Day 56

AUGUST 3 Blue Mountain Lake to Fort Ticonderoga, NY

As I loaded my panniers onto my bike the next morning, I noticed a little problem: the supports from my rack to my seat stay had broken, just like in Ithaca. Only now, the only thing holding my rack in place was the little contraption of screws and washers that the mechanic used to fix my rack in the first place; if that broke, my rack would likely fall backwards, hit my wheel, and send me flying into the pavement. Not a very happy scenario. "Ah, dad? My bike's broken."

Dad walked over and I pointed at the broken rack, "Ughh. Why do we only notice these things right when we're getting ready to ride!" He tried to imitate the mechanics jerry-rigged support, but the parts we had didn't quite cut it. "Oh! I know!" dad suddenly said, walking over to a stump on one side of the camp site. He picked up a little piece of string that had been left there be some earlier camper, "It's funny, when we first got here, I had a feeling that this string was important." he said as he walked back and began to tie it around my rack. When he was finished, the string connected my rack to my seat post, "Now, at least if the last support does break, the rack won't immediately fall off. Still, we need to find a way to fix this really soon. I don't want to be stuck in the middle of no where when the rack goes." Despite the fix, dad and I spent a half hour sullenly silent, both of us terrified that the rack would break.

I'm sure some of this is beginning to sound a little repetitive: we rode all day and the sky was gray; it rained some; we stopped for a second breakfast in town X (in this case, in Long Lake, and the timing was perfect! As soon as we were inside, the sky split open and it rained the entire time we ate, but stopped before we got outside); it rained some more. The truth is, the time in New York, though beautiful, largely was repetitive! That said, every day was different, and something special always happened. The special part of August 3rd was our descent out of the Adirondacks.

All day we had been climbing short, steep hills, that were always followed by short steep descents, which left us feeling like we were back at square one. Apparently, the descents weren't quite as far as the climbs, so by the end of the day we found ourselves on a hill overlooking the town of Fort Ticonderoga. The clouds were big and purple, glossed lightly yellow on the bottom by the sun; the road twisted out of the hills and forests of the Adirondacks, dropping to the valley and fields below; the town was visible in the distance. Exhausted, and fearing the impending rain, dad and I didn't stop to appreciate the view: we took the hill head on. As the road slanted away, I felt myself picking up speed and thoroughly enjoying it. I coasted most of the way into Fort Ticonderoga. It was only after we had stopped, at the bottom of the hill, that dad and I bothered to enjoy the view: behind, the road wove its way back into the green and gray of the mountains, fog rose off the forests, and the sun glowed faintly behind it all.

We stopped for dinner supplies in town, then rode a couple of miles off route to a camp ground. The first camp site we were assigned to was all mud, with large puddles and patches of muck that sucked at your shoes. As we set up our tents, dad finally shook his head in frustration, "You finish setting up the tents and I'll go see if there's an open spot nearby that we can switch to." He walked off and I finished setting up my tent, then put on the rain fly, then put on dad's rain fly... what seemed like a long time later he returned, "Well, I've got some good news and some bad news. Good news: I got us a dryer site; bad news: it's on the other side of the campground."

"Isn't there one just over there?" I asked, pointing at a vacant site just across the road.

"It's reserved. C'mon, lets just bundle the tents up... no need to roll 'em up... then we can strap 'em to the bikes." We repacked our tents then slowly rode to the other site. "Oh... I think this looks too wet!" dad joked, "I'll go see if we can switch."

I glared at him, "There could be a lake in this site and I wouldn't move!" I said, "I'm dead." We put up our tents, and I went to shower while dad made dinner. When dinner was over, I did dishes as the sun sank below the trees, finishing in the dark. Without my headlight, I fumbled my way to my tent, flopped inside, and fell asleep without bothering to write.