Another 100 Miles
My previous bike century to the west was a fever dream of battery management, fluid management (in 85-90 degree heat) and squabbles with geese. Naturally, I wanted to try it again under better conditions; full batteries, cool fall weather, and geese more interested in traveling south than protecting their young. This time I'd head east along the canal.
Ginnie and Moxie were leaving before the crack of dawn to spend the weekend with friends in Northern Virginia. I'd leave with them at 5am, find the canal trail and head for the rising sun. Spare battery, drinks and snacks were all packed in the pannier.
15 minutes in, I get a call from Ginnie. I'd forgotten my helmet. Should we meet up to get it? No worries, I replied, I'd be riding exclusively on bike trails. This turned out to be not entirely true.
The daylight gathered itself as I cruised along, passing the occasional dog walker or morning runner.
Massive locks, Pittsford, Fairport, a glassy and foggy canal.
At 25 miles in the sun rose but seemed to be losing its battle with the morning mist.
Approaching Macedon, New York
Let's compare east to west. Traveling west toward Buffalo, the canal trail opens up. It's sunny and wide and busy. You pass frequent iron bridges over the canal and country-cute canal towns.
Traveling east is shadier and quieter; the narrow trail cuts through forests and eventually leaves the canal entirely. You hopscotch between sections of trail and country roads. You're reminded how cargo moves today as thundering freight trains pass.
A morning train
And I was reminded that we are in mid-red areas of New York. There were just one or two Trump signs and this this charming trailside domicile that had a motion sensor playing a continuous warning squawk.
On the way down, I stopped at a cute little coffee shop. The food was decent but the decor was 👌🏻.
The Erie Canal has been re-routed and the trail stayed close to that old route, passing some abandoned locks along the way.
At mid way, I was back in towns again.
From 60 miles until 85 was an agony with legs exhausted and butt sore. Battery management was the name of the game again. That game was to keep under 11.0 watt hours per mile. That meant a dozen miles or so of "acoustic" pedaling.
A final pause at 85 miles gave me a chance to drink a few Gatorades and eat some snacks and suddenly a second wind was upon me. I cruised home to find Buster greeting me at the back door and then to pass out in bed in my Spanish biking sniglet.
