Hello. Day 47. Little Falls to Latham NY. 75.7 miles. 2,188 feet of climbing. Temp on arrival: 84.
Today’s ride was much better than yesterday.
Soon after starting we climbed to a ridge overlooking the Mohawk River Valley and got marvelous views. The featured photo above is from Dave.
At mile 50 we got on a bike path for about six miles that went along the Mohawk River, which is part of the canal system. These are pictures of Lock # 8.
After a rest stop then a few miles on roads, we got back on another bike path that took us past the huge GE Research Center.
Hard to believe, just three days to go…
I think all of us are concerned about not crashing or having something happen that would prevent us from finishing.
The “work” now is as much mental as physical. The operative word is focus.
Here’s Dave’s ride video.
Lots of climbing for the next two days—5,000 ft (and 79 miles) tomorrow to Brattleboro, VT, and 4,500 on Sunday to Manchester. Latham is the blue dot, just north of Albany.
Here’s part 15 of Portland Tom’s Epic poem:
Now into New York
A western wind blows
Pushing them onward
Along the shore of Ontario.
Their path follows the lowland
from the Great Lakes to Albany,
Retracing the steps
Of American history.
Here once lived the Iroquois,
Then Dutch, French and British arrived,
Four centuries later
Only historical markers survive.
They ride fifteen miles
Along the Erie Canal,
A day’s towing distance
For a mule known as Sal.
Their ride between cities
Follows the route of the freight,
The canal and its commerce
Made New York the Empire State.
They pass by the Finger Lakes,
Wine grapes ripen in the sun,
Spend the night near Lake Oneida
That some call the Thumb.
“If it’s Thursday this is Little Falls”
Martin said in a daze,
“We’ve been traveling so long
It’s all one big haze.”
A bike trip is wearing,
On both man and machine,
And no place is more tender,
Than that space in between.
All those miles in the saddle
Left them both a bit worn,
They sit gingerly
When they mount up one morn.
“Oh brother, tell no one” winced Martin,
“A bit sore we’ve become.”
He need not have worried,
Stabler stayed mum.
Between the Adirondacks and Catskills
The Mohawk Valley cuts through,
The storied old pathway
Of Chingachgook and Natty Bumppo.
“A few more miles and we’ve made it!”
Martin happily opined,
But Stabler said nothing,
Still biding his time.