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DAY
40 - 45
I spend the next 5 days in Buffalo. Marie arrives in 4 days.
1 day to recover from 30 hours of travelling and assemble her Moulton
bicycle and then we'll be heading along the Eire Canal towards the
Atlantic Ocean.
The FIRST DAY is spent sitting in the
Milliken's garden writing in my diary, catching up with correspondence
and relaxing after riding almost 6000 km in5 weeks. The garden is
very private and natural in a cottage garden style. Doug's father,
Bill, is away racing cars at Goodwood, England. Quite a feat when
you find out he's 92 years old!
The SECOND DAY we put the green bicycle
on a stand, clean and lubricate the chain and prepare the Moulton
for the last leg to New York City. Richard Diver, the Moulton dealer
from Toronto, drove down to Buffalo for the afternoon and the three
of us spent time talking about bikes, cars and life in general.
It was good of Richard to take 'time out' from his work and travel
down to meet me. Doug and I ride 5 miles to a restaurant for dinner.
THIRD DAY: Doug's parents, Bill and Barbara,
are returning home from Europe. I move into a motel close to the
airport, in Williamsville. I get a haircut and become a good friend
with Charles, the proprietor of the barbers shop. A big man, 6'3",
of Sicilian origin, we talk over the Internet to Australians. It's
midnight down under but we still find plenty of people willing to
have a chat. We share a small glass of liqueur and Charles invites
me along to hear him sing at a local restaurant on Friday night.
FOURTH DAY: Marie arrives tonight. I spend
hours looking at maps and decide that the Erie Canal route to Albany
and the Hudson River to New York (about 500 miles) could be fun.
The bike trails follow towpaths and minor roads - not too many hills.
I go for a long walk today through backstreets, cemeteries and parks,
getting lost. I'm looking forward to getting back on the bike again.
I have dinner with the Milliken family at a restaurant and Doug
takes me to the airport to pick up Marie and her bike. She's looking
well after her extensive flights.
 FIFTH
DAY: Marie sleeps well considering the time difference between here
and Australia. I assemble Marie's bike and we walk down to meet
Charles at his Barber's shop. He has his brand new Moto Guzzi motor
cycle inside - we sit and talk over a bottle of lemon liqueur he'd
brought back from Italy. We'll all go Niagara Falls in the afternoon,
bikes in the back of his pickup so we can explore the bike trails.
Charles sings loudly with Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra as backing
vocals. The police pull us over for exceeding the speed limit and
issue a ticket. Before arriving at the falls the horizon is a mist
of spray above the vertical wall of water. We ride our bikes along
the riverside; it's hot. Families eat ice creams, people from all
over the world lean on the railings mesmerised by the foaming water
down below. We pose for photographs under the cool spray with rainbows
dancing in the sunlight behind us. Back in town we have dinner with
the Milliken family. In the workshop, we overhaul the brakes on
Marie's bike. Back at the motel it's time to pack our bags. Tomorrow
morning we head for New York City.
Day 46
We are late leaving. Fitting racks and getting organised took us
into the early hours of the morning. Within a mile of departure
I got a flat back tyre. 5 miles later the sky darkens, a prelude
to a morning of thunder, lightening and rain. Covers on our bags,
wet weather gear-our spirits are dampened. I look at the concentration
on Marie's face and feel disappointed that she should draw the short
straw from the unpredictable weather. Resilient, focussed, Marie
rides the emotional rollercoaster of life without complaint. She's
happy to be here. On the road to Lockport, the start of our journey
along side the Erie Canal, we passed through hamlets. Nurseries,
fruit stalls, old red brick houses along side white-washed dwellings.
American flags, wet in the rain, hang limply from porches. Marie
has a puncture and we look at each other with a smile. The day must
improve!
When we get to the canal the sun breaks
through a veil of thin cloud and the rain stops. We stand side by
side on the old bridge looking over the lock at the canal disappearing
amongst the trees below the horizon - the link to the Atlantic Ocean
where my long journey comes to an end. The trail we are taking parallels
historic canal segments, passing through communities and villages
that offer a glimpse into the past when the Erie Canal was opened
in 1825 and subsequently enlarged. To me, sailing down the canal
in a barge, has a similar appeal to cycle touring. It is essentially
the pleasure of the journey rather than a focus on the destination.
We head east on Bike Trail 5 which follows roads that run close
to the canal for about 300 miles to Albany. We hope to use the towpath
in places, sometimes it is paved, sometimes gravel and sometimes
we could not see a path. The New York State Canal Corporation produce
an excellent leaflet with maps called 'State Canalway Trails'. The
road changes character throughout the day, the narrow village streets,
arterial roads and shady canal-side trails. Every road has a wide
shoulder and, with a tail wind, we cruise along at 20 mph. Ducks
and geese sit under the shade of Weeping Willows, the canal appears
and disappears all day, boats cruise through distance fields. It
is very hot and humid - reminding us of our climate in Tropical
North Queensland. Marie is extremely fit and I enjoy watching her
fluid style on the Moulton, high cadence, no movement except for
rotating legs.
 Many
of our stops during the day are voluntary nutrition breaks but,
unfortunately, we are plagued by punctures today. Bud Light bottles
and shrapnel from disintegrating automobiles litters the shoulder
of the road. It's fair to say though, that this problem is far worse
in a lot of regions in Australia and overall, New York State seems
fairly litter-free outside cities. The bike trails take us through
the towns of Medina, Albion and Rockport on the way to the city
of Rochester. Two small-wheeled bicycles attract a lot of attention.
We spent a lot of time answering questions and cars slow down along
side us to watch a brace of Moultons speeding along the road. We
reach Rochester late in the afternoon and, in the confusion of city
traffic we lose the bike path amongst the maze of city streets.
It was dusk by the time we found the canal and head east hoping
to find a place to camp. The canal begins to reflect stars and the
green trees morph into dark silhouettes. The towpath is gravel with
puddles from today’s rain, passing joggers, cyclists and people
walking dogs, we stopped periodically to inflate Marie's rear tyre
which has a slow puncture - I'll replace the tube when we find some
where to sleep tonight.
We meet a couple of mountain bikers who
ring their friends further down the canal with the offer of a roof
over our heads until morning. His directions are vague and we choose
to find a motel after total darkness makes navigation along the
tow path hazardous. By 10.30 pm it was bread rolls, cheese and Pringles
for dinner and a hot shower and a well earned rest. Marie's first
day of cycle touring in North America had not been as I had imagined
- thunderstorms, losing our way, punctures and riding in the dark.
Just another day at the office for me!
Day 47
A late start today. Puncture to fix and the room looks like a Chinese
laundry with clothes hanging out to dry from the deluge yesterday.
Today we head east towards Syracuse and it is hot and humid; the
road moves away from the canal through small hills where large trees
throw cool shadows onto the asphalt. Often we can ride side-by-side
as the shoulder is wide, otherwise we take turns at the back as
the westerly wind pushes us towards the coast. We pass through a
series of small towns with a patchwork of small industries on the
outskirts and the road narrows as it passes through a centre where
the buildings haven't changed much for 150 years. Stone, red brick,
ornate facades-a moment to turn back the clock to a time when the
canal was an artery to the heart of commerce on the east coast.
Now these communities seem to be regaining their pride through restoration
of buildings, ornate flowerbeds, street lighting, museums and parks.
We enjoy stopping for drinks on this hot day in towns where travellers
are made to feel welcome. At 5:30 pm we find a camp ground on the
outskirts of Weedsport and quickly set up the tent surrounded by
swarms of mosquitoes and cooked a chicken/broccoli and rice meal
on our stove. After a shower we visited a small bar on the grounds.
It started raining as we headed 'home' so we quickly threw our belongings
into the tent and dived in after them to avoid the mosquitoes and
a drenching. It was hot and humid inside as thunder and lightening
to other locations.
Day 48
In the morning my senses are greeted with the smell of damp clothing
and my eyes slowly focus on droplets of water sliding down the flysheet.
We are tempted to remain horizontal, in a semi-coma, until the sun
decides to shine. The mosquitoes are still attacking as we load
up the bikes and head off down the laneway. We had coffee just down
the road at Weedsport and I sat on the kerb at the gas station wondering
whether it was WEED SPORT or WEEDS PORT. Some towns have peculiar
names and other borrowed from Europe - Amsterdam, Rome, Manchester,
Greece and Athens are all towns we pass through as we head eastwards
along the Erie Canal.
We don't see much of the canal today.
Bike Trail 5 takes us up Highway 31 north of the city of Syracuse,
crossing the Oswego Canal which heads north to Ontario Lake. We
still have a tailwind and cruise down the road effortlessly, watching
families head towards their summer holiday destinations; vans and
cars packed full with boats and bicycles on the roof. We often get
a toot and a wave from drivers who, I imagine, would rather be cycling
than driving. It seems odd that they are call 'drivers' and we are
called 'riders'. We 'drive' bicycles and 'ride' in cars! As we pass
through small villages and corn fields ready for harvesting, the
temperature rises and our emergency chocolate rations melt. We eat
soft Snickers bars and drink warm water (what a treat!) on the Oswego
Canal Bridge and watch a large American flag point east. I've seen
thousands of stars and stripes on my journey - on houses, cars,
motorcycles, trucks, people and even a dog with the flag on it's
collar. Unfortunately, most of these have been on the wrong side
of the flagpole for a cyclist heading to New York. When we arrive
at Oneida Lake the northerly wind creates white caps on the waves
and small empty bots wait patiently for the weekend’s activities.
Sitting under the shade of a large tree next to a stony beach, we
quietly eat subway rolls and drink fruit juice. The houses around
us seem empty - owners at work or perhaps holiday/weekend hideaways.
It is difficult to get back on the bikes,
limbs are resting and my mind has taken me to other places. I am
enjoying Marie's company after many weeks alone – a different
perspective, shared responsibility and a chance for Marie to share
the experiences on this long journey. We arrive in Utica late in
the afternoon and park our bikes outside a pizza restaurant. The
owner promises to make the best pizza we've ever tasted. It was
excellent and we took some away for our lunch tomorrow. We camped
about 5 miles down the road, the mosquitoes returned, but we were
asleep quickly after riding 100 miles.
Day 49
Today we head towards Albany where we turn south following the Hudson
River to New York City where the ride ends the day after tomorrow.
The diary will continue onto England, Japan, and home to Australia.
Leaving the canal we head up some steep hills, pedalling slowly
through farmyards where ducks waddle away quacking, chickens scatter
in different directions and dogs stretch their chains to join in
the activity. Small white-washed churches with freshly mown lawns
are landmarks in the small villages as we struggle up inclines and
freewheel into valleys. We see the canal, a silver thread on a green
carpet below. 'Perhaps we should have taken the canal road.' I suggest
to Marie, mud on our tyres and sweat on our shirts. We both smile
knowing that the reward for our effort is a long descent into Fort
Plain alongside the Erie Canal again. At Fort Plain we visit the
library. Air conditioned, it is a welcome retreat from the humidity.
Amongst the emails is a request to visit Broadcast House in London
where I will be interviewed by John Peel for the BBC program 'home
truths'. John is a very popular personality in England and his Saturday
morning program has a large audience.
About 25 miles further we stopped to watch
a small boat rise 12 feet in Lock 11. The passengers sit on the
deck smiling, we wave to each other as they pass through the gates
and up the river. The lock keeper tells us that it costs 10 dollars
for a 10 day pass through all the locks. The stretch of water through
to Albany is the Mohawk River. We sat at the waters edge and I was
taken back to a time where mules pulled barges laden with cargo;
riding a touring bicycle over the Rockies is probably a similar
experience!
Albany is quite a large city and we chose
to take highway 5 instead of by-passing on the bike route. It's
rush hour in the urban jungle. Hundreds of traffic lights hang from
cables, car yards, small industries, fast food outlets, pot holes,
noise - an attack on all the senses, needing concentration to keep
us alive. We stop periodically and continue on through this war
zone - eventually retreating from the enemy - into a motel. We shower
and cross the road into a Chinese restaurant. A huge buffet, cold
drinks and idle conversation about the day’s events bring
us back to normality.
Day 50
The road to the city centre continues through the mayhem and rubble.
Marie has a puncture within 5 minutes. We pass through corridors
of large historic buildings and find the bridge across the Hudson
River. It's a freeway (no bicycles) so we continue south following
the railway getting lost in a maze of streets amongst road works,
vague signage and enter the countryside on a road that doesn't appear
to be on our map 'as long as we are heading in the right direction'
we agree. Eventually we joined 9W the highway to New York, no shoulder
for 20 miles. We stopped at a small café for a bite to eat
and asked the waitress how far it was to the town of Catskill. "It's
20 minutes in a car, and a long way on a bicycle - you’re
not cycling that far are you?" We smiled. "Sure"
we said. She filled our bottles with iced water and we headed south.
Marie follows my rear wheel as we navigate the rough edge of the
road; cars and trucks slow down and slide past slowly. We pass through
Catskill and on to Kingston where a bridge crosses the Hudson River.
At the toll booth we were told that, because of construction work,
cyclists and pedestrians were forbidden to cross. It was late in
the day and, as the next bridge was about 20 miles away, we were
anxious and annoyed that the bridge authority had made no provision
to shuttle pedestrians and cyclists across the mile-wide bridge.
Instead, we were told, rather abruptly, to hitch-hike.
After about 20 minutes an old pick-up
stopped we put the bikes on the back, and we were taken across the
river. The young man driving told us that he had paid $100 for the
car, a real bargain! Soon we were cycling on the eastern side of
the Hudson past river side houses with beautiful gardens. Grand
entrances with large gates; an air of prosperity and history with
the Hudson sliding by, carrying small boats in it's current; it's
journey ending in New York City just 70 miles away. Animated movements
of squirrels as they play under the shade of large oaks and maples,
no traffic now, just the chirping and singing of birds enjoying
twilight. We could hear distant thunder slowly drifting our way
and, just before Rhinebeck, we stopped under a canopy of trees and
changed into wet weather gear as the skies opened and a deluge dampened
our spirits. 20 minutes later we were happy to be peeling of layers
of wet clothing in a small, but comfortable motel room.
Day 51
At 8am we were sitting in 'Blondies Cafe' in Rhinebeck eating bacon
and eggs. Through the window our loaded bicycles were leaning up
against a tree with a backdrop of old restored shops, bookstores,
boutiques, cafés, colourful flowers tumbling from ceramic
pots and people ambling slowly down the sidewalk under the dappled
sunlight filtering through small, neatly trimmed trees. I feel elated
and relaxed. A recipe of the ambience, the sunshine and the final
day cycling in North America as we head for New York. As we eat,
people stop to look at our bikes, children point and pull on their
mother's arms and others examine the suspension and small wheels.
We cycle south and stop at Vanderbilt mansion, a grand 19th century
home beside the river surrounded by acres of park-like gardens and
stone walls. It's open to the public and, as we drink on the riverside,
tour groups walk past and file through a side door of the building.
The day is hot and humid as we continue south through Poughkeepsie
and Peekskill ending up on a very busy road outside New York City.
We try and find a quiet road but navigation is difficult as our
map is inadequate. Eventually we are in the city cycling close to
the Hudson River once more. Time to be street-wise in the city,
yellow taxis, cars, trucks, pedestrians, all in a hurry.  Down
5th Avenue, Broadway to battery park where we lean our bikes against
a picnic table. Time for a hug and smiles with the Statue of Liberty
watching us in the background - we made it! What a moment. I looked
at the computer on my bike - 6862 km. It seemed like a year since
I had left Salt Spring Island in British Columbia and still more
experiences ahead - explore New York and on to England and Japan.
We spent an hour in the park relaxing.
I'm very proud of Marie; the journey from Buffalo wasn't easy. We
experienced a lot of rain, bad road surfaces and tropical humidity.
I ask her how she feels about the trip so far, "fantastic"
she smiles enthusiastically.
Dwain, a cyclist I met at La Crosse, gave
me the phone number of his friend in Lower Manhattan. We have contacted
him and it's OK to roll our sleeping bags on the floor of the apartment.
We head into the city once more, heads turn as two touring cyclist
on small wheeled bikes weave in and out of the traffic. At the Supreme
Court Building 6 police cars with lights flashing, ambulances, people
running back and forth. A policeman approaches us and asks about
the bikes and when he finds out about the ride he throws his arms
up in amazement. We give him the website address and ask him what
is happening here. "Oh" he replies, "They're filming
NYPD Blue, look there's Denis Franz, you know Sibowitz". We
had seen him on TV in Australia and it seemed strange to see him
standing on the steps near us. We asked if all the policemen dashing
around were actors "Oh no", he replied "most of them
are real police!" We watched for a while and then pedal on.
Soon we are in China town, it's late afternoon and very busy, we
stayed close together as taxis swerve in front and car doors open
beside us. It's raining slightly and wind is funnelling down the
streets between tall buildings. The sky is very black ahead, paper
and tin cans fly through the air. We are enjoying the atmosphere
but getting wet is not an option we choose.
We arrive at the apartment and meet Bill
and his two flat mates. They are happy to meet us and ask lots of
questions as we unload the bikes in the hallway. They are in their
early twenties and suggest that we might like to bed down in the
laundry as they were partying tonight and didn't want to keep us
awake. We then met Paul, the owner of the building, and he invites
us to stay in a room in his apartment on the top floor - we gratefully
accept. We spend and hour or so talking to Paul, an architect, and
his wife Karen. Outside the thunderstorm has arrived, lightning
lights up the New York skyline and thunder roars above the noise
of city traffic. Marie and I walk to an Indian restaurant on 6th
Avenue where, under basement candlelight we enjoy hot curries and
wine. Late in the night we fall onto an air mattress back at the
apartment. It's been a long day!
DAY 52
In the morning the house is silent. We quietly navigate flights
of stairs and through the front door, the city is still alive. Some
people amble down the street aimlessly and others purposefully stride
down the sidewalk. Litter overflows bins, store windows covered
with metal grids, bicycles chained to poles - some with wheels and
saddles missing. We meld into the landscape, no longer in our cycle
clothing we become anonymous in the streets of New York.
Small businesses are opening their doors,
people with brooms gathering discarded paper and trash left by the
nocturnal population. As we wander through the streets looking for
breakfast we are excited at the prospect of exploring the "Big
Apple" for two days. Eventually, the aroma of fresh coffee
guides us into a small café.
The city is a mixture of order and chaos,
their boundaries overlapping. Businessmen in suits alongside homeless
pushing all their belongings in carts or shopping trolleys, neat
flower beds and well manicured trees contrasting a jungle of hydrants,
billboards and traffic lights. The senses are confused by constantly
changing sounds and smells.
We join the end of a long queue, hundreds
of people. Some silent, most talking in languages from all corners
of the world. After 15 minutes Marie and I are gazing through a
wire fence at "Ground Zero". We are silent; our imagination
rebuilding the twin towers, our thoughts for those who died here
on September 11.
We both agree that wandering around the
city is more tiring than cycling 100 miles. When we arrive back
at the apartment in the late afternoon it's time to sit on the roof
garden with Paul and Karen; idle conversation, cool drinks, then
we all head off to a local restaurant for dinner.
DAY 53
Paul jumps on his mountain bike and we cycle around the city. Paul
has an intimate knowledge of the architecture and history of New
York and it is Sunday so the roads are fairly quiet. In the centre
of the city roads are barricaded, crowds are gathering, bicycles
everywhere. Professional bike racing through the streets of Manhattan
and at 1.30 the US Postal team with Lance Armstrong will be racing
- fresh from his Tour de France victory. We watch the ladies race
and decide to return later when Lance is racing. Meanwhile we follow
bike trails westwards around the water's edge and take a boat ride
to view the classic skyline of Manhattan.
DAY 54
5.00 am. Paul has offered a ride to the airport. We fit the bikes
and baggage into his Camry and drive to JFK airport - the roads
are quiet at this time of the morning but I have a feeling that
Paul will get caught up in traffic on the way home. We are overwhelmed
by the unconditional kindness of Paul and Karen - taking us into
their home, complete strangers become instant friends and then driving
us to the airport in the early hours of the morning. As we leave
North America I have fond memories of people who were kind, considerate,
helpful, friendly - from those who just stopped to say "Hi"
to those who invited me into their home. And on the road.... Apart
from those rare moments when your heart skips a beat as a logging
truck tries to take the skin off you elbow! (Those guys are on a
mission.) and trying to navigate through the chaos of big city war
zones, I found most motorists were considerate.
I rang British Airways yesterday to see
if bicycle boxes or bags were available at JFK, "Yes sir, British
Airways will supply a bike box", when we arrive at the airport
I find out that the service ceased 3 years ago! Luckily we brought
bubble wrap and tape so we took the pedals off, turned the handlebars,
let some air out of the tyres and crossed our fingers. Unfortunately
BA haven't got a good reputation with bicycles so when Marie and
I saw our Moultons taken through the cargo door we looked as if
we'd lost our children!
By 9.00 pm we were flying over Windsor
Castle on the approach to land at Heathrow Airport in London. Our
bikes survived with only minor injuries!
Our friend, Laurence, was there to greet
us warmly. I first met Laurence and his wife, Irmgard, in 1970 on
my ride to Australia. They were driving a kombi van to India and
they lived nearby when I worked in Sydney. We have kept in touch
and visited each other many times in 32 years. In fact, they are
very keen cyclists and blame me for the dozen or so bicycles taking
up space in their garage! We throw the bags into his car with the
bikes on a rack and head to him home in North London.
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