Back In The USA

Why does it take just a few minutes to cross the Peace Bridge and arrive in Canada, even on a trike, but it takes an hour or more, in bumper to bumper traffic, to cross back into the USA on the #265 bridge, the northernmost crossing?

On Friday, August 16th, I went around in circles, trying to figure out how to get to the bridge to go back to the US, around Queenston, Ontario, until I came across a little brown sign of a picture of a bicyle and the words “Bridge to USA” and an arrow. I followed the signs and got to the toll booth, where the friendly lady pointed me to the traffic lanes. I wormed my way in, where a man in a humongous RV generously allowed me in front of him. Then, bumper to bumper for the next hour on the bridge. I was grateful that it was only about 80 degrees, because it got a bit warm up on that bridge, with 4 lanes of stopped cars and a truck lane. The cars coming in to Canada were moving along nicely, whereas the vehicles going to the USA were at a virtual standstill! What’s up with that? 

But I have to admit, I felt like we should have had a bridge-parking-lot-party up there. I was a bit exposed on the trike, but HD brought lots of waves and well wishes from my neighbors, who were stuck up there with me. A little girl of about 9 or 10 ran up to me with an orange ice pop and gave it to me, wishing me safe travels, and then running back to her vehicle. I sucked on that ice pop with grateful relish, turning around to wave at the family in the RV. Was it the same family that let me enter the traffic lanes? I guess I will never know, but within a few minutes, they had moved up and were level with me. This family of vacationers were full of well wishes and questions and it was very warm up there, and not just because of the weather! Wherever you are, little family, I wish you happiness and long life!

When I reached the border/customs officer on the US side, I almost expected to be inspected, but he just asked if I had purchased anything to bring back to the USA, plus the usual questions of where I was going and if I were a US citizen and checking ID. All I had to “claim” was the light cotton hoodie, so he let me pass through. 

Then it was on to hwy 104 east. I stopped in Lewiston at a Tops grocery store and replenished my groceries. While in the store, I met Rick. He approached me in the produce department, sitting on the grocery scooter, asking me about the travels, as he had seen me pull into the grocery store parking lot. Rick was a muscular machinist, until he noted increasing weakness and received a diagnosis of myasthenia gravis. This is an autoimmune neuromuscular disease that results in weakness and fatigue. Rick seemed like a very cheerful man and I had questions for him as well, related to how he has handled his life change.

For the first year after correct diagnosis of the increasing weakness, it was very difficult, says Rick. He was in and out of the hospital as the disease was affecting his diaphragm, making it impossible to breathe, until the doctors found the most effective medication regimen. He is now doing fairly well. He is able to walk but it is very tiring, so he does the grocery shopping with the electric carts. Rick says he wakes up “on the greener side of the grass” every morning. I like how he put that---the greener side of the grass. We talked about attitude and being grateful for life--a skill that Rick has honed well.

His passion? Cooking. He has always enjoyed cooking, but when he worked full time, he didn’t have as much time to get creative. Now, with his full disability, he has the time to prepare healthy, delicious meals. This is his favorite time of year, as he buys most of his produce from local veggie gardeners, except for those items that are still out of season. His wife continues to work full time, so he is now the full time cook and bottle washer. As long as he paces himself, he can get the job done. 

As I was getting ready to leave the store, I met another gent with questions about HD, how many gears he had, how many miles had I gone, etc. He is a retired PE teacher and now follows his passion: growing the trees on his Christmas tree farm.

I cycled about 20 miles on hwy 104 east, with nice, wide shoulders and pretty countryside of small forests between farming communities. I continue to find it funny how reality is just a matter of perspective. I was warned that 104 might be a bit dangerous because it was very thick with truck traffic and it wasn’t very scenic. My personal reality? It was a pleasant country highway in excellent condition with a very wide shoulder that could easily fit 2 people cycling side by side. The countryside was picturesque and the traffic was light enough that I didn’t even notice it. And really, very few big trucks.

At the hwy 78 jct, there is a little strip mall with a Tim Hortons coffee shop and a Subway, two places I needed at that very moment. I bought a medium coffee and was preparing to go to Subway to pick up a salad for dinner when I met Larry. He was waiting at Tim Hortons for his biking buddies, as there was a bike rally at a small town just north of there. It would be a small, but fun event, with bikers from the area riding down the main street of town and then convening for an evening of live music and laughter. 

Larry is retired, with grown children and 6 grandchildren. I didn’t see any wrinkles, so I wondered what he was doing retiring!! He said he is helping his son do some renovations on his home and his son was likewise helping him on his own home. 

I don’t know how we got to this conversation, but we talked about his Italian heritage. Maybe when I asked him his last name, I don’t know. Anyway, his last name now is Scofil. But it used to be Scofetti, well, before he was born, anyway. And even that is an alias from Prohibition days.  He is 2nd generation American; his grandparents immigrated here from Italy. During Prohibition, his grandpa was killed in his store by the mafia in Chicago---gunned down with machine gun fire. His grandmother hid the kids and herself in shelves, whiskey barrels, and pickle barrels. Larry never was told how Grandpa was involved with the mafia, but I think he has his suspicions. He said his uncle kidnapped his aunt when she was 14. “That’s the way it was done back then. And no one said a word.” When I asked if his uncle married her and did she stay with him, he said, “Sure. He married her and she stayed with him her entire life. The same thing happened with another aunt and uncle. Women stayed with their families.”  I found myself thinking that it would have been very dangerous for said women to actually leave! And if you couldn’t take your kids, you wouldn’t want to try to leave! 

I believe there are some places on the planet that still face similar issues...

The conversation with Larry was delightful. He is an approachable man who was, even then, gathering his friends together for a fun evening of togetherness. Many blessings to you, Larry. And yes, “I’m talkin’ ta YOU!”

I checked in to the Niagara County Campground Resort at about 6:30 pm. The owner/manager was a very helpful lady who provided me with maps of New York and of the Erie Canal Bikeways, and then showed me how I could easily connect to the Bikeway from the campground in only about 4 miles. Or maybe less. 

I pitched tent, did my exercises, wandered all over the park in the dark trying to find the shower house, took my eventual shower, and returned to the tent to eat my Subway salad. The temperature is dropping and I’m getting chilled, but knew I needed to take advantage of some quiet time to do this writing. I still have to finish the Indiana, Ohio, Lake Erie, and Niagara Falls blogs. But I need the internet to do some fact checking. I don’t know when that wll be--another big question mark. 

But I love all you readers. And my friends and family. You know who you are!