitality.
Moments like this remind you how quickly a place can shift from peaceful to haunting.

We finally laid down around 2:50 a.m., trying to sleep.

Let’s just say it:
Worst. Night. Of. Comfort. Ever.

My hammock had collapsed into a disgusting banana shape and held me like a sad fortune cookie all night.
One of us had been in another hammock — slightly more stable than mine.
The third had been lucky enough to have his own tent and had actually slept without any issues.

But we made it through.
Night one: survived.
And this trip?
Yeah… it was legendary.