July 24 A dog loving town

The peek out the window at 6:30 am shows gobs of rain a fallin', so Ellen and I burrow under the warm covers til 8 am, grab some "continental" b'fast, and hit the road. New England, in general, has narrow roads, narrow shoulders, and very few east-west routes due to the north-south orientation of the hills, and we are stuck on SR 11 with a few too many trucks and weekend traffic for comfort. The rugged winters here create major potholes and a fractured road surface, so with the recent rains we resort to dodging holes of brown water and spider-cracked sections of roadway, all the while keeping an ear out for fast approaching trucks. The New England drivers have shown themselves to be very courteous thus far, way less aggressive than their westerly neighbor, making the riding tolerable.
We move thru Springfield, losing some traffic at the I-91 interchange, then onto Claremont and Newport. Another fact about New England geography is that all towns, in addition to being originally laid out and built for much smaller horse drawn carts and pedestrians, is that they are located in hollows or valleys, near waterways, thus requiring a climb out of after a drop into. Keeping all these conditions in mind and underfoot, passing thru towns requires keeping one's wits sharp and senses alert, continually. Finally, after 30 miles of tiring riding, we leave the busy Rte. 11 and take the southern leg around Lake Sunapee and its shoreline of expensive vacation homes, cutting a roller coaster finish into Franklin by 7 pm.
The owner of the DK Motel welcomes me with a handfull of dogbones and lively chat, whilst Ellen makes herself at home with the 2 resident pussycats. A local Greek run pizza house serves up some scrum pizza and brews, Brindil scores more attention and treats (she's still way ahead of me in the mooched food tally) from the staff, and yet another hard day of pedalling ends well.

July 23 Not hard, just Slow.

The morning sun shines early over the lush hills in Ash Grove, sparkling off the expansive green lawn surrounding Lisa and Tony's farmstead. A bit too bright for a guy who was up til 1 am the night before uploading trip photos, with only help from Sonny, one very furry, callico pussy-cat.
After one final round of strong, boilerplate coffee and the ritual topping off of tire air pressure, it's farewells around and the 5 mile glide downhill to Cambridge and east on SR 313 toward Vermont. Arlington, Vt. is traditional New England: old money displayed in expansive estates, rows of mature maple trees lining the streets, cemetaries of aged headstones, most slightly cocked and surrounded by beds of lillies, hostas and roses, and tight and orderly downtowns of red brick buildings full of quaint eateries, craft shops and lawyer's offices. We turn north on historic Rte. 7A and reach even-richer and more oppulent Manchester. I'm sure many important events from 225+ years ago happened right here where I now stand, per the number of Historic Markers and statues of dead heroes around us. The town was very, very neat, and I feared that my dog might soil the local green, but she held.
Ellen has been fearing the climb up and over the Green Mountains and the Bromley ski area, and I have done my best to assure her that nothing in cycling is hard, only that some days are just slower than others! So, after more reassuring, we slug uphill for 2 hours, keeping the pace out of her "red zone", and reach Peru, another old town with lots of important piles of stones, for a pizza carb snack, before moving on. Lots of roller coaster hills and dales all afternoon, which were more way more tiring than the Bromley climb, before the long downhill runout to end our day in Chester, after 58 miles.
All in all, Ellen handled the hills very well, even tho she readily admits to absolutely hating them. A fine bottle of Argentine wine at dinner erased all memory of the day's pains and I trumped that with a pint of , and no kidding, "Flying Dog Tire Bite" local ale.
Luckily, none of those kinds of canines appeared today from out behind one of those estate buildings.

July 22 Day off at Lisa and Tony's

Ah yes, to be inside whilst it rains outside!

July 21 Those New York drivers!

Seems like every part of us was tired and stiff this morning. Ellen's back and shoulders are complaining, my toes are aching and my legs remembering the last few days of climbing. Good thing we have a short journey on the schedule today; crossing the Hudson River and climbing out of the valley to the Appalachian foothills and the farming community of Cambridge, NY, where we'll be staying with Lisa Jennings, an old college friend and her husband Tony. Short journey, but not sweet.

Another grey day is before us, and we warm up slowly on Rte. 29, hugging an 18" shoulder, desperately guarding our place on the road amidst heavy mid-week, mid-morning traffic. At the Mango Cafe, we meet Sheila Lyons, an equestrian vet from Boston, and have a cheerful chat over coffee and lunch. We were surprised to note that the Mango Cafe "proudly" serves only "Seattle's Best" coffee. Back on the bikes, we drop to the Hudson River and cross at Schuylerville as the rains start. A wet and nasty 7% climb from the river ensues on a rotten-shouldered road, and we fight heavy non-yielding and continuous traffic into Greenwich, prompting me to yell aloud "New York drivers are a##!oles" as I watch one pass us in downtown, crossing a double yellow line and causing the oncoming NY driver to swerve and stop. Eight more wet and busy miles dump us into Cambridge, where Lisa and Tony graciously come down in pickup trucks and drive us up to their gorgeous farm in Ash Grove, saving us 5 miles of soggy pedalling. Much ado and catchup follows, including pre-beers, beers and post-beers. I get to meet Lisa's parents again after 28 years! The last time I was in this area was August 1981, when I passed through during a hike on the Appalachian Trail. I was reminded, by Lisa's dad who never forgets anything, that the Jennings family record of '48 ears of sweet corn consumed' was set at one of the meals during my stay. Dinner tonite was a fabulous bounty from the garden, but the sweet corn record was not threatened...

July 20 Forty more miles on the Erie Canal

It's a sluggish morning, and in between coffees and photos, it's 10 am before we are happily rolling , once again, along the peacefull Erie Canalway. The route is about perfect: free of traffic, easy to pedal and under a canopy of mature sumacs and ashes>> scoring me big points on the "romantic spots to take the wife" scale. We pass rock outcrops, aisles of flowers and scampering bunnies. Historic Ft. Plain, then Canajoharie and Fultonville. Then Auriesville. The canalway path conveniently passes directly through these small towns; it's a pity we couldn't spend some time in each since they all proclaim nearly 400 years of history, (white man's history, that is).

After 40 miles of cinder track, it's time to head north and away from the canal corridor. We fight our way thru busy and depressing Amsterdam, parking for a short time at a Dunkin' Donuts to chug an iced coffee and regather our wits. It's rush hour and we still have 30 miles to go! SR 67 out of town eventually has a small shoulder, but traffic is relentless, and we finally find sideroads into the suburbs of Saratoga Springs.

In West Milton, 3 odd gentlemen sitting on a picnic table, sipping coffees at a convenience store give us (what proves to be good) directions. It goes something like>> "You three guys look like you know the area?" Gary directs as he stops his bike. Odd looks from all three. "We're trying to get to east Saratoga but don't want to ride on any of the busy highways", I continue. More odd looks then a quick conference between them. More conferring. Paper is produced and a crude map is drawn with dots and lines. We hurriedly fill in names and numbers so we don't forget and find ourselves 1/4 mile down the road trying to remember right turns from 2nd right turns. After 10 minutes of route explanation and countless additional (and unnecessary) details, we are confidently off. Half hour later we arrive at Broadway and a maze of tourists all looking for or leaving eateries. Light is waning, and after a ride down a highway marked "no bicycles", and further redirecting, we arrive at Comfort Inn after 78 miles, and slip into the "all you can wedge in" Golden Corral restaurant with 5 minutes to spare.

July 19 The New Appalachia

Today's plan is to progress eastward and once again rejoin the Erie Canalway bike path, after our two day diversion south to Ithaca. Under grey skies and over more hilly terrain on SR 20 (Ellen not happy with hills!) we visit Nelson, Morrisville, Bouckville, Madison, Sangerfield and finally downhill to Bridgewater for a lunch of leftovers. (Sometimes, one is compelled to eat up the remains of the staples one has been lugging around for days, so to allow for the accumulation of more staples to lug around.) It's nice to see new flowers roadside: purple Asters, Black-eyed suzies and Queen Anne's lace adding to the lilies, cornflowers and treefoils. Most of the trees are deciduous: maples, ashes, sumacs, oaks; all vivid in my childhood memories.

     In East Winfield, we meet Paul out riding a recumbent and owner of the local Precision Cycling bikeshop. Retired from auto mechanics, he has turned his efforts to bicycles. We talk briefly about local cycling and the failing local economy, and he sadly dubs the region 'The New Appalachia". Sad, but true.

We turn northward on Rte. 51 and follow a sweetly flowing stream, gently downhill, to Ilion and back to the Mohawk River. (The Erie Canal and the Mohawk River, as well as other natural bodies of water, make up the navigable ship canal across NY state that covers over 500 miles. Locks and gates were used to control water levels and flow.)  A short 10 miles along SR 5S takes us past historic Herkimer and into Little Falls. Little Falls, a onetime commerce hub and producer of tools and cheese, sits gracefully in a valley, cut long ago by the Mohawk River, and boasts a downtown of ornate and very European-looking stone and brick buildings. Tho suffering as well financially, there was an attempt to attract and accomodate visitors. There was a decided upbeatness to our visit there.

     We close down the evening with a stuffed pizza that was New York delicious and retire to the Knights Inn.

     

     

July 18 Cazenovia Hills

Jim R leads all on the charge out of Ithaca, and fueled by an enormous waffle feed at breakfast time, it's up and down the backroads eastward toward Dryden.  My Gosh, my legs had forgotten how to climb hills, it has been so long since the Black Hills in South Dakota!!  Pain clears the senses quickly, and I am shifting into lowend gears I had long forgotten. The glaciers sure did a good job of scouring out this part of the country 10,000 years ago, producing deep north-south lakes and crossing the terrain in between with transverse drumlins and rolling hills. No flat stretches anywhere!

     Jim leads us on more backroads into Cortland, another farming town that was elegant in a past era, but has fallen to the scourge of economic decline. Outsourcing of jobs due to foreign competition and the discontinuation of the Erie Canal, and the rise of "big box stores" has killed the downtowns of many upstate New York towns. My heart aches seeing all the gorgeous gingerbread houses of the Craftsman era (pre-WW2) calling out for restoration (or at least a paintjob). We pass rows of homes with intricate corbels, kneebraces, soffits, gable ends, porches, widow's walks, and terraces.

     Time to turn around for Jim, so after fond farewells, Ellen and I head NE on SR 13. Homer, Truxton, Cuyler and De Ruyter, all with the similar rows of dilapidated homes and boarded up downtowns, pass by us. Rolling farmlands and the Milk MOO-tel. A quick ice cream stop in Sheds (Brindil scores big!) before cruising into the more affluent college town of Cazenovia and ending the day on an upbeat. 

     Passed 3600 miles.

July 17 Rest in Ithaca

All agreed that it was time for another "feet up" day, so between naps-all-around and a session of bike maintenance, we talk future bike trips (Jim is formulating some bike adventures for next year) and enjoy a relaxed day in Ithaca. Thank you Jim and Tammy! Hope that "Kitty Kat" is back down from the top of the frig now that Brindil has left.
She thanks him for the tins of food!

July 16 Geneva to Ithaca

Monica McGowan is not one to let a guest out of her sight without a mega-breakfast, and we were no exception. Wish I could have eaten more but I gotz fulled up! Somewhere in between repairing a flat tire on Ellen's bike and visiting Dan's shop in town, a reporter from the College's Alumni newpaper shows up and we do photos and a brief interview about my trip, perhaps to show what can be done with a Bachelor of Science degree after 30+ years hanging on the wall.
Finally...around noon...more farewells and photos and GT2M reverses course back through Geneva town and around the north end of massive Lake Seneca (one of a half dozen or so deep, glacier carved Finger Lakes of upstate NY). We take Rte. 96A southward, and with a light tailwind find ourselves in rolling farmlands. The sky is high today and warm. In Ovid, we meet Jim Rundle, a longtime friend of Ellen's, who has cycled north from his home in Ithaca to meet us. The China Dragon supplies us with some tasty takeout and we have a fun, lunch round of eat and gab under the shade of the town park's gazebo. Brindil scores a lunch treat from Phyllis, a local senior, who comes quickly across the street with a handfull of raw hamburger meat and tells us each individually that she's "always loved animals, was raised on a farm and thinks that animals are much smarter than people". Who can argue with that?
It's great to see Jim again and he leads us southward on secondary farm roads toward Ithaca, with only a much needed stop at the Interlaken creamery for "you-know-what".With all the jigs and jogs, plus some gravel roads, the afternoon is long and we, at last, descend (and descend!) down 10% grades into the lovely town of Ithaca. We meet up with Tammy, Jim's wife and others for a fast, but fabulous, dinner prepared by Andrea, before carpooling exhausted people, bikes, dog and gear back to the Rundle's home 5 miles south of town.

July 15 The Goose Gauntlet to Camp Hobart

Chris Brown leads us out of Rochester, along East Avenue past the Eastman House, and thru the SE affluent suburbs, and we must say our farewells at the touristy town of Pittsford, perched right on the canal. It was too short a stay in lovely Rochester! Thank you Chris and Suzanne, and best of luck on the new porches!
It's back to toting bales along the canal cinder path and trying not to run over flocks of insistent Canada Geese along the way as we maneuver thru Fairport, Macedon, Palmyra and to Newark. Today is rather humid, with temps in the low 80s, the skeeters are out (lots of sluggish water around the canal area), but the track is tree lined most of the way. Sticky and sweaty are us and the afternoon wears us down. Some sections have thick, loose sand that stalls progress. There are canal crossings (on bridges) and brief stretches on road to bypass private property. At Newark, we opt to leave the canalway and head south on SR 88 to Phelps, then Rte. 6 to Oaks Corners and Geneva. Now we're talking home turf for me; I attended Hobart College in Geneva from 1975-1981 (somehow it took 6 years to do a 4 year degree!?). Tho Main Street has been repaved, the town is exactly as I remember, and aside from some new buildings and facelift, the college campus raised me some goosebumps as we cycled through! On Rte. 14, just south of town, we reach the lovely Seneca lakefront home of Dan and Monica McGowan, where we'll stay tonite. Dan is a retired Professor of Economics who, ironiclly, I never had as a teacher while a student at Hobart and William Smith Colleges, but met later through friends. The evening is complete when Larry (retired Prof. of Mathematics who I did have as a teacher) and Faye Smolowitz join us for a round of chat and catching up.
The calm lapping of Lake Seneca waters on the shore directly below our bedroom window rocks us easily to sleep (or was it the bottle of South African Merlot that Dan and I split til midnight finishing up the catchup?) My last thought was of Jack, the McGowan's year old Maine Cooncat, doing flips on the kitchen floor amidst his scattered toys.
Ah, it's great to see old friends again! Thank you Geneva, for all the memories!
It was nice to be back. 30 years, wow!

July 14 Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal

I gotta a hound, her name's Brindal,
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal.
She's a good ole sleeper and a good ole pal,
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal.

I've hauled a trailer some miles this day,
Filled with water, food n' Brindal-fay.
And we know every mile of da way,
From Seattle to Buffalo.

Oh low clouds, everybody down,
Low gears, for we're coming to a town.
And you'll always know your route
and you'll always know your gal,
if you've ever bi-cycled
along the Erie Canal!

By 8 am this morning, I gotta squeeze the big toe of my wife to be sure she's still alive;
appears that yesterday's long day was a bit tiring for both of us. Rte 31A is more farmlands, with roads lined with naturalized orange daylillies, blue corn flowers and yellow treefoil. Terrain is just about flat and temperature in the 70's. Just about perfect. We tack south to avoid some traffic and explore the quaint hamlets of East Shelby, West Barre and Barre Centre, then back on 31A thru Clarendon and to a Friendly's for lunch in Sweden. (Both Ellen and I remember Friendlys restaurants from our NY days, only this time Ellen qualifys for the free hot fudge sundae as a Senior!!)
In Spencerport, we find the Erie Canal bike trail, and like a hounddog on a mission, we happily and determinedly strike eastward. The track is a mix of some pavement, but is mostly hard cinder, which is very cycleable with our road bikes at 10 mph. The track is dedicated to pedestrians and bicycles and parallels the canal just a few feet away. Small towns en route, at one time hubs of activity and commerce, have seen their flames once again relit by the restoration of traffic, albeit touristic. Chris and Suzanne Brown, friends of Ellen's and our gracious hosts for tonite, direct us into Rochester along the canalway and we reach their lovely 1910 Victorian Craftsman house by 6:30 pm.
Ellen, Chris and Suzanne disappear off to partake in musical events, leaving me to finish up the homebrew beer, and search out the neighborhood for ice cream, (which I do find, BTW...)
Ellen has brought me out my pocket trumpet, so I had the (dis)pleasure of trying to blow a few notes after 8+ weeks. Ouch, glad noone was around!