Ive crossed the blue line. The Adirondacks! So close! But, yes, you saw it coming: so far.
The Adirondack park is the largest park in the lower 48. There’s any number of comparison’s to make One of my favorites is that it is bigger than Yellowstone, Glacier and The Everglades national parks combined.
The park is about 6 million acres (about the size of Vermont), about half of which is public, half private.
The public land is constitutionally mandated “forever wild.” of course what “forever wild” means has been the subject of some negotiation over the years.
So I entered the park near the southwest corned and am traveling up to Lake Placid for my friend Lisa’s wedding in the high peaks region, northeast in the park.
So I still have some rising before the next multiday rest.
So here’s a rare photo of me with the schooner.
Normally the bike is such a prima donna.
Larry and Patty Ehlinger of Rome, NY are seasoned warmshowers hosts.
Larry’s been hosting for over 20 years. They hosted a father and son two nights ago, then me last night.
Larry’s an even more dedicated bike commuter, making his 16 mile rood trip commute by bike for three seasons since 1973.
He has logged many more miles than I ever could.
Thanks guys, the bike force is strong with you.
This is Jug. He and his wife Betty own Jug’s Tavern in Sodus, NY.
He walked over as I stood on the main street in Sodus trying to gather local intel on nearby campgrounds or parks. While he didn’t come up with a campground (we were eventually able to locate one with the help of the rest of Jug’s), he did help with dinner. He modestly suggested the Chinese place down the street before mentioning that he owned the tavern across the street. Off we went.
The decor in Jug’s is dominated by a twenty foot shuffleboard table and plenty of Elvis memorabilia, a motif that is endearing to me, as those who know me can attest.
Jug personally cooked up a perfect burger with a healthy portion of Betty’s potato salad.
They wouldn’t let me pay. For the Labatt’s, either. Betty wouldn’t even let me leave a tip. I managed to throw a fistful of dollars at the bar and run out before she could catch me.
Meanwhile, Jug was pretty excited about the schooner and stayed outside to show it off.
The rest of the folks at the bar put their heads together and came up with a list of potential places to stay. Cherry Creek campground in Wolcott, NY was the eventual winner and that’s where I spent last night.
Some of the guys at Jug’s Tavern, Sodus, NY.
Things Kyle Finds on the Side of the Road, Episode Three.
This is the third needle found on the trip. Better or worse than drunk driving? The difficulty/danger probably depends on whether the shooting is happening while trying to drive. More like texting, or trying to muddle a fourth mojito while merging onto the Major Deegan.
The Charlotte-Genesee lighthouse was built in 1822 at the Port of Rochester on lake Ontario. It sits behind the Pelican Bar, “a slice a Key West in Rochester!”
Rochester has some beautiful bike paths. Here the schooner and I take a rest on one of the elevated paths over the river.
Once I got towards the port, lots of folks were out biking, walking, sailing. It was great.
I have to share the gorgeous shaded path along the Genesee River in Rochester. Downhill, dark, cool. Surrounded by cemeteries. Empty and quiet.
On Road Kill
I have been meaning to write about roadkill. Now is as good a time as any.
If you haven’t biked or walked significant distances, I don’t know if you can appreciate the numbers of animals meeting their end in the grill of a Hyundai Sonata.
Unfortunate animals line the roads at a rate of at least one per 1/4 mile, to be smelled if not seen. They are in all manner of final repose, from the seemingly tired to the unidentifiable round of fur and grease. I’ve seen dozens of species, wild things and domestic things.
I’m not scolding anyone or making a pitch. I’m no innocent.
Just yesterday I hit a goose. I rode, ringing my bell and clucking ( as you do when passing through a flock of fowl), warning a way. Well, I took a line close to the river, which happens to be where the geese thought safest. geese are not runners, and as the last ran to the water, I, trying to cut back inland, ran right into it. I think I was the more shocked of the two.
The goose and i have recovered, reconciled by continuing on with our separate lives.
In a way that’s not entirely without metaphor, over the past few thousand miles i’ve become accustomed to the presence of death along the road, as much as to all that living.