Spoiler alert. We ride 94 miles after waking up hungover AF, so today’s blog isn’t going to be very good. Just read yesterday’s entry again or something.
Or not. Whatevers.
I wake up and my head is pounding. Motherfucking hard core pounding. Too much beer and too much pizza and too much celebrating our successful smashing down the Erie Canalway Trail in 5 days. Approximately 25% of the ride mileage. Now on to leg two: adventure cycling our asses down to DC through the Delaware Water Gap.
I force myself up and out of the tent and fire up some coffee. Everyone is dragging ass and it’s definitely the quietest morning in camp yet, so I know I’m not alone in my category. No jokes. No plans. Just focus and pain. We pull ourselves together and bid Jeff adieu – then bounce down the Henry Hudson. We skirt alongside Albany – New York’s capital – content to focus our sights on the nations capital a week or so away. We don’t stop to moon Cuomo. Shucks. Daniel and Chad are smartiepantses when it comes to history and learning. Daniel motherfucks Rockefeller as we roll along; calling him out with fact after fact after fact. Not only is he a capitalist pig here in New York but also for destroying his hometown too, or as he puts it, “peeling Buenos Aires like a banana.” We find a breakfast truck and devour egg cheese and bacon sandwiches. The history and politics fade away into caloric bliss. Tour score.
We hit route 9 for a long stretch now. This is no longer a canal trail. Hills. Hills. Hills. They kick our ass. Then they do it again. Then again. This shit is horrendous. Grueling. Painful. The heat. The hangover. The climbs. We take a break in the tiny city of Hudson. It’s got cute little cafes with patio only seating. I eat a second sandwich and take a 5 minute nap in the city park. Then we move on for more hills and more heat. My headache has finally begun fading.
22 midday miles and we take a break for water/electrolytes/calories/electricity. We’re all delirious and exhausted beyond our own recognition. I can see it in everyone’s face. We don’t wanna ride but we’ve got more ground to cover. We’re all face deep on our phones when I become the fucking scapegoat for being on the guy on his phone. My hangover is just ending and now this bullshit. I threaten to kick Chad in the nuts for mocking my blogging. “I’m not doing this for anyone else” he says. Asshole. If you have his number, text him the flag of the nation of Chad emoji (🇹🇩) plus the nuts emoji ( 🥜 ) plus the foot emoji (🦶🏽). Or post it as a comment here and I’ll make him read it.
I take a shot of coffee and we get a move on. We cross the Hudson once more and boogie on down to Kingston. We find a rail trail and continue southbound toward New Paltz. We arrive in the early evening to find out that both New Paltz and nearby High Falls have streets with the same name – and Daniel’s friend Mateo lives on the one in High Falls. 13 miles back.
Science damn it.
10 miles ago it was let’s ride an extra couple to make it century! All gung ho. Or hung go. Depends on your autocorrect. But now we’re all not feeling a single more mile. We find a Mexican restaurant and grab chips and cervezas. Daniel is Talking with Mateo. Mateo and his brother in law save the day, showing up in a couple SUV wagons with roof racks. We load up and hitch rides back to his place. Worth it. His spread of land is amaze balls. We eat a feast and sit by a fire. Everyone snores hard that night.