Hoping for a Tail Wind

The day begins at the crack of dumpster duty. Daniel is convinced that the dumpster truck guy was being quieter for us – he was apparently emptying dumpsters much more aggressively around town for the last hour. I’m using the term “town” loosely here. But BAM. I’m up before the sun. My body hurts. Partly tight. Partly sore. I pack up, take a crap somewhere that shall remain unspecified, fill my thermos with gas station “high octane” coffee and we set out to burn more rubber on what is a gorgeous non-motorized trail.

Well fuck ain’t going this gone to shit.

Immediately beyond our vagrancy campsite, the trail has a gap and it joins a state road. That thing filled with enormous and loud speeding metal death machines. But but but but but wait it gets worse!

Miles later the canal literally becomes grass. And more miles later the canal itself becomes filled in. At one point – miles later) the residents of whatever town this is used the spacial remains to make a little downstairs flower garden out of the Erie Canal. Oh how cute. The reason my city ever even became a city and one of the initial causes of its complete decline now gets to be somebody’s petunias. History class later. Really though, the flowery town was kinda cool for a hamlet or something. And there are still some great sections of the canal in all it’s original glory.

As we come into the greater Syracuse area, the canal has vanished, Beau Fleuve-style. It’s almost comforting in a weird, kill-you-slowly sort of way. We’re seeking for calories and sanctuary from the sun when out of nowhere Chad’s rear cassette and hub attempt bike tour suicide.

Chad walks a couple miles to catch us under an umbrella on the Wegmans cafe market. Chad is despondent. I’ve been there. It’s a feeling that your entire tour is done and you’re headed to some train or bus station to defeatedly go back home. Fucking failure. I tell him we will figure it out one way another. He wants to eat. We all do. We pack our fuel tanks with calories and nutrients from all sorts of fresh produce and I tell him I’ll take a look. Yup. I pull the wheel off, the cassette loosely flies off and ball bearings pour out of his hub. This is not a field operation He needs a bike shop. I find one a few miles away. Suddenly and without warning, a masked-up senior couple exactly 6 feet away offers to give him ride!! Score one for humanity if you’re keeping track at home. Call it phase three magic; both Cuomo and Trump can suck it!! Chad locks up his one wheeled bike, grabs his wheel and jumps into their little Honda. Damon and Daniel and I head for a hilly stretch into downtown Syracuse; fingers crossed that our 4th wheel can continue.

Syracuse looks a lot like Buffalo, if Buffalo had been a European city that was bombed into smithereens during world war 2 and then rebuilt in some boring way. Starring Robert Moses as all of Nazi Germany. Maybe Syracuse is the London of Buffalo? (BTW, that last usage of Buffalo is plural). Syracuse did keep their one way streets, way to go. I notice that both cities appear to love cute little public murals a little more than public welfare. Not that I dislike murals. But how about both?

Me and the two D’s find a little downtown park to unwind and take a midday nap. We’ve got 50 miles in and we’ve got time. Daniel buys some rum. Damon smokes a joint. I head over to the firefighter memorial park to think and come back to our rendezvous point moments before Chad pulls up on two wheels!! I cheer. Damon cheers. Hilariously, Daniel – in his thick Argentinian-Italian accent – yells out to him: “get a job”!

Our foursome back intact, we head East to get back on the canal trail. Suddenly, I’m solo. I’m navigating this leg, why are we so separated? Damon lagged way back on some hills. Chad and Daniel zoomed ahead and missed the trailhead. I’m feeling like Rick Moranis as Dark Helmet in Spaceballs. I think to myself “keep firing, assholes”.

We inevitably rely on our cellular technology and regroup. We hit a lovely stretch of the Canal Trail and by 630pm we’ve secured a campsite at Green Lakes State Park. $20 later and we have water, land and showers. There’s even a plug in the bathroom. Four fucking stars, fan fucking tasting. We’re exhausted. Daniel is offering rum, Damon is offering weed. Chad sums it up best. “I’m so tired that I probably only have about five minutes of consciousness to alter.” I shower. I eat. I clean the trail dust out of my drive chain, climb in the tent and pass out right as the rain comes in at sunset.

It’s maybe a 20 minute nap. Even Hammer would say proper.

We decide to get up, get out and get something as 1400 hours comes around. The skies are overcast and the heat is down a few degrees. Nice.

No more than 10 minutes in and it’s fucking pouring. Thunder. Lightning. The whole thing called weather has gone to shit. We take refuge from the storm, Flea and Anthony Kiedis style.

I want to average 70 miles a day and we’re at 27 for the day. My mind wonders back to tornadoes on the Northern Tier. After an hour or so we get moving under light rain.

Just a couple miles in and Damon’s crank and pedal have come loose. My wrench won’t fit in there so I do my best with a leatherman. That doesn’t do it.

Fuck mechanical issues like Rick James on Eddie Murphy’s couch.

After a second tightening, we get some cell service. I google “bicycle”. There’s one a few miles away and they close in 20 minutes. In yet another “port”, Fairport. Let’s go! An hour later and we are set, thanks to the fine folks at RV&E. The plan is to rendezvous with Daniel and Chad further up the canal. Maybe it’s a private helicopter. I don’t know. We gotta make up some miles.

Damon and I pound this shit out like prison rapists. The trail is muddy and a little slippery but we roll through Palmyra with no sign of the Mormon tablets. We arrive into Newark NY and decide that the covered picnic table area with the water supply and the power outlet will be our home for the night. Right on the canal and right on cue, the rain comes back in. But we’re also now a foursome. Chad and Daniel bring fresh energy and cold beer. We crack jokes, talk about passed trips and plan to wake up early. I jump in the tent and crash instantly.

The second day of a long ride is always the same. Ghostbustin ass, Groundhog Day, Bill Murray level. Neither my mind nor body has adjusted yet. Not to riding all day. Not to sleeping outside. Not to the required lower standard of hygiene or required level of hydration. What can go wrong will probably go wrong. Ain’t nothin’ to it but to do it.

Our gracious hosts send us off full of vegan pancake. I also went with the optional eggs. Damon follows a strict diet. I eat anything at this point.

Coffee, poop, ride.

We knock 25 miles out at a moderate pace and roll across New York State to the sounds of RTJ4. Damon takes the lead for a bit and I realize we probably need to stay out of the sun from noon to 3pm today. Parts of him look lobsteresque. His right calf is a shade of pinkish red that I’ve never seen before. I start to consider options.

I miss a sign to stay on the Erie Canal Trail and wind up finding a slew of barnacle encrusted bicycles. Derailleurs beware, nature is metal.

We detour onto the Genesee River Trail and 4 miles later we’re in the center of Rochester New York – at the apartment oasis of one Gabriella Gauger. Gabi is a fantastic human, I truly love the shit out of her. As usual (which is now just “as yooozz” – but I don’t know the proper spelling), she is out of town doing awesome out of town shit. But she was cool with us chilling for a couple hours and a midday break was needed. Detour approved.

Theres a tasty blond ale in the fridge. The liquid lunch goes down smooth. I shower. I lay down. I start to drift off into midday wonder nap land…

BTW Gabi has a blog, it’s just like mine but totally different – so check it out or don’t.