Hoping for a Tail Wind

This hotel room was a lot more appealing last night. I wake up in a bed for the first time in over a week and holy hell this shit sucks. I sleep til 5 until I realize how bad the bed is. This hotel is a piece of shit. I cross the bridge across the street from this dump and I’m back into New Jersey. The second of what are two on-duty occifers comes out to let me know about not riding on it. I explain I didn’t see the sign until it was too late (true) and add two doses of “have a good day” to whatever he was babbling about after that. Deli coffee plus a bacon egg and cheese hits the spot. We have 15 more miles past a nuclear power plant to somewhere resembling a town.

There’s a rail trail out of Easton and we decide to divert off of the adventure cycling route. So worth it. It’s a fantastic trail. Graded. Well covered from the late morning sun. Crushed stone. Some washout. Some mud. I have the thinnest tires of the group at 32c so we’re relatively all good. A couple spots make for tight knuckles but overall it’s wonderfully gorgeous. Running south on what is an isthmus of sorts: we are between the Delaware River and the Delaware Canal on what once was the towpath. Now we duck under cute trestle and/or covered bridges alongside fantastic little locks of love. The backyard game is popping in these parts. Some people live on what is almost an island – each body of water on each side of their house. I need to go home and step my game up or commit landscaping harakiri.

Straddling the Delaware River, we cross it on bridges and each time we’re back and forth between New Jersey and Pennsylvania. I am in pain. I’m reminded of my time last year on the Natchez Trace. It tried everyone’s strength and patience. Yeah. It’s that part of a tour. And it hurts. I find some relief when we hit a swimming spot in the Delaware and refresh. A few more miles and we get to New Hope PA. This is Princeton territory, as evidenced by the houses and the cars and the general demeanor. We cool out in the blazing 94° heat.

We bid the Delaware River adieu and follow the ACA route toward Philadelphia. We will get close but not enter any larger cities until Washington DC. I’m sure Philly and Baltimore could be fun but the suburban ring around any American city is a near death sentence for bicyclists. No bueno.

Campsites are still a problem. Few allow tent camping dude to covid. We get into the Philly suburbs. There ain’t shit for us. Chad decides to mommy-warbucks us a Hampton Inn. Two hotels two nights in a row!!! Bike tour first for me. My first time doesn’t hurt as much as they say it would. In fact it’s not bad at all. In fact it’s super mega ultra awesome. We shower and do some laundry and hang for a bit and get into some verbal jabbing wars, since we’re all too physically beat for much else. We decide no TV and just entertain each other. Plenty laughs. I can’t slap my knees because they hurt, but things are literally that funny. Snores will abound with two in beds and two on the floor. But I think we’re all sleeping like babies tonight. However it is that babies sleep, because they usually don’t.

Daniel has a knack for spotting swimming holes. And for finding various roadside accoutrements. At one point the heat and the hills have us hurting. Like delirious. We find a swimming hole and that’s where it’s get really weird. Please welcome Mr. Freakin’ Hot. We’re working on a better name. Please suggest one. But he’s coming with us.

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The sun pops up an I emerge from the castle. After a quick roll out from prime stealth camp territory is followed by the hardest segment of climbs yet, we’re coming up into the Delaware Water Gap. 33 miles of foggy hot climbs has us gasping for a break and some breakfast to go along with that break. The Walpack Inn is out. And still doesn’t open for two hours. So we snack on what we have and set up for nap time behind the pace in front of a gorgeous vantage point of rolling green lushness. I lay there in the grass and simply can’t move. Some of the climbs are relentless. The kind that keep going after a bend just when I think I’ve made it. I scream out various hoots or grunts or woos. My exhales start spraying all sort of non COVID germs on the county roads.

Mateo tells me he wants to get into a hot air balloon. We have a little chat about instant coffee. It’s blasphemous as fuck quite honestly. but Mateo is now whipping some up and I accept a small amount. I have a jetboil french press in my rear left saddlebag, so it’s not that I don’t have options. (See above for that part where I simply can’t move.) He’s gotta be more gassed than any of his. Day two for him is brutal for all of us on day 8.

We’ve got the winding climbs and descents along the entire Delaware Water Gap National so and so to come. Please just open the goddamn bathrooms so those of us on bike don’t dehydrate. PS what the fuck is a water gap anyway?

Mateo tells us he wants to get in a raft. I’m soaked in my own perspiration when we cross the Delaware River into Pennsylvania. Two climbs specifically are now branded into the part of my brain that died to make it up them. And with no services and al potholes the last three hours, we are desperate for food and water. This little outdoorsy town has a taco truck for the win. That’s followed by more nap time on some picnic tables by a stream. We’re feeling ready to head south along the Delaware River.

Mateo tells me how some guy in a Mercedes pulled alongside him and asked if he wanted a ride. Every campground we’ve tried the last few days has not allowed tent camping which has proven to be a real pain in the ass. So we have no destination but will simply ride until we can remote sleep. This is my personal preference and I take pride in skillfully pulling it off. Plus we get to knock out more miles and now that it’s raining, I’m feeling refreshed and ready to push. Damon is down. We take a little ten mile break and he proposes it to the group. Seems like a go. Except Mateo says he’s gotta call it quits. I kinda saw it coming with the whole hot air balloon/raft/Mercedes thing. It was nice to expand the team for just a couple days and I hope he had fun. We wish him well and continue on.

The rains pick up. We roll along the Delaware River into a little town with a run down family owned restaurant and hotel and are instantly drawn back into the normal way of living. We can’t resist and 20 minutes later I’m showered and wearing clean clothes. 40 minutes later and I’m sitting at a table being served dinner. What world am I in? This would be abnormal in normal times, but it’s even more surreal now and at this moment David Byrne is spot on about what I may be asking myself. The answer, David, is by bicycle. Bicycle is how I got here.

At dinner Daniel gets into some good old fun with the owner of the place. An older gentleman with a thick accent, he’s been teasing us the entire time in good fun. “I’m not Italian. I’m Greek,” he tells Daniel. They are talking about sex, I think. I’m not really paying attention. “You Italians are all talk while us Greeks are action.” And this old man starts moving his hips. Now I’m paying attention. And I’m laughing uncontrollably. He walks off, “I’m sorry. You opened the can with the worms you know? So what can I say?” Daniel laid off him a bit before the old mans blood pressure skyrocketed. We didn’t see him after that.

We pay the bill and I pass out in a not so comfortable bed. I’d have preferred my tent but the shower and the meal make the sacrifice of sleeping indoors worth it.

• Day 7. 446 Miles. What Is A Title Other Than A Restriction On Creativity?
• Days 5 & 6. 408 Miles. People, Places, Pooping, and the Oxford Comma.
• Days 4. 290 Miles. Three Years Old.
• Day 3. 209 Miles. Day Trois.
• Day 2. 135 Miles. Bro, Canada.

The tour magic continues, as Mateo and his mama roll out the breakfast red carpet for us. We all agree to sleep late and just ride the afternoon. I still wake up at 6am, feeling mega refreshed despite the brutal mileage and heat the day before. My Raleigh Sojourn requires a solid cleaning. The weather report calls for afternoon showers. I consult the morning holy trinity (☕️ 💩 🎒) and get to getting the gunk out of my drive train before packing up. Two hours later we’re all up and activated and chowing down on some amazing bacon and eggs.

Our half a day strategy is by design. Rain is in the forecast. Chad needs a bike shop. I wanna catch up with a bike friend I met years ago when she was touring through Buffalo. Plus! Mateo is joining us! Yes. We’re adding one more to our roaming pack of animals (…pretty sure it’s pronounced aminals). He loads up an impressive rig and puts on his Bernie hat and I couldn’t be happier. I refer to him as the freshman and to our crew as the Fab Five.

Time out.

After breakfast, the rain starts coming in. Its getting heavier, so move out toward New Paltz with a 30-40ish mile day in mind. Final destination tee bee dee. Camp somewhere USA. We hit the bike shop and then head over to hang with Junko and her husband Dave. The skies open up and we take refuge in their house over coffee and snacks. Junko and I met back in 2014. Dave is a straight up bad motherfucker. Sea Bee in Vietnam. Among other things, his front yard includes: Metal shop. Wood shop. Japanese gardens. He’s got a frigging excavator in the backyard and regards it as a tool. Nice stop.

Time in.

The rain let’s up a bit and after a supermarket stop we skidaddle in the waltz with St Paltz. County road 7 for a bit. Yes. Ugh. Fucking fuckity fuck. These are the hardest climbs yet. They turn and keep going up. Only Daniel and I don’t walk up a hill. Chad doesn’t have a tiny touring gear (aka a granny gear) and absolutely loves to fly ahead of the formation. But when we hit a total ass kicker of a hill and I pass him at 3 mph (and have any breath left – at best a 50/50 thing), I belt out “Chad ain’t got no granny gear, doo dah doo dah. Chad stays walking a up the hill. All doo dah day!”. He’s alone in not being amused by my talents.

Game off.

When’s the last time you saw a barn with a Scarface fountain out front?

Game on.

The last stretch is most downhill and the sunset really makes all the sweating and ass busting worth it. The rain stops altogether. The sun has come out under the clouds and is starting to set. I feel like Scarlet Johansson is whispering, “the suns getting low big guy”, only me passing out is Banner turning Hulk. Looking around for services, we plan to hit some KOA because despite smelling like hot funk, we care about hygiene. They usually have nice showers. At our last gas station we reassemble, gassed but not needing gas. Some Interweb research later and knowledge reigns down: we are relatively close to NYC so covid19 has tent camping not allowed. Bathhouses closed. We consider an ambush (or show up and act dumb) but I find a county park on the map. We roll in as it’s getting dark. Set up under a pavilion and we find a outlet. No water though. Dinner and music and stank round out the evening. Snoring ensues…