I didn't mean to post the last post yet, so it's only half done... I'll finish the rest of it next time I'm on a computer.
~Seth
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Day 55
AUGUST 2 Boonville to Blue Mountain Lake, NY
Dad and I had started to break down our tents by the time the girls woke up. Again, dad wandered over to talk to them with me in tow, and soon we were helping eat their pancake breakfast. Cate mixed up the pancake batter, then while it was in the pan, Sarah shaved pieces of chocolate (from a mass of chocolate chips that had melted then hardened together) into the it and added slices of a tart apricot. The overall effect was quite good: sour, but sweet enough to be tasty without any syrup. We all ate them with our hands as soon as they came out of the pan. When we left, dad promised that if we camped with them again we would make them a cake using the double-boiler method Pat had taught us.
I played a game with myself as we rode, making up characters using names I saw on signs: the name Joslin on a mailbox became Sir Joslin, a young knight who wears glasses and fights with a mace; the town of Woodgate became Gregoire Woodgate, a traveling wizard who collects flowers; Timberlane Road became the Timberlane family, who rule a small barony as part of a larger kingdom. By the end of the day, I had created 15 such characters, all together on a Chaucerian pillgrimage across an imaginary world. Though not my most.... memorable characters, they certainly helped pass the hours of sitting on a bicycle seat.
Just under a mile from Old Forge, where we planned to stop for a second breakfast, dad's tire went flat with a sudden rush of air. As he pulled to the side of the road and began changing the tube, it began to rain. Gritting his teeth in frusteration, he continued the process, finally replacing the tube and jerking his wheel back into place. We started riding again, the rain letting off now that the tire was changed, and were suddenly confronted by more people in one place than we'd seen since Niagara Falls. Apparently Old Forge, as well as most of the Adirondacks, serve as a popular vactaion spot, especially on weekends (it was just our luck that the days we were riding through the Adirondacks were a Saturday and Sunday.) We managed to squeeze our way into a restuarant for breakfast, then left town in a hurry.
The rest of the day passed smoothly; the landscape was some of the best on the entire trip: at times, we felt that we were back in the Skagit River Valley in Western Washington. The weather was damp, but not wet, and the skly remained an exciting swirl of gray clouds. For the first time since Montatna, we were surrounded by more pines and firs than oaks, maples, or birches.
Dad and I had started to break down our tents by the time the girls woke up. Again, dad wandered over to talk to them with me in tow, and soon we were helping eat their pancake breakfast. Cate mixed up the pancake batter, then while it was in the pan, Sarah shaved pieces of chocolate (from a mass of chocolate chips that had melted then hardened together) into the it and added slices of a tart apricot. The overall effect was quite good: sour, but sweet enough to be tasty without any syrup. We all ate them with our hands as soon as they came out of the pan. When we left, dad promised that if we camped with them again we would make them a cake using the double-boiler method Pat had taught us.
I played a game with myself as we rode, making up characters using names I saw on signs: the name Joslin on a mailbox became Sir Joslin, a young knight who wears glasses and fights with a mace; the town of Woodgate became Gregoire Woodgate, a traveling wizard who collects flowers; Timberlane Road became the Timberlane family, who rule a small barony as part of a larger kingdom. By the end of the day, I had created 15 such characters, all together on a Chaucerian pillgrimage across an imaginary world. Though not my most.... memorable characters, they certainly helped pass the hours of sitting on a bicycle seat.
Just under a mile from Old Forge, where we planned to stop for a second breakfast, dad's tire went flat with a sudden rush of air. As he pulled to the side of the road and began changing the tube, it began to rain. Gritting his teeth in frusteration, he continued the process, finally replacing the tube and jerking his wheel back into place. We started riding again, the rain letting off now that the tire was changed, and were suddenly confronted by more people in one place than we'd seen since Niagara Falls. Apparently Old Forge, as well as most of the Adirondacks, serve as a popular vactaion spot, especially on weekends (it was just our luck that the days we were riding through the Adirondacks were a Saturday and Sunday.) We managed to squeeze our way into a restuarant for breakfast, then left town in a hurry.
The rest of the day passed smoothly; the landscape was some of the best on the entire trip: at times, we felt that we were back in the Skagit River Valley in Western Washington. The weather was damp, but not wet, and the skly remained an exciting swirl of gray clouds. For the first time since Montatna, we were surrounded by more pines and firs than oaks, maples, or birches.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Day 54
AUGUST 1 Fulton to Boonville NY
We were up and out of the Fulton campground early the next morning, still enjoying the thrill of being back on the road. After a brief detour to view Lake Ontario (our third Great Lake), and an encounter with a rider from French Canada, Guyton Champagne, dad and I arrived in the town of Pulaski around 10:30 in the morning. Since our ride was going to be on the shorter side, we decided to stop for an hour or so to use the computers in the Pulaski Public Library. We rode up to the library and propped our bikes against a wall. A man leaning on the wall a few paces down looked over at us, "Where ya comin' from?" he asked.
"Washington State, just above Seattle."
"Gah'!" he exclaimed in an east coast accent, "An' where're ya goin' to?"
"Bar Harbor, Maine."
"Chris'! You guys're crazy! Good luck!" He stood up, shaking his head and smiling, and wandered away.
I walked into the library, still grinning at his surprise, and confidently stepped up to the Librarian, "Can I get on a computer here?" I asked.
She eyed me suspiciously, clearly thinking Another one of these cyclists!?! How many are there? and gestured at a sheet of paper, "You can sign in there, but there's a 45 minute wait." Crestfallen, I scrawled my name on the line and walked back outside, shaking my head at dad.
I pulled out the bag of gorp, and dad and I were just planning our next move (Lunch in the park? Wait the 45 minutes? Ride on?) when a man walked out of the library and right up to us, "Sorry, I have to ask, cross country?" He said eagerly, grinning like a kid.
"Yeah."
"West to East or East to West?" he asked.
"West to East. We..."
"I don't know why anyone would do it the other way! The head winds would be awful! So, are you ending in Bar Harbor?"
"Yeah... How do you know so much about this? Have you followed the Adventure Cycling Route?" dad asked.
"No, just lots of cross country riders pass through Pulaski. Following AC, then? Going into the Adirondacks?" he didn't wait for a reply, "So, tonight you'll stay in... West Leyden?"
"That's the plan..." dad responded.
"It's beautiful up there... here, let me see your map!" he sat down on a stone wall next to the road, letting his feet dangle above the ground. Dad and I climbed up on either side of him, "Oh, here in Old Forge, they rent Kayaks... and there's a really nice hike up over here, up to an old viewpoint... and over here..." he listed off all the possible tourist attractions in the area. "Well, I have to go, off to my own bike tour. We ride through Canada every year. You should check out the park... the Lion's club is barbecuing chickens as a fundraiser. Have a great trip, guys."
"You too!" we called as he walked away, waving over his shoulder. Dad and I ate a chicken lunch in the park, watching the BMXers do a very different kind of biking, then left Pulaski.
The hills began just outside of West Leyden, the first since Montana. The pavement dropped out below our front wheels, then rose steeply in front of us, time and again. By the time we reached the town, both of us were more then ready to stop for the day. We pulled into a convenience store that our map said let cyclists camp out back. As soon as we stopped, a quartet of mountain bikers made their way over to us, "You don't happen to have a pump for presta tubes? The little valves?" the lead one asked; he wore a cowboy hat and jeans, and had a scraggly brown beard.
"Yeah, actually we do!" dad said as I took my frame pump off my bike . Although dad had drilled both of our tires to accommodate Schraeder valves (the big ones), because they are easier to find in small towns, our pumps could be converted for use with the presta valves as well. I switched my pump around and handed it to the man in the cowboy hat.
"Thanks, man." he said and began furiously inflating his tires, "So, where're you guys headin'?"
"Maine." I said casually. He looked up at me, his eyes round.
"Really?" cooed the girl standing next to him, "That's a long ways."
"And where are you comin' from?" a third mountain biker asked.
"Washington." dad said in the same casual voice I had used.
"As in State?" the girl asked. Dad and I spent the next five minutes reveling in our celebrity status until the leader had pumped up the tires. "Good luck!" they all called, heaving their mountain bikes into the back of a muddy pick up truck and driving away.
As soon as they left, dad looked at me with a mischievous grin on his face, "Wow... she was... well-endowed. I kept telling myself, look at her face, Chip, look at her face!"
I laughed, mildlyshocked, "I kinda notcied that too, but I don't know if you're allowed to think that!" I said indignantly, "You're my dad!"
"What's that got to do with anything? I was just noticing it..." he turned around and walked into the store. Minutes later, he returned, rolling his eyes, "They don't know anything about letting cyclists camp out back. They said Fred and Glenda who used to own the store might have done something like that..."
Sighing, I pulled out the map, "Looks like our next option is in ten miles: Stysh's Big Barn... that sounds sort of ominous."
"Don't really have much choice, do we?" dad asked, climbing onto his saddle. I shook my head, and we rode on to Stysh's Big Barn.
It turns out there was nothing ominous about the Big Barn. In fact, it was the very opposite: our site was cheap, the showers were free, and we even had a little kitchenette to use for cooking dinner. Dad and I showered and ate, and were just starting the dishes, when the three girls rode into camp. We finished cleaning up, then walked over to talk to them. The oldest, Liz, who we had met in the library, was showering, but her two younger sisters were starting to cook dinner: Cate, who has just finished college, boiled water for noodles, while Sarah, who is a freshman studying physics at Princeton, diced a Cucumber. Dad started talking to them about the ride, while I stood on shyly listening to the conversation. Liz returned and set up their tent, then joined the conversation. "So, whose on the Trek 520?" dad asked, pointing at a bike identical to ours.
"That's Cate's." Liz said, "Sarah and I decided to go with the cyclo-cross bikes. Cate just wanted something different."
"Her name's Wanda." Cate interjected.
"So how're the cyclo-cross bikes working?" dad asked.
"Fine for me..." Liz said, "Sarah's has had a few problems..." Dad raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Well, I broke a spoke, and the back wheel is getting more and more out of true." Sarah said, "We just keep loosening up the brakes when it starts to rub."
"We haven't been able to find any good bike shops around." Cate said, "Like one of the ones we found was called Pedals and Petals, as in they sell bikes and flowers."
"We had nicknames for ourselves in the beginning." Sarah put in, "So I was Gravel Panda Bear at first, because I fell down whenever I hit gravel, and now I'm just General Chaos Panda Bear."
"Hear that, Seth." dad teased, "Your not the only one who has trouble staying vertical." he turned to Sarah, "General Chaos? Has something else happened to you?"
"Well, besides the spoke, I lost a pannier..." she said.
"Lost it?"
"Well, yeah. I was riding down the road and I looked down and realized one of my front panniers was missing. We rode back ten miles to the spot that I thought I had lost it, but we never found it."
"Wait, you rode ten miles without noticing your pannier was gone?" Sarah nodded, "And you're a physics major at Princeton?"
"I know, my parents gave me a lot of crap for that." she laughed, "I kept saying, 'Can't you give me some sympathy?'"
"So you're still riding with a broken spoke?" dad asked. She nodded again.
"We met some people who were having wheel problems." I put in, thinking of Greg and Caroline. I stared at the table while I spoke, for some reason too nervous to make eye contact, "And I read on their blog that they just got skunked...." Everyone grimaced.
"I heard somewhere that if you get sprayed by a skunk, you're supposed to capture it." Cate said, "And then you take it to the vet to get de-stinked. Then you can keep it as a pet."
"I wouldn't think that's a very good idea...." dad said.
"But they're so cute!" Cate said.
"And they have sharp teeth."
"Ah, well...." We spent hours talking to them that evening until it finally got to dark to see. They invited us to eat pancakes with them the next morning, then we all headed off to bed.
We were up and out of the Fulton campground early the next morning, still enjoying the thrill of being back on the road. After a brief detour to view Lake Ontario (our third Great Lake), and an encounter with a rider from French Canada, Guyton Champagne, dad and I arrived in the town of Pulaski around 10:30 in the morning. Since our ride was going to be on the shorter side, we decided to stop for an hour or so to use the computers in the Pulaski Public Library. We rode up to the library and propped our bikes against a wall. A man leaning on the wall a few paces down looked over at us, "Where ya comin' from?" he asked.
"Washington State, just above Seattle."
"Gah'!" he exclaimed in an east coast accent, "An' where're ya goin' to?"
"Bar Harbor, Maine."
"Chris'! You guys're crazy! Good luck!" He stood up, shaking his head and smiling, and wandered away.
I walked into the library, still grinning at his surprise, and confidently stepped up to the Librarian, "Can I get on a computer here?" I asked.
She eyed me suspiciously, clearly thinking Another one of these cyclists!?! How many are there? and gestured at a sheet of paper, "You can sign in there, but there's a 45 minute wait." Crestfallen, I scrawled my name on the line and walked back outside, shaking my head at dad.
I pulled out the bag of gorp, and dad and I were just planning our next move (Lunch in the park? Wait the 45 minutes? Ride on?) when a man walked out of the library and right up to us, "Sorry, I have to ask, cross country?" He said eagerly, grinning like a kid.
"Yeah."
"West to East or East to West?" he asked.
"West to East. We..."
"I don't know why anyone would do it the other way! The head winds would be awful! So, are you ending in Bar Harbor?"
"Yeah... How do you know so much about this? Have you followed the Adventure Cycling Route?" dad asked.
"No, just lots of cross country riders pass through Pulaski. Following AC, then? Going into the Adirondacks?" he didn't wait for a reply, "So, tonight you'll stay in... West Leyden?"
"That's the plan..." dad responded.
"It's beautiful up there... here, let me see your map!" he sat down on a stone wall next to the road, letting his feet dangle above the ground. Dad and I climbed up on either side of him, "Oh, here in Old Forge, they rent Kayaks... and there's a really nice hike up over here, up to an old viewpoint... and over here..." he listed off all the possible tourist attractions in the area. "Well, I have to go, off to my own bike tour. We ride through Canada every year. You should check out the park... the Lion's club is barbecuing chickens as a fundraiser. Have a great trip, guys."
"You too!" we called as he walked away, waving over his shoulder. Dad and I ate a chicken lunch in the park, watching the BMXers do a very different kind of biking, then left Pulaski.
The hills began just outside of West Leyden, the first since Montana. The pavement dropped out below our front wheels, then rose steeply in front of us, time and again. By the time we reached the town, both of us were more then ready to stop for the day. We pulled into a convenience store that our map said let cyclists camp out back. As soon as we stopped, a quartet of mountain bikers made their way over to us, "You don't happen to have a pump for presta tubes? The little valves?" the lead one asked; he wore a cowboy hat and jeans, and had a scraggly brown beard.
"Yeah, actually we do!" dad said as I took my frame pump off my bike . Although dad had drilled both of our tires to accommodate Schraeder valves (the big ones), because they are easier to find in small towns, our pumps could be converted for use with the presta valves as well. I switched my pump around and handed it to the man in the cowboy hat.
"Thanks, man." he said and began furiously inflating his tires, "So, where're you guys headin'?"
"Maine." I said casually. He looked up at me, his eyes round.
"Really?" cooed the girl standing next to him, "That's a long ways."
"And where are you comin' from?" a third mountain biker asked.
"Washington." dad said in the same casual voice I had used.
"As in State?" the girl asked. Dad and I spent the next five minutes reveling in our celebrity status until the leader had pumped up the tires. "Good luck!" they all called, heaving their mountain bikes into the back of a muddy pick up truck and driving away.
As soon as they left, dad looked at me with a mischievous grin on his face, "Wow... she was... well-endowed. I kept telling myself, look at her face, Chip, look at her face!"
I laughed, mildlyshocked, "I kinda notcied that too, but I don't know if you're allowed to think that!" I said indignantly, "You're my dad!"
"What's that got to do with anything? I was just noticing it..." he turned around and walked into the store. Minutes later, he returned, rolling his eyes, "They don't know anything about letting cyclists camp out back. They said Fred and Glenda who used to own the store might have done something like that..."
Sighing, I pulled out the map, "Looks like our next option is in ten miles: Stysh's Big Barn... that sounds sort of ominous."
"Don't really have much choice, do we?" dad asked, climbing onto his saddle. I shook my head, and we rode on to Stysh's Big Barn.
It turns out there was nothing ominous about the Big Barn. In fact, it was the very opposite: our site was cheap, the showers were free, and we even had a little kitchenette to use for cooking dinner. Dad and I showered and ate, and were just starting the dishes, when the three girls rode into camp. We finished cleaning up, then walked over to talk to them. The oldest, Liz, who we had met in the library, was showering, but her two younger sisters were starting to cook dinner: Cate, who has just finished college, boiled water for noodles, while Sarah, who is a freshman studying physics at Princeton, diced a Cucumber. Dad started talking to them about the ride, while I stood on shyly listening to the conversation. Liz returned and set up their tent, then joined the conversation. "So, whose on the Trek 520?" dad asked, pointing at a bike identical to ours.
"That's Cate's." Liz said, "Sarah and I decided to go with the cyclo-cross bikes. Cate just wanted something different."
"Her name's Wanda." Cate interjected.
"So how're the cyclo-cross bikes working?" dad asked.
"Fine for me..." Liz said, "Sarah's has had a few problems..." Dad raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Well, I broke a spoke, and the back wheel is getting more and more out of true." Sarah said, "We just keep loosening up the brakes when it starts to rub."
"We haven't been able to find any good bike shops around." Cate said, "Like one of the ones we found was called Pedals and Petals, as in they sell bikes and flowers."
"We had nicknames for ourselves in the beginning." Sarah put in, "So I was Gravel Panda Bear at first, because I fell down whenever I hit gravel, and now I'm just General Chaos Panda Bear."
"Hear that, Seth." dad teased, "Your not the only one who has trouble staying vertical." he turned to Sarah, "General Chaos? Has something else happened to you?"
"Well, besides the spoke, I lost a pannier..." she said.
"Lost it?"
"Well, yeah. I was riding down the road and I looked down and realized one of my front panniers was missing. We rode back ten miles to the spot that I thought I had lost it, but we never found it."
"Wait, you rode ten miles without noticing your pannier was gone?" Sarah nodded, "And you're a physics major at Princeton?"
"I know, my parents gave me a lot of crap for that." she laughed, "I kept saying, 'Can't you give me some sympathy?'"
"So you're still riding with a broken spoke?" dad asked. She nodded again.
"We met some people who were having wheel problems." I put in, thinking of Greg and Caroline. I stared at the table while I spoke, for some reason too nervous to make eye contact, "And I read on their blog that they just got skunked...." Everyone grimaced.
"I heard somewhere that if you get sprayed by a skunk, you're supposed to capture it." Cate said, "And then you take it to the vet to get de-stinked. Then you can keep it as a pet."
"I wouldn't think that's a very good idea...." dad said.
"But they're so cute!" Cate said.
"And they have sharp teeth."
"Ah, well...." We spent hours talking to them that evening until it finally got to dark to see. They invited us to eat pancakes with them the next morning, then we all headed off to bed.
Day 53
JULY 31 Ithaca to Fulton, NY
Leaving Ithaca, it felt great to be back on the bike... there was a certain sweetness in my legs as I pedalled, a very contented, eager feeling. Unfortunately, large purple clouds were building on the horizon, and a few scattered drops fell from the sky. In my bags, I carried the latest batch of letters from Aunt Kathy's first graders, one of my most prized possessions on the trip, and I was terrified they'd get drenched. After a few tense minutes, dad spotted a solution: a post office. We sent the letters home, along with a few extra items we decided to purge from our bags. Of course, when we walked out to our bikes after mailing the letters, the sky was perfectly clear.
The rest of our ride that morning passed easily along the eastern shore of Lake Cayuga, until that afternoon, we rode back onto the Adventure Cycle route. A few miles shy of our destination, dad spotted a vegetable stand by the side of the road, advertising "Sweet Corn" on a fading wooden sign. He paused a second, staring at the sign, then turned around and rode back to the stand. Before we even stopped, the woman behind the counter had two cucumbers in each hand, "Here, take these, they have a high water content... a good way to stay hydrated." Thanking her, we took the gifts and stowed them in our bag. Three dollars later, we had enough corn, potatoes, zucchini, and broccoli for dinner for the next few days.
I proffered our water bottles, "Do you think you could fill a couple of these for us?" I asked.
"Sure!" she said, taking the bottles behind the counter and filling them with ice water from a small refrigerator she had to store produce. "And take some of these!" she gave us some packets of Crystal Lite powder to add to our water.
We set up our camp then rode into the town of Fulton to use the computers in the library. As I wandered in, clad in lycra, my bike cleats clicking faintly on the floor, a red head at one of the computers looked up, "Are you biking across the country?" she asked. I nodded, surprised that she had guessed so easily, "We are too!" she said, then glanced around her, "Well, I'm the only one here... I'm riding with my two sisters."
"Are you staying in the campground just outside of town?" dad asked, "We saw you ride in... but you were unloaded, so we didn't figure..."
"Oh, our parents met us for a couple of days, and they carried our bags. It's been so nice for our knees... but they're leaving tomorrow." she grimaced, "I'm not looking forward to riding a loaded bike again."
By now, dad and I had both settled down in front of a computer, "You should come over this evening," dad prompted, "It'd be great to hear about your trip."
"Oh, definitely." the girl agreed, turning back to her computer screen.
Back at camp, we showered, ate dinner (which was excellent thanks to all of the fresh vegetables), then went out for ice cream at a near by store. When we got back from our ice cream run, I wandered off to the bathroom while dad looked around the camp, making sure everything was put away. Returning to camp, I found it empty and assumed dad had gone to bed. I crawled in my tent and began writing in my journal until it was too dark to see the page. Just after I had closed my journal and slipped inside my sleeping bag, dad walked into camp, "Oh, hey." I said, surprised he wasn't asleep, "Where were you?".
"I was talking to those girls." He said, "I ran into their dad while I was taking pictures of the lake, and then we started talking, and then...." he grinned, "Well, you know how much I can talk. I finally decided it was time to leave when it started getting dark. I think they're planning to stay the same place we are tomorrow night, so you'll probably get to meet them then. Good night!"
"Good night, dad." I replied as he climbed into his tent and went to sleep.
Leaving Ithaca, it felt great to be back on the bike... there was a certain sweetness in my legs as I pedalled, a very contented, eager feeling. Unfortunately, large purple clouds were building on the horizon, and a few scattered drops fell from the sky. In my bags, I carried the latest batch of letters from Aunt Kathy's first graders, one of my most prized possessions on the trip, and I was terrified they'd get drenched. After a few tense minutes, dad spotted a solution: a post office. We sent the letters home, along with a few extra items we decided to purge from our bags. Of course, when we walked out to our bikes after mailing the letters, the sky was perfectly clear.
The rest of our ride that morning passed easily along the eastern shore of Lake Cayuga, until that afternoon, we rode back onto the Adventure Cycle route. A few miles shy of our destination, dad spotted a vegetable stand by the side of the road, advertising "Sweet Corn" on a fading wooden sign. He paused a second, staring at the sign, then turned around and rode back to the stand. Before we even stopped, the woman behind the counter had two cucumbers in each hand, "Here, take these, they have a high water content... a good way to stay hydrated." Thanking her, we took the gifts and stowed them in our bag. Three dollars later, we had enough corn, potatoes, zucchini, and broccoli for dinner for the next few days.
I proffered our water bottles, "Do you think you could fill a couple of these for us?" I asked.
"Sure!" she said, taking the bottles behind the counter and filling them with ice water from a small refrigerator she had to store produce. "And take some of these!" she gave us some packets of Crystal Lite powder to add to our water.
We set up our camp then rode into the town of Fulton to use the computers in the library. As I wandered in, clad in lycra, my bike cleats clicking faintly on the floor, a red head at one of the computers looked up, "Are you biking across the country?" she asked. I nodded, surprised that she had guessed so easily, "We are too!" she said, then glanced around her, "Well, I'm the only one here... I'm riding with my two sisters."
"Are you staying in the campground just outside of town?" dad asked, "We saw you ride in... but you were unloaded, so we didn't figure..."
"Oh, our parents met us for a couple of days, and they carried our bags. It's been so nice for our knees... but they're leaving tomorrow." she grimaced, "I'm not looking forward to riding a loaded bike again."
By now, dad and I had both settled down in front of a computer, "You should come over this evening," dad prompted, "It'd be great to hear about your trip."
"Oh, definitely." the girl agreed, turning back to her computer screen.
Back at camp, we showered, ate dinner (which was excellent thanks to all of the fresh vegetables), then went out for ice cream at a near by store. When we got back from our ice cream run, I wandered off to the bathroom while dad looked around the camp, making sure everything was put away. Returning to camp, I found it empty and assumed dad had gone to bed. I crawled in my tent and began writing in my journal until it was too dark to see the page. Just after I had closed my journal and slipped inside my sleeping bag, dad walked into camp, "Oh, hey." I said, surprised he wasn't asleep, "Where were you?".
"I was talking to those girls." He said, "I ran into their dad while I was taking pictures of the lake, and then we started talking, and then...." he grinned, "Well, you know how much I can talk. I finally decided it was time to leave when it started getting dark. I think they're planning to stay the same place we are tomorrow night, so you'll probably get to meet them then. Good night!"
"Good night, dad." I replied as he climbed into his tent and went to sleep.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Days 49, 50, 51, & 52
JULY 27 Pittsford to Seneca Falls, NY
We woke up late and had a long breakfast with Mike and Pnina: omelets, fresh veggies (tomatoes and avocados), toast, jam, and Cantaloupe. Mike brought out a glass jar filled with a murky, white fluid; white chunks floated in the mixture, "What's that?" I asked.
"It's herring. It's a... kind of fish?" he looked questioningly at dad, who nodded, "I thought so, but I couldn't remember if that was the name of the process done to it. I've only ever seen it pickled. Try some." He offered me the jar. Hesitantly, I took a tiny piece and an even tinier bite. "Now you can say you've tried herring."
"And I don't think he'll ever try any again." dad smiled, catching the look on my face.
Reluctantly, we left Mike and Pnina's house around 10:00 (one of our latest starts). They offered to let us stay for a "day of rest", but we were nearly to Amelia's house in Ithaca, and had to decline. "Thank you for everything!" we said as we left.
"Thank you for being kind to Yoni." Mike replied. Our night at Mike and Pnina's was one of my favorite stops on the trip.
We rode along the Erie Canal for much of the morning. About 20 miles into our ride, we spotted two cyclists up ahead. As we rode ast, I recognized the people we had met on Bike Fridays outside of Niagara Falls. "Hello again!" I called, coming to a stop.
At the same time, the other three all shouted too, "Stop!" "Wait!" "Hello!" and all stopped as well.
"I told my husband, if we saw you again, I wanted to get your pictures for my journal!" the woman said.
"I was thinking the same thing!" dad answered. Each pair of us posed for the other's camera, then dad asked, "So, what are your guy's names?"
"Dean and Elner." The man piped in.
"And you are?" Elner asked. She copied our names down on a note pad, as well as the blog. When she heard about FAAN, she dug a $5 bill out of her purse and handed it to me, "My granddaughter has food allergies too. Good luck with your fundraiser. I thanked her, and we all wished each other well, then rode on.
We stopped for lunch by the Erie Canal, feasting on cherries and blueberries Pnina had given us. Then, we turned off the Adventure Cycle Route, heading south towards Ithaca, where Skipper's friend Amelia lives. The heat and humidity slowly climbed as the day progressed, but the miles still felt easy and a gentle breeze kept us cool.
Suddenly, there was a metal clank, a rush of air, and an imperceptible drop in the front of the bike: my front tire had just gone flat. Swearing to myself probably more than necessary, I climber off the bike and began to take off my front wheel. "At least the weather's nice for you to change the tire." dad noted.
"I have a sinking suspicion," I said drily, "that by the time I have the wheel changed, the weather will seem far to warm for me." I was right. By the time I had my tire off and my tube changed, sweat coated my face, and my jersey stuck to my back uncomfortably. As I tried to pump up my tire, dad suggested I hold the pump differently, "I got it!" I snapped, more irritably than dad deserved. He backed away to let me finish with my wheel. I changed my hand hold on the pump. When I had my bike back in a running condition, I rolled it over by dad, "Hey, sorry for griping at you back there." I apologized, "I think the heat was getting to me a little bit."
"Hey, don't worry about it." he reassured me, "Everyone gets a little grumpy changing tires."
We picked up groceries for dinner in Seneca Fall (where we also saw a statue of Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, put in place because of a woman's rights convention they held there in the mid-1800s), then headed off to our camp ground in Cayuga Lake State Park for the evening.
JULY 28 Seneca Falls to Ithaca NY & JULY 29 and 30 in Ithaca, NY
The ride into Ithaca was truly uneventful, except for an annoying rattling coming from my rack. I rode tentatively half the morning, until I discovered that the sound was caused by a loose screw. We tightened it down as much as we could using our hands, then I continued to ride, much more confident that my bike would hold together at least until that evening. After one of our shortest rides of the trip, we made it to Ithaca, and waited in a co-op to meet Amelia. She rode up on a bright red racing bike, then walked over. "Hello, hows it going?" she said when she got near.
"It's been great." dad told her, "And Ithaca looks like it will be amazing."
"Oh, it's a great town for riding in." Amelia told us, "So, there are two ways to get home. And they both involve hills." She smiled knowingly at the chagrin on our faces, "One way, theeasier way, is four miles of up hill. The other way is two miles of really steep uphill, and then it mellows out some."
"I don't know..." dad said, "What do you think, Seth?"
"Lets go for the steep one," I said, "get it over with faster."
"All right!" Amelia said eagerly, "The fun way!... and if we get there and it looks like it might be a little too fun for you, we can always switch and go the other way." The last part had me a little worried, but when we got to the hill, it didn't turn out to be as horrifying as I expected. I shifted down into my easiest gears, then spun my way up the steep, single-lane road that wound its way past a cemetery and a series of beautiful, old yellow-brick houses.
At Amelia's house, we met her dog (part German shepherd) named Indy, for Indiana Jones. We made our selves lunch while Amelia pedaled back to work at Cornell College. That afternoon, as dad was going over the bikes, he discovered a few mechanical issues with mine: one of the supports leading from my rack to my seat stay (the tube under the seat) was partially broken; on top of that, there was a big gash in my back tire, and cracks next to four of my spokes. I seem to be hard on bikes. (I blame it on the fact that Artoo, my mechanical good luck charm, lost his right leg. My good luck charm had a mechanical!) That evening we visited a local bike shop which a Cornell Machinist runs out of his house. He sold us a replacement tire, and cobbled together a few washers and a screw to hold the rack together (he said the break wasn't bad enough to really worry about) but told us we didn't need a new wheel: it was still in good enough condition to make it to Maine.
Over the next couple of days, I visited Cornell College (which was too big for my tastes) and spent plenty of time on the computer, trying to get up to date. Each evening at 5:00, Amelia's husband, Oliver, would bring their kids, Cady and Peter, home from science camp. The first evening, they were shy around the strangers in their house, leaving dad and I mostly to talk to Amelia and Oliver, or read. This changed the second night. A few minutes after arriving home, Cady (who is 6) walked up to me and flourished a wooden sword, "I challenge you to a duel!" to exclaimed in a French-English-generic-noble-person accent.
"But I don't have a weapon." I said with a sinking feeling that I would be stabbed anyway. Cady looked around, perplexed for a second, the ran over and grabbed a plastic back massager.
"Here, use this!" she said in her regular voice. Reluctantly, I took my weapon and stood. Cady began her attack. After a flurry of lightly placed sword blows, she dodged through my defenses and gently hit me on the wrist, "Ha! I cut off your hand!"
"Ahh, but there is something you don't know!" I said, thinking of the Princess Bride, "I am truly left handed!" I switched the back massager to my other hand. After a few more slashes, I tapped her just above the knee, "Ooops, I think I cut off your leg." Cady wrinkled her nose and sat down on the floor, then quickly cut off both of my legs. Soon, I was entirely de-limbed.
"Now you're like the Black Knight from Monty Python," Amelia joked as she walked by, "Come back here and I'll bite off your knee caps." Cady decided to finish me off, stabbing her sword down at my chest.
Thinking I had played my part and was done, I quietly retreated to the room dad was staying in and closed the door, settling in to read Crime and Punishment. Even as I read, I had a sinking feeling that I wasn't through with my new role, so I wasn't surprised when the door flew open and Cady rushed in, followed by her brother Peter (about 8) who was now brandishing the wooden sword. "Trying to hide from us Steph?" Cady said, "Now we'll get you!" The rest of my evening, as well as much of the next, was spent dodging sword strokes, or, as the case may be, failing to dodge sword strokes and thus "losing" an arm, a leg, or my head. The day before we left, Cady came up to me, and in an earnest, six-year-old fashion, said, "You know Steph, you're a lot more fun than that other man you're with. He's pretty boring." Amelia got quite the laugh out of that.
We spent three nights in Ithaca, and by our third morning, dad and I were beginning to get antsy from sitting still. We thanked everyone, then got back into the saddle.
Day 48
JULY 26 Niagara Falls, Ontario to Pittsford, NY
We scarfed a couple of pop tarts in the hotel room before leaving the hotel, planning on finding breakfast somewhere. We ate at Dad's Diner, a small restaurant outside of the tourist section of Niagara falls, then zipped over to the Buddhist Temple. It still wasn't open for the morning, but we wandered the grounds, admiring the statues and artwork littering the compound. Signs around the courtyard read "This isn't Jurassic Park, but the path to enlightenment can be rewarding. Please, respect our holy place."
After visiting the temple, we went in search of the bridge across the Niagara River that would take us back into America. We followed the directions given on the Adventure Cycling map, but when the map finally called for a turn onto the bridge, there was nothing but a massive construction zone. Dad and I rode around frantically for a few minutes, searching for a sign leading to the bridge. The most irksome part of all, is that just above our heads, we could see the bridge, packed with cars waiting to get through customs; we just couldn't get there! Finally, we spotted a sign pointing to the highway saying "Bridge to America, 3 Miles." Irritably, dad and I began to ride the 3 miles; about half a mile in, we spotted an unloaded bicyclist riding towards us. Dad flagged him down and he pulled over, "Do you know, are we going the right way to get to the bridge to America?" dad asked.
"Only if you're a car." the man said, "Here, I'll show you how bikes get there." He rode back with us to the construction zone, and showed us a road that cut up through the middle of it, "It looks like a construction road, but you ride through it and you'll come to the Canadian customs. They'll let you cut through there, and you'll be in the line to get into America." We thanked him and followed his instruction into the customs line. Then we waited in line for 45 minutes in the rain, much to the amusement of the cars around us.
When we reached the crossing, the boarder guard walked over to us, "Passports." he said completely deadpan. We handed them over. "Where are you coming from." Still no emotion.
"We crossed into Canada in Marine City... and we started in Anacortes Washington." dad said nervously.
"You rode your bicycles all the way here from Washington?" he asked, still emotionless.
"Yes."
"Is that all you have?" he pointed at our bags, and his voice wavered slightly; he almost sounded as though he wanted to be impressed.
"Yes."
"Okay, you guys are fine. Go ahead." his voice reverted to its original monotone.
Once in New York, we took a wrong turn, and by the time we realized our mistake, we had already coasted down the Niagara Escarpment. Back on route, after a brutal climb back up the escarpment,we began to put down the miles, taking full advantage of the small tail wind we had. We hoped to make it to Pittsford, 100 miles from Niagara, to spend the night with Yoni's parents, Mike and Pnina (Yoni, who we met in Minnesota.) We pushed all the way into Rochester, New York, then rode our last 15 miles of the day on the Erie Canal Trail (the irony did not escape us.)
At the end of the day, we rode around a corner in he bike path to see a wiry man with thick gray hair, standing patiently by the side of the road. Seeing our loaded bikes roll around the corner, he smiled and walked over, "Hi, I'm Mike, Yoni's dad. And you are..." He addressed me because I was in the lead.
"I'm Seth." I said, shaking his hand.
"And you must be Chip!" Mike said, turning to my dad. "If you want to just ride up here, you can put your bags in my car and I'll show you over to our house." I hesitated out of instinct before parting with my handlebar bag. "You want to put that one in too?"
I started to mumble a no, "It's like our purse." dad explained.
"I'm not going to run off with it." Mike said, and I realized how silly I was for being worried. I handed over my bag. "Yoni's been riding with some boys in Montana who have a van sagging for them. He says it's liberating not to ride with bags." (Pnina later said Yoni also felt a little guilty giving up all his weight.)
At their house, we met Pnina, Yoni's mom, who was born in Israel. She cooked an amazing dinner of fish, brown rice, corn, red cabbage boiled in apple juice (which was amazing), and a vegetable soup that we ate with a horseradish & beet paste. "Pnina, this is incredible!" dad said, partway through the meal.
"It is edible." she said modestly.
"No, it's incredible!" dad corrected. Pnina just smiled.
"What part of Israel did you grow up in?" I asked her later in the meal.
"Jerusalem." she responded.
"I don't mean to be rude and ask how old you are..." I started awkwardly, "But were you born before '48?"
"It's okay. I was the first in my family born after 1948, in Israel as a nation."
"What was that like... I mean, there were some pretty tumultuous times?"
"It was different than now. Jerusalem was still separated into west and east, so you knew where you were allowed. Now, it is like Swiss cheese. If you go to Israel for the first time, you must be with someone who knows there way around or with a tour."
For his part, Mike works at a mental health center on a college campus, and is a Rabbi. "During Vietnam, I almost joined the navy to avoid the draft, but I was talked out of it by woman wise beyond her years. I went into the enlistment office and told her I wanted to be an officer on a ship stationed in San Diego. She suggested I consider alternate service. So I ended up working in a mental health clinic in Elko, Nevada."
As we went to bed (after a tasty dessert of berries and cream-custard), Pnina asked what we wanted for breakfast, "In Israel, we eat salads for breakfast, but Mike won't do that. Would you like an omelet?"
"Sure." I replied, "That sounds great!" The couch in their TV room has been the softest, most comfortable place I've slept all trip. I was asleep within minutes.
We scarfed a couple of pop tarts in the hotel room before leaving the hotel, planning on finding breakfast somewhere. We ate at Dad's Diner, a small restaurant outside of the tourist section of Niagara falls, then zipped over to the Buddhist Temple. It still wasn't open for the morning, but we wandered the grounds, admiring the statues and artwork littering the compound. Signs around the courtyard read "This isn't Jurassic Park, but the path to enlightenment can be rewarding. Please, respect our holy place."
After visiting the temple, we went in search of the bridge across the Niagara River that would take us back into America. We followed the directions given on the Adventure Cycling map, but when the map finally called for a turn onto the bridge, there was nothing but a massive construction zone. Dad and I rode around frantically for a few minutes, searching for a sign leading to the bridge. The most irksome part of all, is that just above our heads, we could see the bridge, packed with cars waiting to get through customs; we just couldn't get there! Finally, we spotted a sign pointing to the highway saying "Bridge to America, 3 Miles." Irritably, dad and I began to ride the 3 miles; about half a mile in, we spotted an unloaded bicyclist riding towards us. Dad flagged him down and he pulled over, "Do you know, are we going the right way to get to the bridge to America?" dad asked.
"Only if you're a car." the man said, "Here, I'll show you how bikes get there." He rode back with us to the construction zone, and showed us a road that cut up through the middle of it, "It looks like a construction road, but you ride through it and you'll come to the Canadian customs. They'll let you cut through there, and you'll be in the line to get into America." We thanked him and followed his instruction into the customs line. Then we waited in line for 45 minutes in the rain, much to the amusement of the cars around us.
When we reached the crossing, the boarder guard walked over to us, "Passports." he said completely deadpan. We handed them over. "Where are you coming from." Still no emotion.
"We crossed into Canada in Marine City... and we started in Anacortes Washington." dad said nervously.
"You rode your bicycles all the way here from Washington?" he asked, still emotionless.
"Yes."
"Is that all you have?" he pointed at our bags, and his voice wavered slightly; he almost sounded as though he wanted to be impressed.
"Yes."
"Okay, you guys are fine. Go ahead." his voice reverted to its original monotone.
Once in New York, we took a wrong turn, and by the time we realized our mistake, we had already coasted down the Niagara Escarpment. Back on route, after a brutal climb back up the escarpment,we began to put down the miles, taking full advantage of the small tail wind we had. We hoped to make it to Pittsford, 100 miles from Niagara, to spend the night with Yoni's parents, Mike and Pnina (Yoni, who we met in Minnesota.) We pushed all the way into Rochester, New York, then rode our last 15 miles of the day on the Erie Canal Trail (the irony did not escape us.)
At the end of the day, we rode around a corner in he bike path to see a wiry man with thick gray hair, standing patiently by the side of the road. Seeing our loaded bikes roll around the corner, he smiled and walked over, "Hi, I'm Mike, Yoni's dad. And you are..." He addressed me because I was in the lead.
"I'm Seth." I said, shaking his hand.
"And you must be Chip!" Mike said, turning to my dad. "If you want to just ride up here, you can put your bags in my car and I'll show you over to our house." I hesitated out of instinct before parting with my handlebar bag. "You want to put that one in too?"
I started to mumble a no, "It's like our purse." dad explained.
"I'm not going to run off with it." Mike said, and I realized how silly I was for being worried. I handed over my bag. "Yoni's been riding with some boys in Montana who have a van sagging for them. He says it's liberating not to ride with bags." (Pnina later said Yoni also felt a little guilty giving up all his weight.)
At their house, we met Pnina, Yoni's mom, who was born in Israel. She cooked an amazing dinner of fish, brown rice, corn, red cabbage boiled in apple juice (which was amazing), and a vegetable soup that we ate with a horseradish & beet paste. "Pnina, this is incredible!" dad said, partway through the meal.
"It is edible." she said modestly.
"No, it's incredible!" dad corrected. Pnina just smiled.
"What part of Israel did you grow up in?" I asked her later in the meal.
"Jerusalem." she responded.
"I don't mean to be rude and ask how old you are..." I started awkwardly, "But were you born before '48?"
"It's okay. I was the first in my family born after 1948, in Israel as a nation."
"What was that like... I mean, there were some pretty tumultuous times?"
"It was different than now. Jerusalem was still separated into west and east, so you knew where you were allowed. Now, it is like Swiss cheese. If you go to Israel for the first time, you must be with someone who knows there way around or with a tour."
For his part, Mike works at a mental health center on a college campus, and is a Rabbi. "During Vietnam, I almost joined the navy to avoid the draft, but I was talked out of it by woman wise beyond her years. I went into the enlistment office and told her I wanted to be an officer on a ship stationed in San Diego. She suggested I consider alternate service. So I ended up working in a mental health clinic in Elko, Nevada."
As we went to bed (after a tasty dessert of berries and cream-custard), Pnina asked what we wanted for breakfast, "In Israel, we eat salads for breakfast, but Mike won't do that. Would you like an omelet?"
"Sure." I replied, "That sounds great!" The couch in their TV room has been the softest, most comfortable place I've slept all trip. I was asleep within minutes.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Day 47
JULY 25 Stromness to Niagara Falls, Ontario
We got up early and left Rock Point, eager to get to Niagara. The first ten miles of our day were on roads right along the shore of Lake Erie, until we reached the town of Port Colbourne. While crossing a bridge in the town, dad decided to stop for a picture. I didn't see him stop, since I like looking through the metal grating on bridges at the water below, or hear him warn "Stopping". When I looked up, dad was at a full stop in front of me; I frantically snatched at the brakes, but I was too late, colliding into the back of dad's bike and toppling to the ground (Luckily, we were riding on the side walk). "you all right?" dad asked, and I nodded weakly, "are you still a guy?" He asked, noting that the bike seat had been rammed into my crotch by the fall.
"No." I snapped angrily, "And I'm going to throw your bloody camera into the river!" frustrated as I was, I managed to laugh: the crash was completely my fault... I simply wasn't paying enough attention. After the bridge, we crossed onto a bike path that we would follow for the rest of the day.
I was shaky and slightly unnerved for the next few miles (and sat rather uncomfortably on the bike seat) but eventually regained my composure. Half way to Niagara, we stopped for a snack, and for dad to check out his bike because it was making a strange noise. As dad took off his panniers, William rode up, "Everything okay?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah," dad replied, "my bike has just been clunking and I don't know why. That's always the part that bugs me... if I could just figure it out..."
"Hey look, your guy's favorite place." He teased, gesturing to a subway down the street, "Did you guys stay in Rock Point last night?" William asked. I nodded. "I went a couple more miles up the road to a campground right on Lake Erie. It was amazing."
"Yeah, our site was right by the lake, too." dad said, "I mean, we had to walk along a little path to get there, but there was this gorgeous view..."
"Ahh, good for you, good for you." William made the phrase sound sincere "Well, I'm off to pick up a sub. Catch you guys later." We never actually did catch William later; he rode off to the subway, while we munched on our goldfish and blueberries, and our paths never managed to intersect again. Funny how that works.
As soon as we were back on the bikes, up rode an older man with a knotted bandanna on a red racing bike (dad was impressed by its "nice lugs and down-tube shifters). After riding and talking for a while, dad finally asked the man his name, "Well, my biking friends call me Spike." he said.
"Spike?" dad asked skeptically.
"Well, my real name is Mike." Since then, dad and I have referred to him as Spike. "Just ahead," Spike told us, "We'll come out of the trees, and across the lake we'll see the Buffalo skyline getting closer and closer; it's really amazing. Sure enough, as we rounded a bend and popped out of the trees, the Buffalo skyline was visible over Lake Erie... it was pretty weird to be in a foreign country looking into America. We left at Historic Fort Erie; he kept riding while dad and I went up to the fort (although we decided not to actually go inside). "I don't know much about history," Spike said, "But Fort Erie was basically put in place as an elaborate toll booth. Make sure the English got their share of the fur trade. Oh, and one other thing. Up past Niagara Falls, there's a Buddhist Temple. It's not really a tourist attraction, but it is pretty cool to look around inside. Well, have a safe trip." We thanked him and waved as he rode off.
In the town of Fort Erie, dad and I stopped at a bike shop to have his bike checked out. When we walked in, the man behind the counter was selling a skate board to a couple of kids. The kids left, and he turned his attention to us, " 'ello, what kin I do fur ya?"
"Well, we're on a bike trip across the country, and my bike's making a weird noise. I was hoping you could check it out."
"Our mechanic's at the store... let me give 'im a call and git 'im over here." the man picked up the phone; after talking for a few seconds, he hung it up again, "Steve'll be here in a couple o' minutes. 'e's the best mechanic I've ever worked with. I'm Rex, by the way. You are..."
"I'm Chip, and this is my son, Seth."
"Seth.... 'at's a Biblical name, innit?" I nodded, "So, Seth, what're you interested in? Wait! Don't tell me... let me guess. You look like... an academic."
"Yeah, pretty much." I admitted, impressed that he could figure that just by looking at me. The way he said it, it didn't feel like just a lucky guess. "I enjoy school and learning..."
"I majored in sociology, so I like to try an' guess these things about people." Dad went out to bring his bicycle into the shop, and Rex and I kept talking. "So, are you in college?"
"No, I'm going to be a senior in high school when I get home. Then I go to college. It's sort of scary."
"Ah, nothin' to be afraid of. Maybe a bit nervous, but don' be afraid. You'll do fine." As we were talking, Steve walked into the shop. He looked over dad's bike and tried to convince dad that he needed a replacement bottom bracket; dad decided to risk it with the one he had.
"Okay, then." Steve said skeptically, and started to put dad's bike back together. he leaned on the rack a little bit, and the same creaking sound we'd been hearing all day came out of the bike. Steve started laughing, "Well, there it is! It's your rack!" Rex gave us directions to the grocery store, where we went to pick up lunch, then we started into the last 20 miles to Niagara Falls.
Almost immediately after we started riding again, we spotted another cyclist. The woman pedaled over to us and began talking to dad. She introduced herself as Carol, and wound up riding with us all the way to Niagara Falls. "My husband started a program called Teen Trekkers, taking kids on bike tours. " She told us when she found out what we were doing, "This year is the first time they have a group going across the country. My husband's in Europe, though."
"Have you ever read the book Hey Mom, Can I Ride My Bike Across the Country?" I asked, and Carol shook her head, "oh, it's a really good book about a middle school teacher taking some of his students across the country. It sounds a lot like what your husband's doing."
"I'll have to look that up some time." Carol said. We rode with her to a rest stop by the falls, also talking to an older couple riding Bike Fridays (bicycles that can pack into a suit case).
"I want to bike across the country for my 70th birthday." the woman said, "But I'm not so sure it will happen. As it is, we're driving around the country with our Bike Fridays and a 6-by-12 trailer. It can seem pretty small some times."
Leaving the rest stop, dad and I were on our own again, and finally we rode in view of the falls. The natural part of the falls, the sheer power it exerts, is incredible. The tourist build up around the falls makes it one of the most vile places on earth. The entire city was a zoo, far worse even than the strip in Las Vegas. It left me feeling rather dirty even just passing through it. We checked into our hotel, a ways off the beaten path (but still far too close for comfort), ate an over priced dinner, then went to bed.
We got up early and left Rock Point, eager to get to Niagara. The first ten miles of our day were on roads right along the shore of Lake Erie, until we reached the town of Port Colbourne. While crossing a bridge in the town, dad decided to stop for a picture. I didn't see him stop, since I like looking through the metal grating on bridges at the water below, or hear him warn "Stopping". When I looked up, dad was at a full stop in front of me; I frantically snatched at the brakes, but I was too late, colliding into the back of dad's bike and toppling to the ground (Luckily, we were riding on the side walk). "you all right?" dad asked, and I nodded weakly, "are you still a guy?" He asked, noting that the bike seat had been rammed into my crotch by the fall.
"No." I snapped angrily, "And I'm going to throw your bloody camera into the river!" frustrated as I was, I managed to laugh: the crash was completely my fault... I simply wasn't paying enough attention. After the bridge, we crossed onto a bike path that we would follow for the rest of the day.
I was shaky and slightly unnerved for the next few miles (and sat rather uncomfortably on the bike seat) but eventually regained my composure. Half way to Niagara, we stopped for a snack, and for dad to check out his bike because it was making a strange noise. As dad took off his panniers, William rode up, "Everything okay?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah," dad replied, "my bike has just been clunking and I don't know why. That's always the part that bugs me... if I could just figure it out..."
"Hey look, your guy's favorite place." He teased, gesturing to a subway down the street, "Did you guys stay in Rock Point last night?" William asked. I nodded. "I went a couple more miles up the road to a campground right on Lake Erie. It was amazing."
"Yeah, our site was right by the lake, too." dad said, "I mean, we had to walk along a little path to get there, but there was this gorgeous view..."
"Ahh, good for you, good for you." William made the phrase sound sincere "Well, I'm off to pick up a sub. Catch you guys later." We never actually did catch William later; he rode off to the subway, while we munched on our goldfish and blueberries, and our paths never managed to intersect again. Funny how that works.
As soon as we were back on the bikes, up rode an older man with a knotted bandanna on a red racing bike (dad was impressed by its "nice lugs and down-tube shifters). After riding and talking for a while, dad finally asked the man his name, "Well, my biking friends call me Spike." he said.
"Spike?" dad asked skeptically.
"Well, my real name is Mike." Since then, dad and I have referred to him as Spike. "Just ahead," Spike told us, "We'll come out of the trees, and across the lake we'll see the Buffalo skyline getting closer and closer; it's really amazing. Sure enough, as we rounded a bend and popped out of the trees, the Buffalo skyline was visible over Lake Erie... it was pretty weird to be in a foreign country looking into America. We left at Historic Fort Erie; he kept riding while dad and I went up to the fort (although we decided not to actually go inside). "I don't know much about history," Spike said, "But Fort Erie was basically put in place as an elaborate toll booth. Make sure the English got their share of the fur trade. Oh, and one other thing. Up past Niagara Falls, there's a Buddhist Temple. It's not really a tourist attraction, but it is pretty cool to look around inside. Well, have a safe trip." We thanked him and waved as he rode off.
In the town of Fort Erie, dad and I stopped at a bike shop to have his bike checked out. When we walked in, the man behind the counter was selling a skate board to a couple of kids. The kids left, and he turned his attention to us, " 'ello, what kin I do fur ya?"
"Well, we're on a bike trip across the country, and my bike's making a weird noise. I was hoping you could check it out."
"Our mechanic's at the store... let me give 'im a call and git 'im over here." the man picked up the phone; after talking for a few seconds, he hung it up again, "Steve'll be here in a couple o' minutes. 'e's the best mechanic I've ever worked with. I'm Rex, by the way. You are..."
"I'm Chip, and this is my son, Seth."
"Seth.... 'at's a Biblical name, innit?" I nodded, "So, Seth, what're you interested in? Wait! Don't tell me... let me guess. You look like... an academic."
"Yeah, pretty much." I admitted, impressed that he could figure that just by looking at me. The way he said it, it didn't feel like just a lucky guess. "I enjoy school and learning..."
"I majored in sociology, so I like to try an' guess these things about people." Dad went out to bring his bicycle into the shop, and Rex and I kept talking. "So, are you in college?"
"No, I'm going to be a senior in high school when I get home. Then I go to college. It's sort of scary."
"Ah, nothin' to be afraid of. Maybe a bit nervous, but don' be afraid. You'll do fine." As we were talking, Steve walked into the shop. He looked over dad's bike and tried to convince dad that he needed a replacement bottom bracket; dad decided to risk it with the one he had.
"Okay, then." Steve said skeptically, and started to put dad's bike back together. he leaned on the rack a little bit, and the same creaking sound we'd been hearing all day came out of the bike. Steve started laughing, "Well, there it is! It's your rack!" Rex gave us directions to the grocery store, where we went to pick up lunch, then we started into the last 20 miles to Niagara Falls.
Almost immediately after we started riding again, we spotted another cyclist. The woman pedaled over to us and began talking to dad. She introduced herself as Carol, and wound up riding with us all the way to Niagara Falls. "My husband started a program called Teen Trekkers, taking kids on bike tours. " She told us when she found out what we were doing, "This year is the first time they have a group going across the country. My husband's in Europe, though."
"Have you ever read the book Hey Mom, Can I Ride My Bike Across the Country?" I asked, and Carol shook her head, "oh, it's a really good book about a middle school teacher taking some of his students across the country. It sounds a lot like what your husband's doing."
"I'll have to look that up some time." Carol said. We rode with her to a rest stop by the falls, also talking to an older couple riding Bike Fridays (bicycles that can pack into a suit case).
"I want to bike across the country for my 70th birthday." the woman said, "But I'm not so sure it will happen. As it is, we're driving around the country with our Bike Fridays and a 6-by-12 trailer. It can seem pretty small some times."
Leaving the rest stop, dad and I were on our own again, and finally we rode in view of the falls. The natural part of the falls, the sheer power it exerts, is incredible. The tourist build up around the falls makes it one of the most vile places on earth. The entire city was a zoo, far worse even than the strip in Las Vegas. It left me feeling rather dirty even just passing through it. We checked into our hotel, a ways off the beaten path (but still far too close for comfort), ate an over priced dinner, then went to bed.
Bar Harbor
I have to interrupt the regular stream of days to say WE MADE IT TO BAR HARBOR! We got in yesterday around 5, after 4006 miles of riding. But those are just the dry numbers... I'll write down the interesting stuff when I get there chronologically in the blog, so please KEEP READING.
Coming up we meet new cyclists, reunite with Michael, Steve, and Jerry, survive a flood, spend a night at a church, and climb the hardest hill of the entire trip (That was my attempt at a teaser for next week's episode)
~Seth
Coming up we meet new cyclists, reunite with Michael, Steve, and Jerry, survive a flood, spend a night at a church, and climb the hardest hill of the entire trip (That was my attempt at a teaser for next week's episode)
~Seth
Monday, August 4, 2008
Day 46
JULY 24 Houghton Center to Stromness Ontario
For the first time on our trip, I was out of my tent before dad (it's been my goal all along to get up first and start the hot water boiling... dad usually does that). Because we woke up early, we actually an earlier start than usual, leaving around 7:30.
That morning, we ran into William, a high school history teacher from Florida, "I can't get over this street name!" he commented, gesturing to the street sign over our heads, "Spooky Hollow. Back in the states, it would say Sleepy Hollow." Dad told him that I was interested in history, so William pulled out a weathered sheet of note book paper, "Here, you can look at this. I made a list of all the historic sites we'd pass through along the trip. That section's for New York." The list had sites as famous as Fort Ticonderoga, and as obscure as the birthplace of Milicent Fillmore. I scanned the rest of the paper, noticing that he had no sites down for Wisconsin.
"So, nothing historic happened in Wisconsin?" I asked, knowing Bill and Dave would have argued that point.
"Well, basically. Not that I'd say that in Wisconsin." William admitted sheepishly, "But it has been by far my favorite state for riding conditions and scenery. I guess there was some history, but all the big stuff happened in the south, near Madison, and we didn't go there. Well, my man, I'll see you on down the road."
"You too!" I called as he snapped one last photo of the 'Spooky Hollow' sign, and rode away.
Ten miles down the road, dad and I stopped for lunch in Port Dover. We ate at our first Subway of the trip, largely because dad felt that we needed all the veggies they put on their sandwiches. I enjoy eating at local shops, but the subway sandwiches still gave us the needed calories. As we finished, William rode up with a bag of blueberries, "I found a u-pick blueberry farm and had to stop. It's sort of embarrassing, but I've never picked blueberries before. Want some?" he proffered the bag, and dad took a handful. "Boy, the weather sure is nice today. I always see the big clouds on the horizon-" (lately, as we ride, there are always big black clouds ahead of us, and clear, blue sky behind us.) "- and ride on to get as many miles in as possible while it's dry. I don't even stop to have a bowl of cereal by the grocery store any more. I was like that with the winds in North Dakota, too. You never know when they're going to change. It makes it harder to take the time to really enjoy my trip." He poured himself a bowl of cereal for lunch, clearly enjoying the sunny weather. "Did you ever read the book on the Northern Tier?" he asked between bites of cereal.
"No..." dad said, "But I've heard a bit about it."
"I was just wondering if you had the same impression about it as I did. I thought the author was a real jerk! He kept putting down his wife, and other people he met. I talked to another pair of cyclists who thought the same thing...."
"Oh, was that Barb and Bob?" I asked excitedly, remembering that Barb had made a similar complaint about that book.
"Yes! I think it was they! I met them way back in Glacier. I haven't really seen any other riders since then, so it must have been they." he took another bit of cereal, "Well, the only thing I got from that book was to bring pepper spray to use on dogs. Usually, I just use my water bottle, but the author was pretty adamant about pepper spay. So I went out to a military surplus store and bought the pepper spray and carried it with me the whole way. I never used it once! And then, at the Canadian boarder, the confiscated it!" he smiled, shaking his head, "Not like I really need it." We talked a little bit more with William, then wished him well and traveled on.
Riding that afternoon, we ran into six new cyclists (poor, poor souls). First, as we rode along, a strange contraption traveled into view: it was lime green and riding low to the ground, carrying two riders; as it got closer, we saw that it had two front wheels, a single rear wheel, and a bob. The best way to describe it would be an inverse-trike, tandem-recumbent. The riders, Ken and Kari, had just started their trip out of Rochester New York, heading to see family in Rochester Minnesota, "Ken's been retired for a while," Karin told us, "But I just retired last Friday. We started this trip on Sunday." We exchanged blogs, and then two more riders showed up.
"It's a biker convention!" I joked.
The two new riders, Lizzie and Rachel, are both twenty-something year old girls from Seattle, "We flew out to New York to start," Lizzie told us, "So that if we're broke when we get to the east coast, at least we're home. We also figured it would force us into doing it: if we started from Seattle, we could always push it back just one more day."
We left them, but just down the road, we spotted a very tan couple heading towards us. They swerved over to our side of the road, and pulled out their iPod ear phones, then introduced themselves, "I'm Don and this is my wife Vicky. Where're ya from? And where're ya going?"
"From Oregon, to Maine." dad told him.
"Wow, that's impressive. We're just on a short trip around Lake Erie. We live in Ohio, so we started out riding along the south shore, and now we're going home along the north shore. How far do you go a day?"
"Our longest day was 120 miles, but we had really good tail winds," I told them, "Our shortest was about 40 miles. We usually average 70 to 80 miles."
"We only go about 40 miles a day, but that's good for us."
Dad nodded, "Yep, it's however it works for you. That's what's important."
"It's funny, our kids are really worried about us. They make us call them every night to let them know everything's okay."
"My wife does the same thing." Dad said knowingly. "Hey, did you know there's four riders just a couple of miles in front of you?"
"Oh! No we didn't!" Don said, and soon they were wishing us farewell and gearing up to catch Ken, Karin, Lizzie, and Rachel.
We rode all afternoon right along the shore of Lake Erie, until some miles later, the road bent inland. Just ahead of us, the road glistened slightly, and the air had a hazy shimmer to it. "Seth, do you think that's rain?" dad asked.
I squinted at it for a second, then pulled over to the side of the road, "I'm putting my rain covers on." We both frantically started pulling on the yellow covers to our panniers as the first drops started to fall. I had just covered my last bag and pulled out my rain jacket 30 seconds later, when the storm hit full force. I never got the jacket on; the rain and the hail fell so hard that they stung when they hit uncovered flesh. All I could do was shelter my face and fore arms behind the raincoat, which I held in front of me like a shield. Suddenly, I found my self laughing hysterically. Peering out from behind my raincoat, I noticed dad was too. The rain fell, and we laughed harder and harder, the same maniacal laughter that struck me as we rode into the headwind our first day in Minnesota. What were we doing out here?? By the end of the storm, five minutes and at least an inch of water later, I was thoroughly drenched.
We sloshed our way into Dunnville, stopped at the bike shop to pick up a replacement for my broken water bottle cage, then headed to the library. I tried to type up a blog entry, but found my fingers were too cold to hit the proper keys, and that I was simply too wet and tired to think clearly. So I just wandered the rows of books, finally pulling out a biography on Tolkien to read while dad caught up on his emails. Outside, we ran into William, who had completely missed our freak thunderstorm. We ate dinner at a bar called Jonny Rottens, then rode six more miles to Rock Point Provincial Park, a beautiful park right on Lake Erie. Unfortunately, exhausted as we were, dad and I only spent a handful of minutes appreciating the scenery before curling up in our tents and blacking out for the evening.
For the first time on our trip, I was out of my tent before dad (it's been my goal all along to get up first and start the hot water boiling... dad usually does that). Because we woke up early, we actually an earlier start than usual, leaving around 7:30.
That morning, we ran into William, a high school history teacher from Florida, "I can't get over this street name!" he commented, gesturing to the street sign over our heads, "Spooky Hollow. Back in the states, it would say Sleepy Hollow." Dad told him that I was interested in history, so William pulled out a weathered sheet of note book paper, "Here, you can look at this. I made a list of all the historic sites we'd pass through along the trip. That section's for New York." The list had sites as famous as Fort Ticonderoga, and as obscure as the birthplace of Milicent Fillmore. I scanned the rest of the paper, noticing that he had no sites down for Wisconsin.
"So, nothing historic happened in Wisconsin?" I asked, knowing Bill and Dave would have argued that point.
"Well, basically. Not that I'd say that in Wisconsin." William admitted sheepishly, "But it has been by far my favorite state for riding conditions and scenery. I guess there was some history, but all the big stuff happened in the south, near Madison, and we didn't go there. Well, my man, I'll see you on down the road."
"You too!" I called as he snapped one last photo of the 'Spooky Hollow' sign, and rode away.
Ten miles down the road, dad and I stopped for lunch in Port Dover. We ate at our first Subway of the trip, largely because dad felt that we needed all the veggies they put on their sandwiches. I enjoy eating at local shops, but the subway sandwiches still gave us the needed calories. As we finished, William rode up with a bag of blueberries, "I found a u-pick blueberry farm and had to stop. It's sort of embarrassing, but I've never picked blueberries before. Want some?" he proffered the bag, and dad took a handful. "Boy, the weather sure is nice today. I always see the big clouds on the horizon-" (lately, as we ride, there are always big black clouds ahead of us, and clear, blue sky behind us.) "- and ride on to get as many miles in as possible while it's dry. I don't even stop to have a bowl of cereal by the grocery store any more. I was like that with the winds in North Dakota, too. You never know when they're going to change. It makes it harder to take the time to really enjoy my trip." He poured himself a bowl of cereal for lunch, clearly enjoying the sunny weather. "Did you ever read the book on the Northern Tier?" he asked between bites of cereal.
"No..." dad said, "But I've heard a bit about it."
"I was just wondering if you had the same impression about it as I did. I thought the author was a real jerk! He kept putting down his wife, and other people he met. I talked to another pair of cyclists who thought the same thing...."
"Oh, was that Barb and Bob?" I asked excitedly, remembering that Barb had made a similar complaint about that book.
"Yes! I think it was they! I met them way back in Glacier. I haven't really seen any other riders since then, so it must have been they." he took another bit of cereal, "Well, the only thing I got from that book was to bring pepper spray to use on dogs. Usually, I just use my water bottle, but the author was pretty adamant about pepper spay. So I went out to a military surplus store and bought the pepper spray and carried it with me the whole way. I never used it once! And then, at the Canadian boarder, the confiscated it!" he smiled, shaking his head, "Not like I really need it." We talked a little bit more with William, then wished him well and traveled on.
Riding that afternoon, we ran into six new cyclists (poor, poor souls). First, as we rode along, a strange contraption traveled into view: it was lime green and riding low to the ground, carrying two riders; as it got closer, we saw that it had two front wheels, a single rear wheel, and a bob. The best way to describe it would be an inverse-trike, tandem-recumbent. The riders, Ken and Kari, had just started their trip out of Rochester New York, heading to see family in Rochester Minnesota, "Ken's been retired for a while," Karin told us, "But I just retired last Friday. We started this trip on Sunday." We exchanged blogs, and then two more riders showed up.
"It's a biker convention!" I joked.
The two new riders, Lizzie and Rachel, are both twenty-something year old girls from Seattle, "We flew out to New York to start," Lizzie told us, "So that if we're broke when we get to the east coast, at least we're home. We also figured it would force us into doing it: if we started from Seattle, we could always push it back just one more day."
We left them, but just down the road, we spotted a very tan couple heading towards us. They swerved over to our side of the road, and pulled out their iPod ear phones, then introduced themselves, "I'm Don and this is my wife Vicky. Where're ya from? And where're ya going?"
"From Oregon, to Maine." dad told him.
"Wow, that's impressive. We're just on a short trip around Lake Erie. We live in Ohio, so we started out riding along the south shore, and now we're going home along the north shore. How far do you go a day?"
"Our longest day was 120 miles, but we had really good tail winds," I told them, "Our shortest was about 40 miles. We usually average 70 to 80 miles."
"We only go about 40 miles a day, but that's good for us."
Dad nodded, "Yep, it's however it works for you. That's what's important."
"It's funny, our kids are really worried about us. They make us call them every night to let them know everything's okay."
"My wife does the same thing." Dad said knowingly. "Hey, did you know there's four riders just a couple of miles in front of you?"
"Oh! No we didn't!" Don said, and soon they were wishing us farewell and gearing up to catch Ken, Karin, Lizzie, and Rachel.
We rode all afternoon right along the shore of Lake Erie, until some miles later, the road bent inland. Just ahead of us, the road glistened slightly, and the air had a hazy shimmer to it. "Seth, do you think that's rain?" dad asked.
I squinted at it for a second, then pulled over to the side of the road, "I'm putting my rain covers on." We both frantically started pulling on the yellow covers to our panniers as the first drops started to fall. I had just covered my last bag and pulled out my rain jacket 30 seconds later, when the storm hit full force. I never got the jacket on; the rain and the hail fell so hard that they stung when they hit uncovered flesh. All I could do was shelter my face and fore arms behind the raincoat, which I held in front of me like a shield. Suddenly, I found my self laughing hysterically. Peering out from behind my raincoat, I noticed dad was too. The rain fell, and we laughed harder and harder, the same maniacal laughter that struck me as we rode into the headwind our first day in Minnesota. What were we doing out here?? By the end of the storm, five minutes and at least an inch of water later, I was thoroughly drenched.
We sloshed our way into Dunnville, stopped at the bike shop to pick up a replacement for my broken water bottle cage, then headed to the library. I tried to type up a blog entry, but found my fingers were too cold to hit the proper keys, and that I was simply too wet and tired to think clearly. So I just wandered the rows of books, finally pulling out a biography on Tolkien to read while dad caught up on his emails. Outside, we ran into William, who had completely missed our freak thunderstorm. We ate dinner at a bar called Jonny Rottens, then rode six more miles to Rock Point Provincial Park, a beautiful park right on Lake Erie. Unfortunately, exhausted as we were, dad and I only spent a handful of minutes appreciating the scenery before curling up in our tents and blacking out for the evening.
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