And I didn’t even get the chance to scowl at her in vengeance. Her tent was there. Her car was there. But no garbage-bag-clad nutcase was anywhere to be seen. I took my shower, packed up my gear (along with the additional 10 pounds of water that had infused itself into everything I owned), and squished my way out of the park. I got a late start, but it probably would have been even later if I hadn’t been chased out by a swarm of mosquitoes that would have put the Amazon to shame!
I consoled myself with assurances that I’d most likely endured the worst day of the trip. There were no mountains along the Erie Canal, and none that I knew of along the southern coasts of the Great Lakes. And I certainly wasn’t going to trap myself into another 14-hour day on the bike! If I could survive that day from Hell, then the rest of the journey was going to be a cake walk by comparison. I told myself that I’d be in awesome physical shape by the time I got to the western mountains, so no need to worry my pretty little head over those.
I was feeling distinctly better after a little pedaling. I had no idea that in a matter of minutes all regrets about the previous day were about to be erased in one swell foop!
I walked my bike up a dangerous section of Route 20 (a steep incline, no shoulder, a cliff face marked with “Falling Rocks” signs, and plenty of evidence in my path to prove the warnings were valid). Just as I got to the top, the clouds parted and the sun shone down on me like a scene from a movie. I just thought it was a cool special effect and had no idea what it truly portended. I saddled up and pushed on. A minute later, gravity took control of my destiny.
All the potential energy I’d accumulated during the past twenty-four hours was released in a downhill hurtle unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. I sped down the curvy road at speeds beyond anything I’d experienced on a bike before. When you’re going that fast on a bicycle, it intensifies your focus like crazy! I could see every crack, bump and undulation in the pavement. My brain was calculating a thousand different avoidance strategies a second. I knew what was in front of me, what was behind me, and what was passing to either side in a blur. Intense is almost too weak a word to describe the sensation.
And all the while, somewhere in your head is a running litany of all the things that could go wrong at any second that are completely out of your control. What if the bike suffers a catastrophic failure? What if there is a dump truck stopped in the middle of the road around this next bend? What if one of those falling rocks decides it’s time to fall? These trifling thoughts are drowned out, however, by the entirety of the rest of your brain screaming wooooohooooo!!!
When I got to the bottom, all I wanted to do was hitchhike back to the top and do it all over again (maybe this time without the saddle bags slowing me down! ). But, I had told my friend Ken I’d be at his place later that day and I didn’t want to disappoint him. I made good time for the next few hours. The way was, indeed, flat with only subtle rises and falls. I took a break and said “Hi” to a small herd of goats munching their way across a field. Things were definitely looking up. Little did I know that the next plot twist was just ahead.
I felt a few drops of rain, but the scattered clouds and blue skies above convinced me it was nothing more than a momentary sun shower. I crested a small rise and discovered a sea of darkness ahead. Thunder rumbled from the west right on cue (Damn, those special effects folks have great timing). I was going to plow ahead, but as the sheets of rain began falling and the lightning flashes got closer, I made a dash across a field for an old shed. I ignored the "Posted: No Trespassing" sign (surely, it wasn't intended to apply in this life or death situation). I managed to stay dry amidst the accumulated detritus of a working farm as the storm mercilessly lashed at the rickety shed.Checking the radar, I saw that there was a gap before the next band of nasty looking clouds arrived. I made a run for Albany, but got caught about half an hour from the Hudson River. The rain wasn’t fun, but the real bugger was the wind. It also didn’t help that I was coming into a more congested area and the passing traffic was spraying water up at me to compliment the water falling down on me. That’s about when my demonic GPS made its next heinous move.
The blasted thing sent me up a vehicle-only ramp onto the bridge crossing the river. No shoulder, cars and trucks roaring by at speed, and a sense that something was horribly wrong. I suddenly noticed a nice pedestrian walkway to my right – where the f@&K did that come from!? And why am I not on it? There was no way for me to go back. Even though there was a 6-foot barrier of steel rails, I had to get out of the death trap. I began yanking my panniers off the bike and tossing them over the rails. I then somehow managed to heave the bike over, and even less gracefully clambered over the rails myself. Not the same kind of thrill as going downhill at 40 MPH, but my adrenaline was pumping.
The rain let up, and I made my way to Ken’s. After a requisite (and well-deserved) taunting, he provided me with a sumptuous dinner of lamb, mango shrimp, baked potato, and some funky garlic sprouts. The blueberry pie with ice cream also went a long way to replenishing the vital nutrients I had expended during that day’s ride. His wife Beth, an experience E.R. doctor, was amazed I hadn’t suffered multiple cardiac traumas on my ride there. Take that medical science!
After running a load of laundry, and spreading everything out to dry, I passed out on the sofa. The second half of the day turned out to be more challenging than I had anticipated, but still nothing compared with the day before. Yep, all downhill from here on out, baby!
What I Learned: There are drivers who will beep at you for absolutely no reason.
Distance Today: 40 miles
Total Distance: 208 miles
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