Thursday, August 29, 2013

Crossing the North Appalachians


On Friday at about 4:30 pm, I rolled into Bennington, Vermont. HD and I are now in New England, as I can tell from all the town welcome signs. All these small towns are steeped in history and were settled or chartered in the 1700’s. The architecture is New England. The towns are proud of their heritage.

I just had to check out this town! After yammering to my family and loved ones via text and taking a shower, I headed downtown and brought the camera. I figured I would see some cool, old buildings. Yes indeed! Starting with the Catholic cathedral right next door! Bennington is an artsy town. The population is about 15,000, including Old Bennington right next door to the west.  There are galleries, museums, folk art stores, antique and vintage stores, dance studios, and a few Italian restaurants.

With only 15,000 people, Bennington is the 3rd largest city in the state. It was chartered in 1749 and settled in 1761. Bennington was named after Colonial Governor Benning Wentworth and is best known for the Battle of Bennington in 1777. General John Stark’s New Hampshire Militia defeated German Lt. Col. Friedrich Baum’s troops of Germans, local Loyalists, Canadians, and Indians. The German troops were battering the colonial troops until Seth Warner’s Green Mountain Boys arrived and turned the outcome of the battle. Ethan Allen is the famous colonial who founded the Green Mountain Boys. 

Now I understand why Bennington artwork featured Ethan Allen in so many pieces.

The catamount is another name for the beautiful mountain lion, or cougar, who used to populate the Vermont wilderness. Long thought to be extinct in the area, there have been numerous sightings, even photos and videos, over the last few years. 

While strolling the downtown area of Bennington, I saw about a dozen fiberglass catamount statues, all painted and decorated by different artists and representing different themes. This is part of The Catamount Prowl, a festival here in Bennington. The statues were unveiled in May and the party culminates in October with a gala event and catamount statue auction. Apparently, in 2005 and 2009, there was a similar festival, called the MooseFest, here in Bennington. 

That explains why I have seen about 8 or so painted moose statues in Vermont so far. In New Mexico, we had a similar event with Painted Ponies. These statues, all painted by approved artists, brought significan attention to New Mexico. Many towns even coughed up funds to purchase or sponsor a pony to stand in the downtown “Main Street” areas. 

I love when a state’s celebration has a heavy emphasis on artwork. 

So, Bennington streets were decorated with life-sized fiberglass catamounts and a few moose. Meese? 

Silliness abounds.

In front of an antique and curiosity shop, on that fine evening, were two young people trading off time to play their guitars and showcase their original works. They were raising money for St Judes but also had a separate tip jar. They announced they would like to buy pizza after the free concert, so tips were certainly acceptable and appreciated. I thought they were very courageous to play for the public. 

Don’t you love it when people take a chance?

I purchased pizza and salad at The Bennington Pizza House and took it “home” to my motel when it was dark. For a “small” town (not by VT’s standards), I was amazed at the number of people out and about, of all ages. It was a beautiful summer night and the weather will soon be turning cooler. But the happy families were strolling, going out for dinner, going to who-knows-what local event. What a hopping little town.

I ate my salad and most of the pizza in the comfort and quiet of my little room, saving two pieces of veggie pizza for breakfast. They were a little soggy on the tips the next morning, but I am not particularly picky, so I ate them with relish and set to packing up. As I headed out of town, I was hoping to score some coffee, but did not see anything open on that early Sunday morning on August 25th. That is, until I reached the east end of town. Then I came across Bakkerij Krijnen-, a local bakery which advertised pastries, donuts, and...coffee.

I pulled in and parked HD by the door. The entrance to the shop is interesting because you go through a storage and supply room to get to the shop. But, my oh my, it was heaven. I got a cup of coffee and chatted with the owner, Jen.

Jen and her husband Hans have owned the shop about 3 years. They are turning a small profit but not a huge one, considering the amount of work it requires. I had not noticed any signage in town advertising its existence, which might be a worthy investment, as I didn’t know it was there and, if it hadn’t mentioned coffee on the window, I probably would have kept cycling. Their business comes mostly from locals, but they do pick up vacationers going to or from Green Mountain, which was where I was headed that morning. 

Hans always wanted to own a bakery. His father and grandfather were bakers in Holland, so he grew up with the business. When he was a little boy, he told his family he wanted to be a baker too. His father and grandfather were horrified and forbade it, telling him there was no money in it. But there are more important things than being rich, so Hans became an accomplished, lettered chef as an adult, and now he spends the wee early morning hours, and into most of the day, baking the most delectable treats you can imagine. I saw some of the most gorgeous, appetizing pastries imaginable, but settled on a few cookies, which are easiest to carry on the trike for travel. They also serve limited vegan lunch time faire. For lunch today, a sweet potato soup was advertised. Now you’re talking.

Jen’s passion is “food”.  While she doesn’t do the baking, she loves to have a garden, eat her husband’s cooking, and she even started a farmers’ market here in Bennington some years back, so that fresh, local food would be available for everyone.  Her husband’s passion is preparing the food. He was a tall, thin man, moving quickly and efficiently in the kitchen, so I don’t think his passion is eating everything he makes! What self control this husband-wife team have!

After the conversation, I mounted HD and we rode up the mountain. The Green Mountains are Vermont’s portion of the Northern Appalachians. Vermont calls itself “The Green Mountain State”.  “Vermont” actually comes from the French “Verts Monts”, which literally means Green Mountains. The name was suggested in 1977 by Dr. Thomas Young, an American revolutionary and Boston Tea Party participant. So, Vermont it is.

The ride up the slope began easy enough and I found myself grinning at the mild work for many miles. Yep, riding the Lagunas, Cascades, and Rockies and then the foothils of New York’s Alleghenies and Vermont’s Green Mountain foothills had prepared me. Then, in the last few miles up to the peaks, the road took a definite leap upward and I found myself REALLY working!  I later found that the incline had increased from the 6% I was used to in the Lagunas to the 8-9% of this portion of the Appalachians. Luckily for me, throughout that day and the days to follow, the 7-9% road slopes were generally only 1-2 miles in length.  So, I got a chance to sweat and breathe hard and get a worthy workout. 

At the top of the eastern side of the mountain range, I came across a little store at Woodford. This store caters to campers and local outdoorsmen. I purchased some locally made chocolates and talked to the young people managing the store. They were very helpful and shared their knowledge of the road to follow.  From there, it was primarily steep but relatively short slopes all the way to Wilmington. HD and I cycled through some of the most incredible scenery, seeing both deciduous and evergreen forests, lakes, and streams. Going into Wilmington from the east, you pass Lake Raponda or Lake Whitingham. Being Sunday, families were out to enjoy boating and fishing and the town itself had a festival quality to it. 

Wilmington is a New England mountain town, in all its glory. Old, picturesque buildings, lovingly maintained; baskets of red geraniums hanging everywhere, even decorating the bridge that spans the Deerfield Rver right in town; art shops; bakeries; bed and breakfast inns in Vermont style; restaurants---I could definitely come back and stay in a bed and breakfast here in the summer and stroll the sloped streets and shoot the breeze with the locals and buy Vermont art. I stopped at a grocery store at the edge of town to purchase fruit and cheese for the evening. I finally scored some Vermont cheese on sale.

HD and I pulled into the Molly Stark State Park Campground in the mid afternoon. It was a relatively short riding day, as I knew it would be a strenuous cycling experience. But the day was young, so I did my calisthenics, took a hike, and climbed a radio tower, just to face my fear of heights. And also to take some nice long view photos of the hills of the Green Mountains. For dinner, I ate sliced apples and Vermont cheese and a brownie I had purchased earlier in the day.

I really must quit eating bakery goods. But it is like experiencing local flavors when you stop in these little bakeries and shops. I tell myself I owe it to the owners to try out their goods. It is about circulating funds through the country. A dollar here and a dollar there is like paying it forward. I reap the blessings of tasty treats, work it off, and get to help keep hardworking shop owners and bakers doing what they love. See how selfless that is?  Hahahaha!

I read a bit in my tent that night and had a peaceful sleep. Well, almost. It started raining and continued to maintain a light shower for several hours. I did have some leakage into the tent, but it was relatively minimal, as I was parked on a hard packed gravel space which allowed the water to drain off. 

The next morning, HD and I were off and running over the mountain range. The goal was to get to Keene, New Hampshire. It was another relatively short day of cycling, to allow muscle fatigue from mountainous riding. As I cycled around the sharp turns, I almost passed a local store on a farm.  I hadn’t had coffee yet and “The Sugarhouse” had a sign advertising coffee on the window.  So, I made a quick U-turn on the highway, after checking for traffic, and pulled into the personal property of the lady who runs the store. She told me to be careful on the country roads and went inside to the back. A friend of hers, who works the counter, went inside to take my purchases. This little country shop featured maple syrup and maple products as number one; home baked goods as number two; and really good coffee as number three. I chatted with the employee/friend of the owner, the latter having gone into hiding. I learned that the woman who owns the place bakes all the goodies and also taps the trees and makes the syrup herself. 

Apparently, you tap the maple trees in February and March when the sap starts running upward. The difference in the amber and dark colored syrups is generally related to when the sap was collected, with the lighter colored, more delicate syrup from the earlier harvested sap. You can no longer collect the sap when the trees start to bud, as it becomes unpalatable, so the harvest season generally lasts only about 7 weeks. Canada provides 80% of the world’s maple syrup. In the US, Vermont is the number one producer. I have been wanting to get some amber maple syrup, right here in Vermont, but have no effective way to transport it. 

Another trip. 
Some day. 
With a car and luggage in possession. 

Vermont had been lovely; I had enjoyed mountains, trees, fresh air, challenging beautiful roads, and I felt as if I had stepped back into Early American history.  Most of the towns I had passed through were over 200 years old and proud of their heritage. Arts and crafts are a big deal here, as is the ever popular Vermont maple syrup. I thought I would see more dairy farms and cheese being advertised, but apparently not in the mountainous area I traveled. Vermont is sturdy and strong and independent, as are its residents.

____________________

Same day. Tuesday, August 26th, 2013, HD and I passed into New Hampshire. The Welcome to New Hampshire signs also have the following quote written at the bottom: “Live Free Or Die”. 

This says it all for New Hampshire. It was the first colony to break away from Great Britain and was the first US state to have its own state constitution. There is no state income tax on W2 wages, but they do tax interest income. It’s like saying: we won’t tax you if you work for your money. 

There is not even a state sales tax. Local municipalities may charge sales tax to cover some local services. 

Within the first 5 miles of cycling in New Hampshire, I saw road signs which reinforced their fierce independence. Apparently, the law demands seat belts only if you are under 18. You can talk on your cell phone and drive. There are signs saying “Use Common Sense!”

While wearing a seat belt as well as driving with your cell phone untouched are wise actions, you are not bound by law to do so. I like that. Some people drive defensively. Some people can drive and talk at the same time. 

I have seen the worst motor vehicle accidents occurred when the driver was trying to unwrap his fast food meal or spilled hot coffee on his lap while driving at the same time. But I have never seen a law saying you can’t smoke or drink coffee or eat while you drive.

Use Common Sense.

This is a common sense state. They don’t regulate your every move, but do expect you to act responsibly and follow what laws do exist. In return, they protect your freedoms to choose. They protect the right for same sex marriage as well as woman’s rights over their bodies in all but partial birth abortions. Imagine not being told every thing you can or can’t do, but the state protecting your rights to common sense. 

I was treated with consistent respect and curiosity. It is another fiercely independent-minded state. 

And, like Vermont, it is breathtakingly beautiful. 

My good friend Esteban was in the area that week, as he travels to New York twice a year to manage his home of many years, spring and early fall. He arrived in New York a few days ago and then went to New Hampshire for a few days to visit friends. He texted me, and offered to take me out to dinner. I was game for that, so he met me in Keene and we wandered the streets of this great college town and then went out for Mexican food. I enjoyed the company, the friendship, the conversation, and the great food. I met him the next morning for breakfast while he prepared to see his friends, with plans to spend the remainder of the week with his family and his new grandson. I took a few photos of him to post on a dating website as he would be a fine catch for some lucky lady. He is smart, witty, funny as all get out, very good looking, and talented. He buried his wife 5 years ago and he thinks he is ready now to start looking, but maybe wants to wait another 5 years when he retires from work.  He is such a dear friend; I pray he is happy and successful and has a great time back in the dating scene. 

We discussed my own romantic situation. For any curious readers, tune in to the last chapter. Or wait for the book...

Esteban appeared once more that day, while on the road. He “passed me a baton” while I was riding along, not saying a word, just handing it to me and speeding off in his souped-up car with the V8 engine. The baton is a stick with little leather strips streaming from one end and a braided handle secured on the other end---my new “dog whisperer”, as he called it. I had lost the first one on the road and had bemoaned its loss. Being half survivalist, he thought I should not be without personal protection. So, now I have a stick. I never had to “use” the first one for self defense, but must admit that simply lifting the stick when chased by a dog made them effectively stop chasing. Immediately. If I meet an aggressive raccoon while out camping, I know I can encourage the critter, however cute, to maybe consider another tent to raid. A little poke might do the trick. 

It was about 55 miles to Manchaster, NH, my goal for the day. I stayed on hwy 9 all day, until I arrived in town. Then I looked for a cheap place to stay and the Econo Lodge in an old industrial part of town fit the bill. I rode up to the building and saw the sign at the front of the huge, mostly empty parking lot. But the building itself sported no signage and it took me a few minutes to find the front door. The “lodge” looked actually like a huge, old, brick apartment/tenement building with hundreds of rooms over several floors. Some windows in the upper floors looked like there were signs of permanent habitation, such as house plants, fans, and the like. Some of the people going to and from the building did not look like travelers but relaxed residents. There is a certain look we travelers have. Maybe it is the look of restlessness or fatigue from a days’ travels. Maybe it is a look of uncertainty. When you “live” somewhere, you move like you belong there; you sport a look of ownership; you move confidently through the halls; you dress in clothing you would wear to either clean the bathroom or run to the convenience store down the street. 

The manager of the motel gave me a good price for the room and told me to make sure I brought my bike into the room with me as I should not leave it outside for the night. I wondered if I could get HD through the doors. I found my room and then went out the back door, which appeared wide enough. When the back door shut, you couldn’t get back in, so I planned to ride HD to the back door and then walk back to the front door, make my way through the building to the back door, and pull HD in, while propping the heavy springloaded hinged door with a foot. Well, I rode HD to the back and who was there holding the door open but the manager himself, who had been watching from his desk and wanted to ensure I got HD inside. I was grateful for his warm hospitality and generosity, but maybe a bit concerned about the area. I wasn’t nervous, but I guess I needed to use Common Sense in this part of town.

______________________

Wednesday, August 28th, 2013. The goal was to make it to Maine and tag the 3rd corner of this trip. I knew there was a hiker/biker trail called the Rockingham Recreational Trail. It purported to run for 25 miles east from Manchester. Perfect. These old rails to trail roads were usually surfaced with fine rock or hard packed gravel, mowed and maintained throughout the summer months, and have very little incline to them. Perfect again.

So I thought.

I found the “trailhead” and it was no more than a walking path, fit for a single hiker. I tried block after block through Manchester, thinking that the path would surely improve. It took about 1 1/2 hrs to get out of Manchester, with the sad realization that the Rockingham Recreational Trail was not an adequate biking trail, and in many places would be a challenge even for a walker. It was certainly not maintained. 

So, I rerouted my iPhone map for walking to Kittery or York Harbor, Maine. But, these maps were off too. Strongly outlined roads were not the highways seen in maps from other states, but were often rough dirt roads or even entirely nonexistent. I came to several spots where the map clearly showed a road. Instead, I would see a new home. No road. Maybe there used to be another dirt road there!

So, I found my way around various lakes by trial and error, until I could get back to the highways. I learned to stay on the highways today in New Hampshire. The highways really did exist.

I cannot complain as this was a marvelous day filled with the scent of clean air in the trees, evergreens, moving fresh water, and, near the end of the day, the unmistakable scent of ocean air. YES!

I enjoyed cycling through the town of Newfields, NH, and met some locals there. It was the first day of school and there was an excitement in the air. I was riding through Newfields around 3 pm as school was letting out. The school speed limits lights were flashing. Up ahead, there were also the lights flashing on the Suburban police vehicle. The policeman had pulled over a man speeding through the school zone. By the time HD and I got to the site, the policeman had returned to his vehicle, did a U-turn in the middle of the highway and had pulled over at the school. Shortly before I caught up to him, he had leapt out of the car and donned a crossing guard vest and stopped the country traffic while a group of children crossed the street next to the elementary. They called out to him like their best friend, exclaiming that there was no home work today, nor for the whole week. He laughed and teased them.

Small town love. God, I loved this! I pulled over and asked him if he really was both a police officer AND a crossing guard? He laughed and said it was one of the parts of his job he likes best. He made a face as he looked off, reminiscing about having to apprehend lawbreakers (those not using Common Sense!), then smiling again as he thought of the children. He proudly stated that he was the police chief in the area as well. He has lived in NH for all of his life, but has not always worked right here in Newfields. But he does enjoy it here and sees retirement in some years. “Art” is 53 years old and is handsome and healthy and full of vitality. His passion is fly fishing. That alone I find impressive as fly fishing is a poetic, skilled sport which takes years of practice to master. 

Art gave me some road tips and talked a bit about the naval yards and interesting sights in Portsmouth and Kittery. He advised me to be very careful on the highways and country roads and goodnaturedly suggested I check out the the Newfields downtown and its country store.

HD and I cycled not a mile further when we hit the “downtown” section of Newfields, and found the small country store. It was about the only thing that suggested it was “downtown”. The owners sold some coffee and more home baked goodies. This must be a New England thing. The friendly lady at the counter said that the baked goods were made personally, every day, by the owner and a friend of hers. As school was now out, families were coming in to get ice cream and goodies while they chattered away with mom or dad, telling of the excitement of the first day back in class.

They had the best coffee ever. 

So, I made it to highway 1 and then took the 1 bypass over the bridge into Kittery, Maine. About 10 miles earlier, I had begun to smell the ocean air and the traffic had increased. Also, I could see the marine layer up ahead and I cycled into a foggy late afternoon. The bridge on the #1 bypass had construction going through the walkway, so I had to travel with the traffic, which is not my favorite thing to do on narrow bridges, as cars are in a hurry and I can’t quite comply. I understand. I’m a car driver too. So, I did my best to hurry over the fog enshrouded bridge and made it to Maine. 

TAG!

Third corner of this USA trip has been accomplished. Boo yeah!

I cycled to the shopping district of the north end of Kittery and found a Starbucks on my side of the busy highway. Wow! I hadn’t seen a Starbucks in either Vermont or New Hamphshire. Of course, I was mostly in the wooded areas of these two states. But most of the area is wooded, anyway, with primarily small towns and burgs and a few larger cities. In New York, there are Starbucks in most big towns, but where there is a Starbucks, there is a competing Tim Hortons nearby. And then there are Dunkin Donuts in NY, VT, and VH. Starbucks has stiff competition here in the east. Dunkin Donuts coffee is mild--quite to my liking. Tim Hortons’ coffee is a bit stiffer, but still quite good. Starbucks coffee tends to be more bitter, which most coffee afficionados really love. Since I was a late bloomer to the coffee world, my tastes prefer the milder flavors.

And I really don’t care for flavored coffees. Just half and half and sweetener. I rarely buy cappuccinos as their calorie count tends to be high and they often leave a sticky sweet aftertaste. Blended/frozen coffees, like frappuccinos, are yummy, but they can have as many calories as a Dairy Queen blizzard with ice cream and candy! 

So, I tend to drink my coffee and eat my ice cream. I have seen so many locally owned ice cream shops and I always want to stop in and get an ice cream cone, but rarely succumb. I’ve had about 4 ice cream cones over the last 5 months. I had fewer than that when I wasn’t cycling 6-10 hours a day. 

It’s hell to get old and have your belly show the evidence of each cookie and ice cream cone. I think I better go do some exercises, come to think of it...

Later. Gotta finish this blog first!

So. I got a blonde roast coffee from Starbucks and did a search on the availability of local lodging and campgrounds. One campground in York Harbor, up ahead, for RVs at, get this:  92 dollars a night!!! 

Scratch camping, then.

I found a Days Inn a mile back in Kittery, so I turned around and checked in. It wasn’t on the ocean, as I had hoped. But oceanfront lodging in New England tends to run a price tag of $150 to $350 per night. Not in my budget. Haha! 

The Days Inn worked out well. I have a large enough room and free breakfast and a convenience store down the street and a kickin’ internet connection. All needs met. 

So, I won’t really see much of Maine. Mostly the Hwy 1 bypass road, a few stores, and fog. I will head down the eastern states on Friday, August 30th for the race to South Carolina. 

I have a date! A real one!

Boo yeah! Twice!












East Across New York


On Saturday, August 17th, I got a late start, having slept peacefully and deeply at the Niagara County Campground near Lockport, NY. I noted that Henry David’s back tires had worn through to the inner green rubber reinforcements. Time to change my tires already! These were definitely not the quality of tires that were originally installed on the trike. They only had about 800 miles on them, while the originals had lasted 5000 miles and did not show the serious loss of rubber that these newer tires exhibited. So, I took photos, send them to Russ so he could show them to the bike shop in Normal. Then I headed east, hoping to make it to Rochester that day. 

I got on the Erie Canalway Trail about 4-5 miles from the campground. This is a 365 mile trail that travels from Buffalo to Albany next to the Erie Canal. Well, almost. It is 75% complete--give it a few years and it will be finished. It is generally “paved” with crushed stone and stone dust, although some cities and towns have paved it with actual asphalt or cement, making it a popular hiking and biking trail for families in bigger towns, like Rochester. Serious cyclists ride the trail every summer. The trail follows the Erie Canal and there are various kiosks along the way, describing the history of the canals, the locks, and the development of towns along the way. It is fairly level, with few serious hills. There are some areas where the trail is not maintained, so it appears that locals may be partially responsible for keeping it cleaned and the road or trail in good riding or walking condition. 

The history of the canal itself it quite fascintating. In the 1700‘s and early 1800’s. getting goods across New York was time-consuming and difficult on pack animals, which required cutting across boglands, forests, and hills. Shipping goods via waterways was much more efficient. DeWitt Clinton, mayor of New York City, proposed the Erie Canal project to President Thomas Jefferson in 1807. The Prez called it “the big ditch” and said it was a good idea... in 100 years. When the next president, Madison, also vetoed funds for the project, Mayor Clinton got the fine state of New York, and its supportive citizens, to do it alone, as a state owned canal, and ground was broken at Utica, NY on July 4th,1817. The project had now begun. 

Clinton became governor of the state, was voted out, and then voted back in. Funds for the project rose and fell with Clinton’s own fortunes and political influence. In 1825, the project was complete, while Clinton was governor the 2nd time. The celebration of the canal completion lasted 10 days, while governor Clinton waved from the Seneca Chief, the boat that carried him down the canal, with every town port participating in the party.

The Erie Canal became a symbol of the ambition, the industriousness, and the resolve of the American people. It brought extensive business and income to New York, establishing it as The Empire State. And here I thought it was because of the building by that name. The building came second. The canal came first. 

Baby boomers will remember singing the Low Bridge song, otherwise known as “Fifteen Years on the Erie Canal”. This folk song was written in 1905 by Thomas Allen, commemorating the period from 1825 to 1880 when mules pulled barges down the canal. After 1880, engine power replaced mule power. The song was about reminding people to duck under the bridges when they rode on the top of the boats. I don’t remember learning this part of history. Only the song. It had a catchy tune, so at 6 or 7 years old, I just sang the words. I had heard about the Erie Canal, but not much of interest to a child, just when it was built and that it was used for shipping goods. Where are the exciting depictions in the children’s history books about the mules pulling these boats? About President Jefferson calling it “a big ditch”? How it made New York rich and became known as The Empire State? How about a science display showing how a lock actually works? 

I never knew.

If nothing else, this adventure has been worth the effort of learning about my own country. What a history! It is coming alive! To see it and touch it and experience it have been gifts beyond measure.

The Erie Canal now is used for recreational purposes, primarily boating, with the Trail acting as a proud connection to the canal for the entire state of New York. Some of the tiny towns along the canal still benefit from the people hiking and biking the trail, who come into town to sample the local fare and take advantage of the lodging options.

After a few hours of cycling on the Trail that first day, I popped into Medina to see if there was a bike shop. No go. I realized that, being Saturday, it wouldn’t do any good to make it to Rochester that night, because the bike shops would be closed on Sunday. So, I used the iPhone to find the closest shop on the way---Bicycle Outfitters was the closest one off the trail--in Brockport. I called the shop at about 1:30 pm and the owner, Russell, answered, saying that he had some standard tires and if I could make it by 5 pm he would install them. 

So, I pushed onward but it took 90 minutes to only go 10 miles. So, at the next available bridge, I crossed, jumped onto hwy 31, which is a designated bike approved hwy in New York (thank you, New York!) and picked up a little speed, making it to the shop by 4:30. He was busy with customers till almost 6 pm, but he installed the tires in just a few minutes. He told me that I needed special tires for the recumbent because standard tires were not meant to carry the load and the wheel angle on the trike was also likely to cause rapid wear. I really will need to contact Rod Miner, from Lightfoot Cycles, and ask him to mail the ultra recumbent trike tires to the next planned bike shop visit.

Now to find a place to stay. I checked every motel and B&B in town---all filled, except the last room at the Hampton Inn. I have never stayed at the Hampton during this cycling trip because it is a bit too pricey for me, but I was desperate, so I took it. It was the king suite, handicapped accessible, which means it was roomy. So, I lived like a queen for the night: did my exercises, soaked in the jacuzzi downstairs, drank their heavenly coffee, watched a movie, and spent an extraordinary amount of time on the internet mapping out the journey to Maine. I drank so much of their damn good coffee that I couldn’t sleep in that big comfy bed. I was tempted to throw my sleeping bag on the floor to see if that would work better!

In the morning, I partook of their continental breakfast, drinking more of the blasted fantastic coffee, and set out for Macedon. I stopped in Greece, NY, about 15 miles shy of Rochester, to sit at a Tim Hortons Cafe and see if I couldn’t perhaps travel farther than Macedon. But there really aren’t any motels or campgrounds after Macedon until you are right up on Syracuse. In Macedon, at lock 30 along the canal, there is a primitive campground for bikers and hikers. I called the lockmaster for confirmation that I could camp there, and away I went, hopping back on the Erie Canalway Trail.

When I reached Rochester, the pathway split and I ended up alongside the Genesee River. Ooops. I was thinking that things didn’t look quite right when a cyclist pulled alongside and asked if I meant to be traveling next to the canal. It was apparent from my gear that I was traveling a distance and not just out for a Sunday ride. This cyclist was Dave, a Trail Ambassador, and he has traveled the Erie Canalway hundreds of times for well over 7000 miles. He said he would take me back to the canal trail, but asked if I would first be interested in seeing downtown Rochester. I answered “Sure!” as here was a ready and willing guide. So, Dave took me along the river, stopping several times to point out a building or bridge or area of note. So, I got a little history lesson on Rochester as well. What a cool town. 

There is a museum that is a “play museum”: floor after floor and room after room filled with things and activities for children to enjoy. He pointed at all the skyscrapers and said that, 50 years ago, when he moved here, there were only two tall buildings. Now there must be a dozen or more.

The pathway along the river not only went downtown, but it also had areas that were secluded and wooded. At one point, a little white-tailed fawn came bounding up to us within about 8-10 feet. We stopped and the fawn stopped and we shot photos while we spoke to the wild wee one. Deeper in the brush was a young buck keeping an eye on us, mayber 3-4 years old judging by the small rack of antlers. 

Eventually, we made our way back to the canal pathway and Dave wished me happy trails.

Dave. He is 74 but I thought he was maybe 58. His passions are photography, cycling, and red wine. He has traveled the world and now he chooses picturesque places to visit, photograph, and sample the offerings of the local vineyards. He usually brings a bicycle with him to enjoy cycling the area as well. He is a wine connisseur and is quite knowledgeable on the topic. I always have to call one of my children if I want to serve wine to guests, as I really know nothing about wine. 

Dave has taught photography classes in 5 countries, including the USA. During our little visit, he took numerous photographs of the scenery, although he did not have his “serious” camera with him today. He has won close to 100 photography awards.  You can see some of his work at: www.DaveValvo.com.  When you go to this site, a slideshow of photographic work begins. The photos are INCREDIBLE!!! This man has been all over the world. Just to be in the right place and time to even take these photos suggests a very full and beautiful life. 

After Rochester, I continued on the Erie Canalway and went through several small towns and burgs. It felt like Sunday at the park. There were cyclists, walkers, families, and boaters all enjoying the canal. In the classy little town of Pittsford, there was about a city block or two length of boardwalk next to the canal. I popped into a little shop that specialized in gelato and purchased some iced coffee. Along this boardwalk area of the Erie Canalway, you cannot ride your bike, but must walk it. I met an older couple on a tandem cycle who live near Lake Ontario and take their double seated bike with them on little day trips. In a few weeks, they will be driving to the Adirondacks and will cycle some of the hills each day. It’s a nice retirement!

Continuing on the path, I was joined by a young man who runs a communications firm for Fortune 500 companies. He had not been cycling for quite some time but he had taken the bike out of the garage, cleaned it up and filled the tires, and here he was. It was nice having some riding company--twice today!

After the detour in Rochester, it took longer than expected to reach Macedon. I arrived between 6 and 6:30 pm, met a few teenagers fishing in the canal, and they gave me advice about the local convenience store for snacks and drinks. I pitched camp on the grass at the Erie Canal Park at Lock 30 and walked to the Expressway Station to pick up some snacks for the evening. 

When I arrived back at the tent, the sky was turning orange and pink and lavender as the sun was dropping in the horizon. Another biker, Eric, arrived and pitched tent about 40 ft from mine. We chatted for a bit. He is from the Oregon coast and is heading for Kennebunk, Maine. Eric is a director for a successful software company, but took a leave of absence to do this trip. He said it was the best thing he has done in years and he is loving every minute of it. When I asked him about his passion, about what he loves, he said that he didn’t have a passion. He had been too busy working, working, working. But what he is doing right now is certainly his passion today.

We talked a bit about managing on the road. He rides about 80 miles a day and pulls a small, single-wheeled trailer. He is carrying very little equipment and I am again reminded that I am probably bringing way too much stuff. Guys who cycle across country tend to wear the same clothes for 3 days in a row. I change every day. They often don’t wear underwear. I wear plenty of underclothes. Maybe I should look at my gear and rethink. But, then again, here I am in my tent and it is 9:15 pm and I have on the clothes, and underclothes, I wore all day. I really don’t want to wear them for 2 days in a row, but maybe I should try it. 

Ewwww!!
_________________________

Monday, August 19th, 2013. I set my phone alarm and packed up the dew-moistened tent and hit the road by about 6:30, going as far as about 0.10 miles to the ExpressMart for coffee. Short start! At 6:45, after Jo had her Joe, HD and I were heading east on hwy 5, which we traveled almost all day. I was heading for Syracuse but noted that the motels in my price range were located on the far east side. Well, I would deal with that later.

Wow. Hills and hills on these old highways! That lovely nearby interstate was much more level but verbotten for HD and I. So I spent the day working on serious strengthening as I battled up those hills. Knowing I would be crossing the Northern Appalachians, my final mountain range on this trip (that I know of, at least!), I tried to console myself and my tired knees, saying I needed some hard days to rebuild the mountain muscles!! By the time I reached Syracuse, I was absolutely exhausted, having cycled 70 miles of mostly hills. I got off the trike at a McDonalds to get a drink and to find a room to stay. My legs were shaking from fatigue and pain. I found a reasonable room another 10 miles away, in East Syracuse, or DeWitt---same address. I called and booked a room for two nights, as it was time for the cycling day off and to start writing, editing, rewriting, and posting blogs. The last blog I had posted was the Illinois blog and I had come through Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, a piece of New York, into Ontario at Niagara Falls, and back into the US. There was a lot to write. 

As I turned out of the McDonalds parking lot, my knees started screaming in pain. I felt like a big, old weakling. I thought of Eric and how he had zoomed past me earlier today with his lightweight bike and his minimal gear. I thought I must be crazy or stupid to do this trip on a heavy trike (I’m so sorry, Henry David, for my wayward thoughts!) and loaded down with so much stuff. I mentally went through my inventory of “Stuff” and could think of only a few things I would be willing to leave behind, adding up to maybe 2 or 3 pounds. If that. I had some cold weather clothing, but I knew that cooler temps were heading my way. 

Then, while the knees were still screaming, I thought of the two disabled athletes of whom I had read while waiting for my tires in Brockport. These intrepid trekkers had cycled the Himalayas on recumbent trikes: a man with one side partially paralyzed and a woman with severe arthritis in her hips! Jeez Louise! If these two could cycle their trikes up the Himalayas, I could certainly push another 10 miles through Syracuse! Get it together, woman!

The pain eased as the road leveled through Syracuse. The day was ending and darkness was falling. I kept hitting the red lights through town, which slowed me down; so I turned on my lights. Doggone it. Two of the three rear red lights were dead. Yes, the days were certainly getting shorter as it was pretty dark by 8 pm. As I approached East Syracuse, the road narrowed and I was losing visibility. The last 10 minutes or so of this cycling day were spent on the uneven sidewalks to avoid being hit by a car zooming past, or being the cause of someone else’s accident. The auto drivers were getting a little nervous. So was I. 

HD and I made it to the Econo Lodge intact. I was exhausted and dirty and grimy and salty and sore. HD was just dirty. He seems to take these days in better stride than I do.

I checked into my room, talked on the phone to family, took a well needed hot shower, and popped into the Denny’s next door. I ate the meal I vowed to avoid---a veggie burger with fries. But, this time, I was so hungry that it went down very easy and I felt great. I went back to my room to crawl into bed and watched the 2nd half of an old comedy starring Cary Grant. He was a handsome leading man but he really did have a gift for doing comedy. He could pop those big dark eyes in the funniest expressions and then stumble over the language with perfection. Just what I needed to ease the day’s aches and pains--a little laughter and a lot of smiling.

Today, August 20th, I spent the day as planned. Writing. Mapping. Replacing light batteries. Talking or texting loved ones. And here I am back at Denny’s, having finished a fried-grilled cheese sandwich. Hey, it’s the closest restaurant to the motel! Vegetarian pickings here at Denny’s are limited! There is a KFC directly next door to the motel. But I don’t do chicken. Poor little hormone-fed foul living miserable lives in those chicken barns with no room even to walk. I just won’t support that. Nope. So, on the way out of town tomorrow, I will replenish my fruit and nut supply and head for Utica.

______________________________

Wednesday, August 21st. I was sad that day. Missed loved ones; one in particular and wondered what is worth what.  So. I spent the morning in semi-meditation on the road, singing to the music on my iPod. Mostly, I have folk music on my device--in which lyrics are the important component of the music. However, I do have some acoustic musicians as well: Don Ross and Doug Smith. Oh yes, and Joannie Madden on the Irish whistle. Ne’ertheless, I sang my way through the hills to the delightful songs of Peter Mayer,  Dougie MacLean, and Keb Mo. The weather was hot and still and humid and the sweat was running down my arms and hands and dripping off the forearms and elbows. My legs looked like I was in the midst of a shower or rainstorm!

But, the hills were pleasantly challenging and, while I had to cycle at a slow pace, I arrived at the northeastern end of Utica around 6ish. This is Schuyler, incorporated about 1796. I went to the Passport Inn and got a bare bones room. No fridge or microwave, unless I would take a smoking room. No dice! I had picked up a sweet potato, mushrooms, hummus, a ripe avocado, bananas, peanuts, raisins, Jalapeno chips, and a quart of Boathouse Farms vanilla chai protein drink. Oh yeah, and York Peppermint Patties and some Hot Tamales---you know, the gel candy that is good when watching movies! (No, I didn’t eat all of it that night!! LOL!) Earlier in the day, I had stopped at one of the dozens of roadside stands I had seen and purchased a small bag of locally grown applies. Most of the best food I had purchased needed refrigeration, but, no go here at the Passport Inn. But the electricity and the water were working. Well, almost. The shower plumbing was not giving me any hot water, but the bathroom sink had plenty. So, I did a wash down from the sink. Not as fun as standing under the shower, and a whole lot messier, but I felt cleaned up afterward.

By the way, in case you were wondering if I had decided to follow the example set by the male cyclists whom I have met on this trip: I did NOT follow their advice. I am still changing my sweaty underclothes every day. I’m still a person of the female persuasion, after all. 

For dinner at the Passport Inn, I sliced part of the sweet potato into discs and dipped the raw sweet potato and raw mushrooms into the hummus, with slices of ripe avocado mixed in. Yumm!! Better than french fries! Sorry Denny’s! You just can’t compare with raw, real food.

I used to eat only raw foods for about 6-9 months, and primarily raw for about 1-2 years, when living in Carlsbad. But refrigeration and packaging and a dehydrator and good knives are essential and so my diet on the road has definitely gone downhill! I have heard of cyclists and marathon runners who eat only fruit! Imagine, only fruit! I think I could just about do that, if someone would carry it for me! LOL! It would take a lot of fruit to motor across the country, but it also takes place of some of the water I carry. So, maybe I should give it a try for a week or two. Maybe I could manage raw fruit, smoothies, juices, and....ice cream!! Yeah, that’s the ticket!  

I read about this fructarian---eats only fruit---who is an ultra marathon runner. That is someone who does these 100 mile running races. Imagine. He eats only fruit. He says he eats 6000-7000 calories a day. That’s a lot of bananas: 60-70! Reminds me of Gilligan. All of you baby-boomers will know what I’m talking about!

Emotional healing last night after talking on the phone. Sigh...

So, today is Thursday, August 22nd. Really? Thursday? Jeez, the time is slipping by quickly. 

I checked for campgrounds on my proposed route for the day through east New York to St. Johnsville, and found one about 5 miles north of town, which is not bad. When I talked to the owner/manager on the phone, however, I discovered that those 5 miles were all uphill. But, hey, ok, I wanted to camp.

So, through the undulating hills of New York, HD and I rolled along. Slowly. The humidity was again quite high and the sweat was flinging off my arms and legs and sliding from my eyebrows into my eyes. LOL! This is humidity!  Nothing new, so, going downhill was especially delightful as it effectively cooled me off.

While on hwy 5, another cyclist caught up to me and rode alongside for about 8-10 miles. His name is Paul and he was cycling across the grand state of New York, taking just a few days to do it, as he planned on riding 100 miles a day.

However, a friend of his from Rochester wanted to join him on this particular trip. The friend cycled for 2 days, having a half miserable time, and then took a bus back. Paul’s friend doesn’t ride a bicycle very often, except to toodle around town a bit. But, he thought that a cross-state trek would be easy. But the hills of New York ain’t easy, honey!! He found that out within the first 5 miles.  Paul told me that he spent the time teasing his friend and cracking silly jokes, partially to give him a hard time and partially to get his buddy to smile and laugh. It’s the Bro Thang comin’ down.

Now Paul is riding solo and enjoying his personal pace and the solitary time on the road. He works for hire as a consultant for software companies, usually providing his technical expertise for a few weeks and often up to 6 months at a time, and then he is on his way. He says he likes it that way because he believes he would get bored if he worked at the same place all the time. 

I understand that sentiment, to some extent. If I am not creating something or building something, I get a bit antsy. As long as I am learning new things, I am good to go. As long as I am building a new program or advancing a new skill, I am a happy therapist. I’m not particularly satisfied if I have to count how many straight leg raises or squats my client is doing. They didn’t teach counting at OSU, but I seem to do a lot of it. I would rather take the client that has gone through all the standard stuff but wants, and needs, something different. Make me think. Make me work hard. Make me reach higher.

So. Paul. He is a slender, athletic man; quite good looking. He loves to eat and his Italian heritage gives him the background to enjoy a good meal and to experiment a bit with flavors. He also loves music and, living in Rochester, he said he goes to live music venues 3-4 times a week. Last night in Rome, NY, he and his buddy went to an Italian restaurant and listened to a local live band. He was impressed with the band, especially the lead singer, and said he was surprised by the quality of the music. Apparently, he has a taste not only for good food but for good music as well.

He also loves the cycling, but he did not go on about his experiences as many do. Rather, he mentioned a few of the cyclists he has already met on this journey and how they have inspired him. I find it fascinating that some of the most interesting people need quite a bit of prompting to tell you their own stories!

He accompanied me into St Johnsville, where I stopped to get a drink and planned to turn north. Uphill. While I was catching up on text communique with family, Paul came back to the store to tell me that there was a campground right here in town, just in case I didn’t feel like going up the mountains until I have to, just a few blocks away. So, I checked it out and he was right. The St Johnsville Marina Campground was perfect. Right on the canal/river, with a shower (even has hot water!!), a washer/drier, electricity at the pavillion in the tent area, and about 1/4 mile from town. Yay!! And only 10 dollars!! Double yay!

So, I pitched tent; did most of my exercises in the sultry heat, thus moistening my clothing further; took a shower; and now I am in the laundry room tending my clothing. Two loads this time--yikes!

After I put away the clothes, etc, I plan to walk into town and check out the street faire the local firemen are putting on tonite!! Reminds me of Canistota, SD. I wonder what fun activities will be planned. I bet there is not a cow plop contest! Or mud races! Ah, memories of Canistota.  Did you know there is also a Canistota, New York?

Well, off I go. I am LOVING New York. 

___________________________
August 23rd. It rained in the early evening last night. I couldn’t find the street faire. Maybe it was canceled. But I moved my tent and contents under the pavilion---AFTER the rainshower! Then I took a walk downtown in the dusk, just for fun. 

The morning air was fresh and clean from the previous night. Before heading out of town, I went back into town to grab some coffee. The “good ole boys” were hanging out at the Stewart’s Convenience Store. We had a great little natter. The group of guys, ranging from say 40 to 85 yrs old, gather every morning to shoot the breeze and solve the problems of the world. They say they do a good job of the latter! After answering the typical questions about HD, I went inside, grabbed my coffee, and hit the road. Today, I chose to get back on the Erie Canalway Trail, thinking that I would then avoid the crazy hills of the highway, not to mention the traffic. 

The bikeway was absolutely delightful. I had lost my iPod late yesterday afternoon on the highway, so it was nice to be in the quiet of the woods, hearing the birds and bugs and streams. On the highway, it is nice to have music part of the day. 

The bikeway wound through some picturesque little towns, such as Fort Plain, Canajoharie, and Fultonville

Shortly after stopping in Fort Plain, I got back on the trail and was passed by a few ladies about my age on bicycles. They weren’t carrying packs, so I figured they were locals taking a day ride. About a mile later, I passed them while they were taking a break, and then they passed me again. One of the ladies, Shari, rode beside me for a few minutes and we shared stories. 

Oh my god!! This woman, with her friend Laurie, are REAL adventurers! While Laurie is retired, Shari still works, but the two women have been on some incredible travels together.  Thirteen years ago, they took a year off and took their savings and, first, hiked the Appalachian trail, stem to stern, which is 2170 miles. Then, they took the next 6 months and traveled the world, flying to Hong Kong, Europe, Africa, and some other places I can’t recall. In Florida, they hopped in a car and drove to Costa Rica. During this time of globe trotting, they hiked, biked, boated, and saw the sights.  While they kept an online journal, it is no longer up and running. 

I would have loved to read it!

So, right now, these intrepid travelers grabbed 3 other girlfriends and are cycling the entire Erie Canalway Trail.  Since it is not complete, they have to ride some highways and city streets part of the time, but they have maps that show how to get back on the trails. They stay in mid-level motels, like Days Inn. They have a few cars with them and they take turns driving the cars to each pre-determined destination. So, the ladies who are driving for the day, first cycle 15 miles out on the trail and then turn around and cycle back. Then they pick up the vehicles and drive to the designated town and check into the motels and wait for the other women. That way, even the drivers get a good workout every day. 

When Shari and Laurie were hiking the Appalachian trail, they carried backpacks and did a lot of camping and some motelling. They shipped winter and summer clothes to themselves (likely through pre-determined post offices) so that they weren’t carrying all the gear needed for the entire 6 months but changed out seasonal items. They asked how much I was carrying and I responded “at least 70 lbs”. 

I have cold and warm weather gear with me and I also carry quite a bit of water and food from time to time. Now that I am in the east, I don’t have to carry as much food and water because the population density is higher and there are more stores. Yay for that! But there may be fewer places to camp along the major highways. 

Even though HD is very heavy and slow, and even though I’m carrying everything I want, I still get from point A to point B. I’m traveling usuallly 40-60 miles a day, 50 is about perfect. Fewer miles if it involves cycling uphill a mountain. I’m comfortable, clean, and healthy. I have no rules, other than I must do this trip on the cycle. 

I compare myself to the tortoise, slow moving, carrying her home on her back. But she gets the job done.

In fact, this analogy was apropos for the day. The ladies on the bicylces were heading for Schenectady, as was I. They passed me up.  Then, an hour later, they would pass me again. I called out, “Hey, how did you do that? I didn’t pass you, how could you pass me again?”

Well, they were taking more breaks than I. Just like the tortoise and the hare. And, about 10 miles from Schenectady, shortly after the bike trail ended and we were spit out onto the highway, I passed Shari and one of her cycling buddies. Her friend had a flat and they had repaired it, but could not pump the tire back up because they didn’t have a hand pump, only a CO2 pump. But the CO2 pump had the wrong valve on it. So, we used my hand pump and pumped that sucker up and then all three of us got the tire back on the bike.

After the tire was secured, I went on my way, all the way through Schenectady and then turned south to check into a Super 8. I didn’t see them again; we may have taken different routes to Schenectady. 

I’m glad I have tools. And clothes. And my MacBook Air. And batteries. And spare innertubes. And a solar charger. And my girly stuff for my sun battered skin. I’m glad I have Henry David, who has taught me about patience and living the moment and going slowly enough to finally pay attention to what is going on around me. Like Life!

Henry David is just like his namesake in that regard. 

The Super 8 in south Schenectady (actually a burg called Schuyler) is a bare bones motel. But it did have hot water in the shower and breakfast in the morning.

So, on Saturday, August 24th, I had yogurt, a banana, and a toaster waffle for breakfast and then hit the road for the Green Mountain foothills in Vermont. After working through the streets of Schenectady, HD and I headed out on hwy 7. We had to get off the hwy and work the city streets again in Latham and Troy, catching the 7 on the way out of each town. 

The town of Troy was extremely hilly and I mean STEEP hills! I was definitely getting a workout and HD was definitely getting his gears worked. The left wheelguard has shifted and I am now using bungee cords to pull it inward so that the plastic guard does not rub on the wheel. Funny how much easier it is to pedal when nothing is rubbing on the tire! I may decide to remove the wheelguards entirely. Next bike shop stop. Not yet. For now, I will just use the bungee cord. It’s like going to a car mechanic. You spend money evey time you walk in the door. So, I will wait until I get new tires and get all HD’s aches and pains addressed at once.

About 3-5 miles from the Vermont border, while still riding the 7 in New York, I came upon “Big Moose”. This is a crazy, wonderful tourist joint which advertises genuine Vermont merchandise. It’s Vermont everything. You are not even in Vermont yet!! Every aisle is packed with candy, drinks, jerky, and stuff, stuff, stuff from VT. And pricey too! I availed myself of their outhouse and their coffee, but did not succumb to adding stuff to my gear. I have what I need! However, I did take some photos on my iPhone of some of the plaques and a few items so that I could share them with my children. 

I took a photo of 3 huge gnomes for Shannon. I took a photo of a funny dog saying for Heather, of a dad saying for Deois, and a photo of peanut butter and jelly flavored soda for all three of them. I took a photo of life sized Blue Brothers mannequins, hugging moose, and a funny saying about chocolate to Peter. OK. Enough! Now, back on the road to actually get to Vermont.

The shoulder on the NY hwy 7 deteriorated the closer I got to hwy 9, the Molly Stark Highway, in VT. But, thanks to the VDOT, the shoulder was fairly restored on the 9. 

The ride today was about 50 miles. It was hilly and beautiful and surprisingly easy. I am not sure why I found it easy.  I rode into Bennington, VT, my day’s destination, in the afternoon around 4:30 . I checked into the Kirkside Motor Lodge because of their fantastic website. While the bedspread and the wallpaper were country, the motel really couldn’t be compared to the Hampton Inn or the Best Western, as the website claimed. It was another very appreciated but simple motel. The staff in the tiny office were quite nice and the fellow travelers were friendly and welcoming. 

Henry David and I enjoyed the upstate New York experience. New York is incredibly varied and beautiful; the roads are cycle friendly; and the people are friendly. It has a history of ambition and hard work. 

New York IS America.


Tuesday, August 20, 2013

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!