A very pleasant ride to Merrimack, Massachusetts

After fifty-five miles of abuse, we needed an easy route.  Off at 7:33 onto roads which were flat and humane.  Quite a few miles on rails to trails and very few hills overall.  Fearing that rain would hammer us Evan and I wasted no time with pit stops.  A quick lunch at Wendy’s and we rolled on.  Eventually we worked our way through Lowell and Lawrence and gave it a final  push to Merrimack where we checked into a Best Western around 2:30.  Fifty-six miles and we could have done more but were concerned about where we could stay once out of the city.  After chilling down we picked up some really cold IPAs and some Chinese takeout.  Lights out well before sunset given our long day on the road.  With a hot day forecast for tomorrow we will get a very early start tomorrow.  One hundred miles to go.

A ball busting day

Left at 8:03 from Betsy’s house in Canterbury.  Betsy worries about just about everything and fears for my safety and her son Evan’s also.  So typically American, scared of everything, scared of getting out there and giving it all you got.  8.8 miles north on route 163 up hill to Brooklyn, Ct.  where I rendezvoused with Evan.  After thirty miles the day before from New London, it was a good warm up for what was to follow. Evan got his bike equipped reasonably well for his first long distance ride.  Too much weight in the rear with his bags mounted on a lousy rack.  With his bike light in the front and wobbly in the rear we headed off.  Once on route 101, the hills began and seemed to never end.  Trial by fire for Evan and not much fun for me.  We reach the high point of the trip in Rhode Island at 815 feet.  Once on route 102, the ride flattened out but once google sent us onto numerous back roads  the short but steep hills beat on us.  With six miles to go before reaching Hopkinton, Massachusetts, the skies opened up.  Waiting it out helped but not before we were both soaked upon arrival at our warmshowers host.  Matt and Carrie cordoned off an area downstairs on the side of their house.  They feed us both dinner and breakfast from a distance.   Like me, they don’t like turning away bikers on the road.  They taped up sheets and kept their distance.  My attempts to secure other warmshowers places to stay for next few days failed because the hosts do not want to take the risk given their living arrangements.  Tomorrow there is an 80% chance of rain so we will need to get an early start.

New London to Raymond Maine/Little Sebago Lake

  Finally, finally, I am on the road.  Only a short trip of two hundred miles to Maine but given the Corona Virus this trip is significant.  8:33 the wheels starting rolling from New London, Connecticut headed for Canterbury, Betsy DiQuattro’s house.  50.64 kilometers in three hours, ten minutes and all went smoothly with cloudy skies keeping the sun off me.  Rather than suffer route 32 on the west side of the Thames River with its constant hills and narrow shoulders, I rode over the Gold Star bridge to Groton.  Following route 12 was easy, through Norwich off onto route 97 which brought me to route 169.  Narrow shoulders with plenty of hills brought me to Canterbury at 11:43.  The lungs and the legs felt good.  Tomorrow, Evan Sigfridson, Betsy’s thirty-five year old son, and I rendezvous in Brooklyn, 8.8 miles north of Canterbury.  Tomorrow will be a challenge as we head for Hopkinton, Massachusetts, over sixty miles.

Last day on the trail

 Rolled out of Scotia Arrowhead marina and campground at 10:06.  Easy enough along a paved trail until it ended in Schenectady where I was back on the road using my wits as I wove through town looking for the continuation of the trail.  The compass, gps and paper map finally brought me to the trail.  Trying to meet up with Betsy was an act of futility.   For lack of signs we kept missing each other.  Finally I gave an intersection on a side roads where I parked until she could find me.  After lunch outside of a business that did  NASA missile work, I road the final six miles on a street leading into Albany.  Even the ending point was impossible to find. This included short stretch of path that dead ended onto grass located on a large apartment complex; insult to injury. With a little finesse Betsy and I rendezvoused at a riverside park in downtown.? I disassembled part of my bike and reorganized the packing of her car to accommodate two bikes, all my gear plus her stuff.  We made it work.  We drove south to Schodack State Park where we set up camp before heading back to Albany to have a celebratory dinner at a nice English style pub.
    All in all, the Erie Canal ride was a wonderful ride when on the trail but  poor directions and an incomplete route made for many frustrating moments.  Someday this canal ride will be a breeze for the average bicyclist as well as a money maker for this economically depressed area.

Charming ride over a paved trail

   Leaving the St Johnsville marina and campsite at 9:48 was the beginning of a pleasant ride through the countryside as it followed the canal.  A former rail line cut through stone made up the trail with old mileage markers showing the distance to New York. Betsy went ahead as I clicked off the miles.  Thinking she was well ahead of me, I spotted her unloading her bike much to her surprise. Instead of her riding towards me as planned we rode away from her car for about three miles.  She backtracked to her car and road ahead to lock ten when I spotted her again.  We sat by the lock by a flock of geese watching small pleasure boats and long freight trains pass by.  We bought food the night before which we ate for lunch, which included cheese, sausage, chips, crackers, apples and Gatorade. Out in the sun slightly shadowed by her car, we had a very pleasant mid day break.
     Back on my bicycle again for the next seven miles brought me to a marina campsite in Scotia, a beautiful setting to spend the night.  Betsy drove to find food and beverage for a pre-dinner
cocktails and chill down.  In Amsterdam we found  the ‘Tap Room’ where we dined in moderate style.  Nice town with more going on than we had seen for the past several days.  With trains passing constantly and interstate 90 humming, we sank into a semi restful sleep.

nice ride but still poor signage.

     Sleeping at lock 20, Betsy and I had the place to ourselves.  Shortly after waking up, a tug towing dredging pipe arrived at the lock.  We watched the entire lock process of lowering the tug and barges to the water level below. Huge gears turned, gates swung closed, valves opened and down went the tug. It took all of twenty minutes; then off the vessel went down the canal.  The process was so simple,  thousands of gallons of water moved in so little time, amazing.
    At 10:33, I rode down the trail for a mile before having to exit onto route 5.  Not a lot of traffic but only a four foot shoulder and fast moving vehicles.  I am a veteran of these roads but riders who only bargained for a safe trail, it would be very scary.  After I reconnected with the Trail, Betsy met me on two separate occasions riding her bike towards me and the two of us riding back to her car.  I can see she is determined but starting off slow and easy is the best way to keep her interested. Later she found a nice campsite smack on the canal for only $10 a night.  In trying to get to the marina campsite, I over shot it while riding along the trail because there was no turn off to get me to the other side of the canal.  In all I have probably ridden twenty miles making up for wrong turns. It is maddening, a mile is a long way.
     Once at the site, we threw up the tent, laid out the sleeping bags,  pumped up the mattresses and arranged all our gear.  Betsy has done extensive camping which is a major plus in terms of getting her into long distance cycling. She even went out and round up some IPA beer, cheese and sausage for pre-dinner cocktails.  After I cleaned up we set off to find a locally eatery, no such luck.  Upstate New York is depressed with little in the way of luxury.  A supermarket was are only option after driving ten miles.   We dined in the tent and an hour later cash in our chips for a good nights sleep. Four nights of camp and all is going smoothly.   The trail of a better, more continuous runs on pavement but the directions are appallingly bad.
     

Beautiful riding, Betsy’s first day

  Departed Green Lake State Park at 9:14, Betsy in her car me on my bicycletta.   For over an hour, the trail hugged the old canal. With each mile, there lies the abandon canal silted up with fallen trees everywhere giving a saddened look to past times of glory.  Sections were walled off with concrete with stagnant water layered with green algae.  Someday soon I hope an effort will be made to restorer this important part of our country’s history.  Restore it and the people will come.  All it takes is money!
    Betsy and I rendezvoused in Canastota, fourteen miles down the road.  She found this restaurant, The Toast, where everything was divinely delicious and all homemade.  This place is not to be missed; we ate like gods.  11:05 I rode on to meet up with Betsy in Rome. The plan was for her to park at the end of the canal where it entered Rome and ride towards me for three miles, join up for the ride back to her parked car.  It was not to be.  The city had inadequately labeled the route through the city thus leaving Betsy justifiably confused and intimidated by the traffic. The locals were clueless as to the trail and sent her to the wrong location . With no city riding experience she made the wise decision to stay put and wait for my arrival.  The connecting road through Rome was  tense even for me.  Eventually I found her, frustrated and disappointed that she hadn’t been able to ride with me.  Trial by fire and Murphy’s law all in one.  Gathering our composure we moved onto lock Twenty in Oriskany six miles down the road.  Free camping by the lock in a lush spread  of grass with barely a soul to be seen. Decompressing with drinks and chips in the tent followed by a brisk cold water bottle shower left me both relaxed and invigorated for our dinner out on the town.  Finding a restaurant was a challenge.  Pizza, beer and a lively talk with the seventy-two year old owner who had just opened his sports bar restaurant for business six weeks earlier. He had built the place himself.  Two younger men, the  owner  and the two of us had a fun time discussing health, life and whatever came up.  We kept a lid on the politics given that the area is depressed and predominantly Trump country.  Tomorrow, Betsy and I will straighten out the kinks and get in our first ride together.