Pat dropped Casey, Kath, Jayna and me off at a subway stop near his old apartment in Long Island City where he was staying for the weekend. The four of us rambled down to the heat of the subterranean to catch the 7 back over to Manhattan, then the 2 down to our apartment in the West Village. We made it to our little home away from home, a cute studio where my sister, Kathleen’s great friend, Tiffany lives. Tiff was away for a friend’s wedding in California and was generous enough to give us reign over her pad for the weekend. The West Village is one of my favorite urban neighborhoods; with unbelievably lively sidewalks filled with artists, financiers, fashionistas, toddlers, seniors and everything in between. There are restaurants lining every funky block, each representing a different country or culture. And sitting outside on these sidewalks for one of your meals is incredibly entertaining just for the people-watching. It is fantastic! And ever so different from the hundreds of places we had just biked through. We all showered up quickly and freshened up to hit the street scene–and as my brother Pat’s fiancee Shauna says, “straight up street strut…” And a scene it was! Everyone was dressed up. I was wearing the nicest garb I could find in my little panier but the fact still remained: it was a t-shirt and jeans! While the world around me clearly just walked straight out of one of those fancy magazines that smell like expensive perfume…

Although all the restaurants Pat and Shauna recommended were packed with at least hour-long waits, we managed to find one fabulous restaurant with a table right on the joint of two jam-packed streets where we could watch the “scensters” to our hearts’ content. But it was not so straightforward to attain this worthy table. First the hostess had to bring out the Maitre-D to examine our eligibility. He proceeded to look the four of us up and down, from our looks to our shoe-choice and fortunately for us, we were good enough. I felt rather awkward about the whole scenario, especially as we watched a group of other people as they were denied access to an outside table just a few seconds before another crew, possibly better-dressed was granted the privilege. Like I said before, it was a scene! But dinner was delicious, the wine superb and our company, delightful! Kathleen and Jaynsie asked Casey and I all about our adventures and how we felt to be through with them. What we learned. How it may have affected our views of the country, politics…it was very interesting to consider all of these things aloud in the anonymity of such a large city.

We went home early, ready for bed in anticipation for the long day ahead on September 11th. I wasn’t expecting to sleep so well but after all the action of riding through the Big Apple to meet my rather large, loud family on the beaches of Rockaway, exhaustion won and I slept through the night and woke to the sound of a city. It was September 11th, 2011 and I was a 15 minute walk from the World Trade Centers Memorial. I gave my sister a big hug and felt surprisingly light in spirit. I felt so much support, from the love of my family to the strength of my legs, I was OK.

We walked down a shockingly quiet street–for it was Sunday morning, to a Dunkin’ Doughnuts for bagels and coffee. As we sipped coffee, the four of us watched a t.v. tuned into CNN for the beginning of the ceremony coverage. As I watched the nascent coverage of 9/11…ten years later, I couldn’t help but think about how humans deal and cope with tragedy. I needed to bike across my large country in order to navigate some emotion, we needed these large ceremonies on the anniversaries in order to “remember” but yet, life goes on even from the moment the towers were struck, life continued everywhere. And that’s just the way it is, the way it’s always been. But that morning, as we ate Dunkin’ Doughnuts, it was the ten year anniversary and it was “appropriate” to publicly remember and actively memorialize. It was the right time to remember. And so we walked on to the memorial.

It was crowded. Very, very crowded. When we first arrived we were given small light blue ribbons to pin to our shirts to show that we had access to Ground Zero and the memorial. As we walked through the blocked off streets crowds of people were looking on to see who was getting in like it was some kind of VIP party, except that it wasn’t. But as we got closer to the actual memorial the crowd became overwhelming in size. We could barely see the stage where Obama and George W. were to be speaking. I was not that upset about that though.

After standing for hours, listening to six bells ring–the first at 8:46, the last at 10:28–each for the memory of the exact time a tower was hit and collapsed, for flight 93 crashing in Pennsylvania and for flight 77 crashing into the Pentagon, as well as thousands of names read aloud for the men and women killed that day, we finally managed access into the actual memorial. My head was a bit burnt out after battling old ghosts and seeing countless others around me struggling equally with eerily similar battles, but as soon as I saw the enormous pool of water carved out of dark granite with continuous water-movement and all the names carved around it in the place where each person likely met their fate on that dark day, my brain cleared and I felt peaceful. We found our dad’s name “Don Jerome Kauth” on the south-southeast corner of the south tower where he had a corner office with a view of Battery Park. It was very strange to visit him there, to finally see his resting place in a peaceful, beautiful way. The last time I visited this place where he died, it was still smoking and quite dangerous. Now he lay with thousands of others: other financiers, janitors, firemen, WTC visitors, in one of the most public grave sites in the world. That was a bizarre thought, especially knowing my dad and the country boy he really was. He put on the suit and tie–he had the brains, backbone and amiability for the metropolitan job, but what he really loved was drinkin’ beer on the back porch after a long run around the lake in upstate. I have always seen him this way, as my dad who runs, boxes, drinks his beer, watches baseball and reads huge tomes in his Lazy-Boy. But to be honest, it was great for me, at that moment, to imagine him among his colleagues. It was easy to imagine since my brother Pat was standing by me, dressed to the nines in a suit and tie and he’s a spitting image of our Pops. I don’t really know why but it gave me comfort to think of him working, revered by his peers for his meticulous work and thoughtful analyses. The strange thoughts which bring comfort, aye?

After the memorial we sought brunch. Wherever we could find a cold beer and some food was good enough for us. We found a small basement pub/sports bar where we ordered burgers and Sam Adams (our dad’s favorite beverage) and toasted our father and all his goodness. Then we got back to catching up as family. It was so special in its normalcy, just a family eating together. After the burger, we walked back to our apartment for a quick nap to help us last through the rest of the day and night. And boy am I glad we did!

Later that evening we met up with 20 close friends and family for dinner at a place called Schiller’s in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. We sat at a nice long table and as I looked down at the far end of the table I saw my brother, Pat and my dad’s sister, Mary raising shot glasses in my direction, smiling at one another and taking ‘em down! That began our night…

Our table was abuzz with lovely conversation and laughter. As I looked around I found myself thinking about how amazingly fortunate I am to have such wonderful people in my life. Hearing all their stories; their recent endeavors, tribulations, mishaps, successes…everyone at that table had so much to share and everyone was genuinely happy to be sitting with one another–celebrating a common friend. We ate, we drank, we left in search of a place to carry on our cheer…

The Magician Bar: We found this fairly small bar right before dinner and noticed they had relatively cheap drinks for a NYC bar. We decided it would be as good a place as any to continue our charades. It was right across the street from Schiller’s so transportation was not an issue either. We got right back to drinking, talking, celebrating. It was such a happy evening of constant chatter, laughing, juke box hits and Sam Adams all around! I danced to Pretty Woman with my geeky Aunt Vanessa, I circled the room like a happy little butterfly talking to aunts, cousins, friends from high school, friends from abroad and siblings. I would have called it a successful evening at midnight when it seemed things were wrapping up. A few people headed back to their respective homes, calling it a night and I thought that was it but in reality, that was just phase one of our evening at the Magician.

Right around midnight, one of my greatest friends from high school, Shannon was buying me a drink. She asked the bartender if he knew why we were all celebrating, if he was aware of our trip. He said no but he’d like to know. So I told him about our adventures, the people we met, the beauty of the country, the hospitality of Americans, and my reason for pursuing this to begin with. During my telling of this story, the bartender Tom did not take his intense gaze off of me until I finished; as I wrapped up this tale I had told quite a few times now, he had tears in his eyes. He walked briskly over to the front door of the bar and closed it down, walked back over to where Shannon and I were standing, counted how many people were in the bar with us and poured that many whiskey shots–including one for himself! He gathered everyone around with the shots, raised his own glass and in a deep husky voice called out, “The strongest steel is forged in the hottest fires!!!” We all cheered and took our shots. I was kind of in shock. But this bartender, who became known with us as Tom-Foolery, became part of our little family that night.

From that moment on, we did not pay for drinks. Tom-Foolery even took money out of the register to put in the juke box to keep the dance party going–and we danced! At one point I was up on the old bar by myself doing a dance solo to Van Morrison’s Gloria! I was going back and forth along the whole length of the bar, tap-dancing and booty shakin’! Either just before that or just after (time was rather warped at this point) all the ladies were up on the bar shakin’ it together, Coyote Ugly-style! Then the boys got up there and at one point my brother, Pat was on top of a small circular table by himself with no shoes on…it got a little nuts.

In between all the bar-dancing, Tom-Foolery ordered me and my friend Shannon to throw a glass against the wall to shatter it. As we hesitated (not knowing if he was truly serious), he grabbed one and chucked it as hard as he could into the other room and we heard it smash into a hundred pieces! Shannon quickly followed suit breaking a glass. I took my empty glass and threw it as well but it didn’t break!!! I was embarrassed for a second before I grabbed another one and threw it like a baseball pitcher, making sure it would break! It felt so good! It was like, this is it! It’s over! We did it! And it also made everything seem less dream-like. Watching the glass shatter everywhere, hearing all the voices and laughter around me reach a crescendo, I felt completely surrounded in good-spiritedness. After I broke the glass, Tom patted me on the back rather fatherly-like and told me he was proud of me. This man I’d never met before this night, and here we were connecting like old friends or family. It was one of those moments you don’t ever forget and make you feel optimistic about humanity. In Tom, my friends and I found a kindred spirit. Like Casey, Corey, Chris and I had done dozens of times across this country, we met someone new who was up for a good time and for letting down their guard. And when those guards are down, you find incredible characters, rich in human substance, soulful.

Just before the sun came up on September 12th, the “last men standing” concluded the evening in a big group hug, singing on the top of our lungs, “Let it Be” by The Beatles. All of us poured our hearts out into the lyrics as if we WERE the Beatles and we had written the song, felt the inspiration. It was as if time ceased and it was just us that night, in the Magician, letting magic happen…

As we said our farewells, finally ready to call it a night, Tom came up to me with one last gift, one last reward for our achievement. He had discreetly passed around a “This Table is Reserved” sign, asking every single one of my friends/family present that evening to sign their name and write a little something to me. On the top, Tom had written out his awesome quote: “The Strongest Steel is Forged in the Hottest Fires!” along with the date and place. He then placed the sign with all the signatures in a gold frame and gave it to me. I was speechless! Surrounded by all these awesome people, after such an unforgettably epic night and meeting this crazy-thoughtful man, Tom-Foolery, I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect celebratory ending to this epic journey. And with this amazing memento to remember it by; to remember and to know it really happened! It really happened!

As I mentioned, our google directions to Rockaway Beach were a bit complicated and intimidating. We knew that somehow we had to navigate through the suburbs of Bronxville and Mount Vernon, through the Bronx Fordham U. campus over University Bridge and onto Manhattan, then cross to the west side of the island find the “Greenway” bike path and follow that all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge on the southern part of Manhattan. We then would cross the Brooklyn Bridge and navigate the streets of Brooklyn–no small feat! We’d have to go through downtown Brooklyn, past Prospect Park until we met up with a bike path on Ocean Parkway. We would take Ocean Pkwy for a time until we reached Marine Park and the Marine Pkwy Bridge–our key to Rockaway. And that is what we did, in just over six hours.

Although we had to stop often to double check our directions and were stopped often at traffic lights, stop signs and traffic jams, the ride was not nearly as complicated or crazy as I thought it would be. Throughout the summer I had thought about this day–biking into New York City on the ten year anniversary of 9/11 and immediately I would feel butterflies invade my stomach. I felt a bit nervous and anxious that we would get so discouraged with traffic that our last day wouldn’t even be fun and we’d end on a sour note. After all our hard work and for the sake of our devotion to this long journey, I really wanted our finish to reflect the beauty in all that had brought us to this point. Fortunately, it did this and more.

First of all, Manhattan and Brooklyn are much more bike-friendly than I had anticipated. We were on a designated bike lane the majority of the day. The Greenway or the bike path that lines the west side of the island along the Hudson River is especially efficient for traversing the island north-south. Once we crossed the University Bridge over the Harlem River onto Manhattan, it was a simple hop-skip, climb up a set of stairs to the Greenway and then we were on our way to the Brooklyn Bridge! I cannot justly express my feelings after we had crossed the University Bridge onto the island of Manhattan–but of course, I will try. My nervousness was gone, I was a bursting with happiness. I started ringing my bell and shouting with glee; I simply couldn’t contain myself. I was anticipating a sense of quiet reverence at this final scene but I was quite the opposite. I wanted to hug everyone I saw and tell them all about how kind and wonderful people are in Montana, South Dakota, Wisconsin, Michigan…etc. I saw a great city, a city we had been shouting out across the nation as people asked “where ya headed?” And there it was, a glorious monument to human achievement and ambition and for that one savory, gratifying moment, it was ours. I was so proud of Corey, Chris and Casey. And I was proud of myself. In that moment I felt intensely rooted to my country and its people. While it had been three months since I’d stayed in one place for any length of time and feeling rooted seemed like the last sensible feeling, I knew firsthand what lay behind me for thousands of miles, intimately. What an astounding and empowering feeling!

The astounding feelings did not end with that brief moment crossing the Harlem River. Riding over the iconic Brooklyn Bridge was equally compelling. That bridge has been turned into one of the most amazing biker/pedestrian bridges in this country. It is also stunningly beautiful with the pointed curves of the neo-Gothic style. And its hundreds of diagonal cables extending from the tan granite towers to the deck create a thousand different frames in which to view that amazing city. The Brooklyn Bridge is a bridge with many stories and it invites the pedestrian, cyclist and driver to be a part of that story–it’s not only a NY feature with utility but one with venerable unifying power. Needless to say, I am quite happy it was a part of our story.

We made it to Brooklyn by 1 in the afternoon. We checked our directions again and guessed we had another 15 miles to Rockaway where many of my family members and close friends would be waiting to congratulate us and celebrate. Biking through Brooklyn was not so bad but it was very slow. We had to stop at many lights and stop signs, it took us over two hours to go that last 15 miles! We finally crossed the Marine Pkwy Bridge around 3 in the afternoon on September 10. It was an absolutely gorgeous day and we couldn’t help but turn around while crossing the bridge to check out the Manhattan skyline–where we had just ridden. In front of us was the wide open Atlantic and behind us was the giant metropolis that is New York. It was an impressive sight. We smiled and moved on, to our anticipatory crowd.

Riding into Belle Harbor, seeing the great big ocean to our right, I was ecstatic! Once we were within 30 blocks of where my family was waiting, I couldn’t help but pick up the pace to an all out sprint. I just remember going really fast, red light, really fast, red light, really fast again then turning right onto 130th street and seeing a big cheering crowd. My heart started racing even faster, I turned around and saw Casey. He joined me, took my hand and we finished the last 20 meters hand in hand with big smiles. Once we got to the crowd I did my best to take notice of all who was there but I was so taken with adrenaline, I had a hard time speaking. My legs were shaking but I will never forget the walk down to the ocean.

Somewhere along the line I had taken my riding shoes off, along with my socks and I remember the heat of the sand massaging my feet. I remember fifteen beautiful smiles–each and everyone of them. I could feel the happiness radiating off of my family and friends, it was simply a joyous occasion. After touching our wheels to the water to ceremoniously complete this journey, I lovingly laid my bike down for its final rest and jumped into the waves. The waves were perfect for surf so I body surfed a few good ones. I specifically remember my Aunt Patty asking me (in between diving waves) how it felt to swim in the Atlantic after riding towards it for three months. Like nothing else was all I could think of. It was an incomparable feeling, so fresh and fantastic. I felt somewhat reborn in that feeling of newness.

After many hugs and photos, we poured champagne and I made a toast–to this life achievement, to the fortune of loving family and to the deserving honor of my amazing dad, Don J. Kauth! Cheers! It was happy times.

We all sat in the late summer sun of the Irish Riviera, a place where this family originates. My mom and her siblings were all so thrilled to be back at Rockaway–sight of their most cherished childhood memories. I have always wished I could have met my mom’s mom, Patricia Cecelia. I am named for her as Cecelia Patricia, and as her namesake it felt felicitous to finish this journey where in some respects, it all began.

Between the companionship of my family and the plants, it was hard to say goodbye but alas, we had to. We had to venture south again towards our destination. My mom’s sister, Patty lives in Scarsdale, NY with her husband Don and so they were our next hosts. And what gracious, generous hosts they were!

The ride between Fishkill and Scarsdale was one of my favorite bike riding days of this trip! Firstly, we finally had a gorgeous, typical northeastern autumn day–crisp, cool, sunny. The leaves were officially burnt to deeper umbers and brighter firey colors; they were falling all around us providing a mystical context, opening up my imagination to child-like proportions. And the smell! The smell of autumn leaves that have been completely cured and dried of all chlorophyll and then wet again after a rain. It is the kind of scent that makes your olfactory senses create precise images in your brain. It is a feast for reflection and memory. I personally had images of picking bright red apples from the rolling orchards of Schuylerville, NY, tractor rides sitting on my dad’s lap, painting pumpkins, I even could feel the cold, slick inside flesh of a giant carving pumpkin–I could hear that distinct noise created when you take a serrated knife to a pumpkin. Although we rode through the backwoods of downstate NY, through a rail-to-trail bike path following the scenic Taconic State Parkway, I was playing in the fields of childhood…

The bike path was fortunately long. We followed a trail from my Uncle Billy’s straight to the town just before my Aunt Patty’s. We were able to stay back in the woods, along the bubbling brooks and foliage. The one obstacle we faced was recent flooding due to the heavy rainfall of late August/early September, including Irene. There were a few times we practically waded through temporary bogs, water a couple inches high! There were signs stating “path closed until further notice/high floods! turn around!” But we kept going at our own risk and managed just splendidly. We made it to Patty and Don’s by five in the afternoon with just a splattering of mud trailing our backs.

We rode up to their house, a house I have visited many times throughout my life but never by bike, to see my aunt in her apron, clearly mid-cooking, camera in hand for documenting our arrival. Like my Aunt Kathy, Patty was very excited, enthusiastic and proud of us. She was clearly thrilled to have us and was ready with a hundred wonderful questions about our strategies for the road. She had made chicken cutlets with fettuccine and fresh tomatoes and basil from her garden for dinner. To say it was a treat would be an understatement! We were delighted to be eating a home-cooked meal again and this meal had all the fixin’s of fresh, local (backyard produce), energy-giving deliciousness! We were delighted! It especially delightful too because we had my cousin Kristen come to dinner with her husband, Brian and their newborn, Brendan! Kristen is Billy and Kathy’s oldest daughter, Erin and Drew’s sister. It was so amazing to see her and Brian and to meet their new addition to the family!

The seven of us ate dinner out on Patty’s beautiful back patio, flowers in bloom all around us, couple of bottle of french red pouring, simply catching up on all the new events in all our lives. Between our rather big adventure, Krissy and Brian’s Brendan, and my Aunt Patty and Uncle Don just returned from visiting their newest grandchild, Arlo–we had lots to talk about. It was lovely. Again, living so far away from family in New York, this trip brought me to another dinner table full of family members ready to engage in great conversation just for the fun of it. This was no big family reunion small-talk, running from person to person to make sure you “see” everyone. It was a chance for me to actually ask meaningful questions and share my stories with people I love and care about very deeply. Again and again, I come back to how thankful I am for doing this trip even for the sake of seeing my family this way. It’s been truly special.

After dinner the three of us kind of took to the computer to come up with a good strategy for our final “ascent.” The following day was to be our last day of this trip insofar as riding is concerned. And by all stretches of our imagination, probably the most challenging RE: traffic and confusing navigation. This was not going to be a simple ride through the woods, but rather a quest through seriously congested suburbs of the biggest city in our country. We knew it was going to be interesting at the very least. So we got on google_maps and checked out our options until we decided on our safest, best route. Funnily enough, even google had doubts of our plan. Google suggested one route from my aunt’s house to Rockaway Beach that consisted of hundreds of stops and turns, U-turns and multiple bridges–the second choice simply said, “Or, take public transit!” It was as if google was telling us, “Look you imbecile, forget the bikes! Take the MTA, it’s what the rest of us do!” But we printed out our six full pages of navigation, studied it over along with our congruent maps and said, “And they told us we’d need a GPS…” I must admit now however, that my mind was not quite as confident as my heart but that didn’t worry me too much as that has kind of been the theme of this trip–and perhaps a theme of any big endeavor involving risk.

After our homework was complete, we relaxed for another hour or so before calling it a night. I laid my head down in a bed I’ve slept in a hundred times. In fact I was in that bed when I received a text about the death of Osama bin Laden and I thought about that briefly as I drifted to sleep. I thought about how this trip has done so much more for me in terms of healing than revenge of that sort could ever do. I dreamily thought, sitting with my loved ones at a dinner table, experiencing the kindness of strangers across this great country and taking myself places that allow me to “play in the fields of childhood” has healed my heart in ways unknown but I’ll take it. Smile…sleep.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Patty and Don. For your hospitality, your enthusiastic support and unwavering belief in our capacity to do this. Your contribution to World Bicycle Relief is going to change so many lives, it certainly has changed mine. Thank you!

Within the first ten minutes of biking we were crossing the Rip Van Winkle Bridge to the east side of the Hudson River. As we crossed the bridge, the clouds started dissipating and the sun rays managed to reach the earth once again, kindly warming our faces.

There are rolling hills covered in deciduous trees on either side of the river and it was a distinguishing experience to cross over this glorious old waterway on bicycles, sandwiched between two bands of changing autumn colors. All three of us were all smiles, taking in the Hudson, the sunshine and the crisp fall air.

We made our way down south on the east side of the river on 9G. We rode along that winding road until Poughkeepsie, where the countryside ends and suburban New York begins. The road became crowded with cars and trucks and there were strip malls and gas stations lining every inch of our route. It was not the most pleasant bike riding but after 54 miles of decent weather and great food (we ate lunch at a most inconspicuous yet delicious deli in Poughkeepsie–authentic Italian) we made it to Fishkill where my aunt and uncle own a lovely plant nursery.

Willow Ridge Nursery is right on route 52 in Fishkill, NY and as we pulled into the driveway I first took notice of the great big, beautiful willow tree they have out front. Then I saw my smiling Aunt Kathy who ran inside as soon as she saw us to grab her camera for a snapshot of our arrival! She was so excited and happy to have us, we felt at home right away. After she got some good pictures and we all exchanged initial greetings, we rolled our bikes over to one of the greenhouses for the evening. We grabbed everything we’d need for the night and headed over to my Uncle Billy’s house, just beyond all the young saplings and hydrangeas.

Billy is one of my mother’s two younger brothers and has been a gardener since he was a young boy. My mom once told me a story about him digging up the earth and planting by the time he was four years old! He has always had a passion and an eye for landscape and now he and Kathy are running their own nursery. And what a lovely nursery it is! All the while I was there, I kept thinking–I could spend a lot of time here.

Billy welcomed us into his home by first giving us a tour of his own small but beautifully landscaped backyard. It is a small space but the way he placed each plant, shrub, perennial and annual–it is a feast for the eyes. The way it’s been set up, there is a natural and comfortable path leading you around the garden; it invites you to spend some time admiring the colors, shapes and sweet scents. I loved it!

After taking in the landscape, we all sat on the back patio with some beers and celebrated our reunion. I had not spent more than 10 minutes talking to Billy in many years and I’ve never had a whole evening completely devoted to him and his family. I see them at family weddings and reunions but it’s not the same as this quality one-on-one time. It was a treat.

After relaxing and settling in, Billy had dinner ready for us. We all took our seats at the dinner table as Billy served up the food. He had grilled up a big, tender pork loin with steamed broccoli and cheesy sauce and the most delicious twice baked potatoes! During the meal the conversation took some interesting turns and at one point we were planning a family commune with a farm, animals and only nice people. It was awesome! Then Erin brought out her apple crisp sans baking powder…it was still amazing, just a little extra crispy;)

After dinner we retired to the family room where Drew had the first football game of the season on. I couldn’t help but laugh at how long-winded this trip was. There we were on the same trip that commenced in June, watching a football game and wearing sweaters! It felt surreal to be at Billy and Kathy’s with my bicycle, coming from the west coast but on the other hand it felt so appropriate. This trip brought me to my aunt and uncle’s on a random Thursday evening and we got to have dinner together as family for no other reason than to eat and be merry. I couldn’t help but wish it would happen more often…

While Drew watched football and Chris and Casey worked on our navigation strategy for the following day, I sat on the floor with Billy as he asked me a string of enthusiastic questions about our voyage. He was so excited for us and incredibly proud of me. I will never forget how happy I felt to sit with him and talk about something I am so passionate about. Just to be with my mom’s bro, talking about people we met, miles we traveled and issues encountered was truly memorable–a moment to cherish. I am so thankful for that lovely evening with Billy, Kathy, Drew and Erin! Thank you all so much for all your love and support!

Andrea came first up from New York City and stayed for nearly a week in Saratoga Springs. Next came Joe before we became one big happy commune again:) Caitlin was too tempted to not make the trek from her new home in Ithaca, NY. The four of us had such a blast, cooking with one another again and simply catching up on each of our latest adventures. We went hiking, kayaking and I did my best to show them all the best parts to Saratoga. It was a special treat to have this time with friends I had made on my first bike trip and it affirmed how wonderful it is to take these kind of trips–even just to meet these incredible people whom otherwise I would have never known…

Finally, after a little break from the bike, it was time to saddle up once again and finish what we started. I had already done all the necessary planning RE: claiming places to sleep each night and a vague idea of which roads to take. Casey and his oldest brother, Jay drove back from Michigan to Saratoga since Jay had some research to do in a couple northeastern cities anyway. They were at my house by 8:30 on Tuesday evening and I had homemade meatballs coming out of the oven as they strolled through the door. Andrea made a delicious carrot and onion salad that I remember from the olive grove and it was a hit this time around also! We made it an early night since we were going to be on the bikes the following morning.

We woke up to very heavy rain. I looked out my bedroom window and quickly asked Casey if he was ready to get wet today. He put his head under the pillow and mumbled something like, “do we have to?” Certainly did! We came this far, there was no way we would shy away from a little water.

After we got all rain-geared up, we lined our three bikes up in the garage and with the garage door open we stared out into the downpour we were about to enter. Peeling out of that safe and dry garage, Jay and Andrea snapped our photo as the rain soaked us immediately. It was not the most pleasant beginning to a bike ride but once wet, it didn’t get too much worse.

We made our way to downtown Saratoga Springs where we were to meet Ken Grey, our fourth teammate for that day. Ken is my friend Mary’s dad. Mary and I have been friends since the second grade and I tagged along at Grey family vacations every chance I got. Mary and I were inseparable for many years I became very close with each family member. Just two months before my dad died, Mary’s little brother died of a brain tumor so it was the ten year anniversary of his death this past summer as well. Ken and I wanted to ride together to commemorate the lives of both Billy and Don and I’m so glad we did! Although the day was rainy and we had to traverse patches of flooding in the road and we couldn’t even stop to lunch because we would have caught a chill, we managed to have a great day of riding. After 70 wet miles along the Hudson River Valley, we made it to Ken’s office in Catskill, NY by 3 in the afternoon. It was a Wednesday so the office was still filled with employees. After showering and hanging up our wet, dirty gear, we met a bunch of Ken’s colleagues. Everyone was so cheerful and truly happy to have us. As so-called “hippy bikers”, we thought we might feel out of place in the office, yet it was more comfortable and homey than any campground would have been.

Ken gave us the run of the conference room, right next to his office. It was a large room with a fancy, shiny black table in the middle with about 12 office chairs surrounding it. When I came in after my shower, Ken had already poured shots of a local pear liquor and Casey was sitting at the head of the conference table, drinking! It was the kind of sight that burned into my memory, fortunately. There was a big screen t.v. hanging on the wall and Ken’s wife, Cherie had already found a Yankee game to watch. Once the liquor warmed us up and we had clean, dry clothes on we were ready for dinner. Ken wanted to take us out to one of his local favorite spots, The Mexican Radio. The five of us loaded into his car and off to dinner we went.

The Mexican Radio of Hudson, NY is delicious! Ken seemed to know everyone working there and immediately upon sitting down Ken asked our whole table, simply “salt or no salt?” He didn’t have to question whether we wanted margaritas, only if we wanted salt. Good stuff! I had an enormous burrito stuffed with carnitas and shrimp with a kind of spicy, New Orleans-style sauce and cortija cheese. It was amazing. After filling up, Ken took us to another cool place in Hudson for night caps. I got my first Manhattan of the trip and boy was it good! Sipping on that Manhattan, reminiscing with Ken and Cherie about my dad and Billy after riding all day in the rain, made me smile. Ken and Cherie were genuinely enthusiastic about our adventures and getting the chance to share in part of the trip. And we were so thrilled and grateful to have them!

Ken and Cherie brought us back to the office and made sure we had everything we needed to sleep comfortably. They loaned us three blow-up mattresses and gave us plenty of blankets and pillows. After saying our goodbyes to K & C, we moved the conference table chairs to the corner of the room and set up our beds. After a couple margaritas and a manhattan, I was ready to shut my eyes asap. And once I did, they didn’t open again until 8:30 the next morning! We slept in late, at the office! I was kind of hoping to get out early so we wouldn’t bother the employees the next day but I soon found out everyone was already there by the time I woke up…

Sauntering out into the big room of cubicles with bare feet and bed-head at 9 in the morning was slightly embarrassing. Yet, everyone was cheerful and happy again and didn’t seem to find my appearance backward. Someone had brought in bagels and cream cheese and I knew there was hot coffee in the kitchen. So that’s where I headed. I found the coffee and bagels and settled into the kitchen, talking to each Marshall & Sterling Insurance employee as they meandered in for more coffee. I couldn’t help but wonder what these folks thought of our wanderings as they worked hard Monday through Friday. It was an interesting paradox of lifestyles at the very least. But it seemed like we were a welcome variance to the work week. I hope so.

Once we had cleaned up the mattresses and blankets and put the conference room back in conference order, we saddled up for another ride. We headed south along the Hudson once again but this time we were headed for a plant nursery, my uncle Billy and aunt Kathy’s plant nursery…

The next morning, after gathering our belongings and donning our typical riding gear once again, we descended from the cozy loft that was our nest, to the smell of french toast and sausage! My aunt treated us again. We filled our bellies with the fluffy toast, the sweet syrup of New York maples and a local hot sausage. Yum!

During breakfast we watched the weather channel ranting and raving about the danger of this approaching hurricane, Irene—audaciously destined for the northeast of the United States! The build-up for this storm was intense and as bicycle riders, heading out into the elements yet again, we were slightly moved. Not enough to prevent us from riding the distance it took to get from Utica to Saratoga Springs however. We tackled the foothills of the Adirondacks with fervor yet humility at the surprising steepness. As a native, even I was taken aback at the level of difficulty in riding the hills of New York State. I haven’t done so much bike riding in NY and didn’t really grasp the intense grade of elevation gain that happens between Saratoga and Utica. Either way, we made it to Saratoga on Saturday August August 27th, exactly eight hours before rains from Irene started pouring out of the sky.

Riding into my hometown was unbelievably exciting. To be honest, I couldn’t really contain my emotions and kept standing up and sitting down on my saddle in anticipation. I was pointing out old stomping grounds to Casey and Chris as we rolled through the beautiful downtown that is Saratoga. I saw these places in a new way, in a way a bike rider from the Pacific coast would see them: Where could we set up a tent? Who might we talk to to find out good local information? Where shall we get food, water? It was a very interesting and new way of looking at a place you know so well that you actually don’t even know which direction you’re heading when you go some place, you just know which way to go because it’s the land you grew up on. Land you can simply glide over as if you were part of it—no maps, no directions, just old landmarks and memories. And suddenly, just like that, I sympathized with the many people who tried their hardest at giving us some direction in some small towns across this nation. Many would simply list off landmarks we had never heard of—“yeah, take a right after the old mansion, then your second left after the dilapidated bridge…”

Pulling into my driveway with Casey and Chris in tow on our bicycles was another “trip” in itself. I saw my mom, waiting impatiently on our stoop. I could see her emotions were boiling over like mine. I remember clutching my brakes, swooping my right leg over the frame of my bike and leaning back on the top tube of my bike frame, a big smile coming over my face as I looked at my mother’s garden. I was home again. And I biked there from my new home on the west coast! At that moment, as I was trying to grasp the meaning of it all, I simply gave in to the celebration of it. I tried not to over-think what it was that we did and why. Instead we put out bikes away, showered up and ate lots and lots of chilli—my mom’s specialty. It’s not a true welcome-home without her chilli in a big pot on the stove…

After some relaxation and much food, we decided to head into town to celebrate our accomplishment. One of my most cherished friends from childhood, Timmy Rehm was also in town and I knew I would find him out with his friends. It was a big Saturday night with Travers, the biggest and most celebrated horse race of the season having just occurred and downtown was hopping. We went directly to the Ice House, known to be a bar for the locals of Saratoga Springs or at least those who graduated from SS HS. I went into this bar feeling fantastic about our summer, about our achievement and about our upcoming ride into New York City. It was a great way to enter a night of reminiscing with high school buddies.

That evening I saw not only Timmy, but my old best friend from elementary school, Mary, as well as a great pal from my lacrosse days, Kayt. They were all so excited for us and kept buying us drinks. Casey and I were in quite the celebratory mood so we didn’t dare turn down a drink offer and needless to say, it turned out to be quite a wild night. I even ran into some of my dad’s old pals from the days when my siblings played ice hockey in Saratoga while I ran around the rink in my pink tutu. The Paine’s and the Santamoore’s (other hockey parents) were both dear to my father and they were incredibly proud of what we did in his honor. They certainly have not forgotten my dad’s spirit and levity and they passed some of that on to me that evening—telling “Don stories and jokes”. Bob Santamoore even took out as much cash as he had in his wallet and generously handed it to me to donate to our cause! The support I felt was incredible. I felt like this trip of trips was meeting my youth very felicitously. I was happy.

The following day was filled with Irene. The storm truly hit and it did take out our power for seven hours that day. Sunday was wet, windy, and dark yet we managed to keep our spirits bright with candle light and a little game called Jenga. We ended up playing the most “epic game of Jenga, EVER!” Chris, Casey and I managed to delicately pull out these small blocks of wood and place them on top of each other in such a way as to keep the game going as long as is physically possible. After two hours of staring at this small edifice, we had made it to 32 stories (it begins with 18)! Finally during Chris’s turn, there was literally no move he could possibly make without pulling out an essential wood block—the game was essentially over before anyone knocked it over accidentally. We had so much fun playing with these wooden blocks, we had to laugh at ourselves. However it was fitting for us to spend our time in such a way—it was similar to the trip in that we entertained ourselves creatively, the way one has to during a storm/power outage. Hurricane Irene hitting Saratoga Springs the way it did, just one day after we made it there was an appropriate finishing touch. And we were happily inside, dry and cozy, playing Jenga.

The days following the storm were peaceful and beautiful. Typical post-storm, September weather. Lovely, azure skies with a vibrant, crispy pinch to the air—the pinch that seems to magically turn green leaves a magnificent scarlet and gold. The weather I remember so vividly from September 2001. As I sat with my mom on her beloved screened in porch that I remember sitting on as a little girl, watching storms roll pass or a humming bird suckle at the sweet nectar, I felt the relativity and strangeness of time. Here I was, after such a life-changing journey sitting on the very same porch I once sat as a five year old girl with a promising but completely unknown future…the same porch where I sat and grieved the loss of my father during that immaculate September weather. And now, here on this porch, I tell my mom of adventures in Montana and South Dakota, of storms in Minnesota, of the winds in Washington, of the cheese and fried food in Wisconsin and I think: time is weird. I couldn’t help but think, the events of our lives, whether willed by us or not become part of who we are. And one must live with that, for better or worse.

The next couple days were spent eating my mom’s cooking. In all honesty, she was rather intimidated by all the wonderful cooking I wrote about in this blog—about all the strangers who cooked us these fabulous meals, their amazing hospitality. I think she was worried she might not live up to that level of hospitality. It was an unnecessary concern however. First of all, we were all prepared to cook our own meals, buy our own food and simply the ability to have beds and a new person to talk with was heavenly hospitality to us. Secondly, she is a wonderful cook and put together some amazing dishes for us. After her chilli was scraped clean she had steak tips from our amazing meat shop lined up. Casey threw those on the barbeque and she whipped up her famous garden salad and a savory potato salad. And the next night she made a serious turkey dinner with stuffing and gravy and all that good stuff! It was spectacular! We opened up one of my brother Pat’s amazing bottles of red wine from the cellar and toasted our journey. The wine and the turkey made me smile but the stories from my company made me laugh. It was another great night. Thanks, Mom!

Casey had to return to Michigan briefly for his brother’s wedding in Michigan on that Tuesday. Saying goodbye to him after spending everyday together, problem-solving across the country, was not easy. Even though I knew I was going to see him in just one short week, I was sad. But I knew it would give me time with my mom, time to plan our next journey to NYC and time to simply reflect on everything. My mom and I drove him down to the Albany airport, each giving him a big hug and sent him off to another adventure, separate from our own. As I hugged Casey at the airport, I felt the whole trip slipping from my fingers. It’s another good thing that has to come to an end, I suppose. But it just means there will be more time to plan another good thing!

It took two and a half riding days to get from Brockport to Utica, the city my father is originally from and where much of his family still lives. The first day we rode through some really cute and very old Erie Canal towns. Chris, being from San Diego was impressed with many of the old buildings and continually noted how he truly felt like he was in New York state with many families’ histories abound. I too felt that transition from the frontier states to one of the original thirteen colonial states, boasting churches from the eighteenth century and big old mansions with rumors of ghosts! It was a nice transition that reminded me how close I was to my place of origin—the place that nourished me as a child and began a foundation for who I might become.

After a solid day of 65 miles, we landed in Clyde, NY: home to a grocery store, a welcoming church and a good-looking watering hole. Immediately upon reaching Clyde, I wandered into the first church I saw. There were a couple of guys performing some kind of maintenance on the building and I asked them how I might get a hold of the pastor. They quickly got me his number and told me his name. When I called Pastor Dana he answered quickly and told me he was about to watch the whales perform at Sea World. Intent on not interrupting his vacation too long, I explained as quickly as I could what we were doing and if it would be OK to pitch tents on the church property. He was so gracious and so excited for us! He said it would be more than OK to stay there, he just wanted us to write down our website address so he could donate as well! Thank you, Pastor Dana!

After finding a place to sleep for the night, we biked over to The Little Barrel for a little beer. We started with just one but by the time the owner of the L.B. heard about our trip he was handing out these little tokens for free beer to everyone in the bar. Of course the patrons loved that and so we became quite popular. As time went on, we learned more and more about the locals of Clyde, NY. One man had gone on many adventures on his motorcycle and told us all about them and how much he treasures each one of those experiences. As he spoke, his eyes were sparkling and you could see he was drifting off into these memories and so enjoyed having a new audience to share it with—not to mention an audience that could really relate to the fulfillment of adventure. Another man thought himself a farmer and loved giving out treasures from his soil but it seemed many of the patrons had been given so many vegetables and melons, they no longer appreciated his gifts. We ended up leaving the bar with three large melons! Meanwhile, our new friends were thanking us for taking the melons off their hands. By the end of the night we each had four pints of beer for a total of $10! Thank you Little Barrel of Clyde, NY:)

After Clyde, we biked another 65 miles to the east shore of Oneida Lake, just east of Syracuse. There my mom met up with us for a second time on this trip. As we pulled into a gas station near the campground we were going to stay, I saw my mom round the corner. Apparently she was just stopping to get some tea before meeting us at the campground. When she looked up and saw me, we ran to embrace one another. The last time she saw us, we were in Laurel, Montana—trying to remain calm about how long it was taking us to conquer that massive state! I remember relaxing on the Best Western bed with her map of the U.S. stretched out. After biking for nearly five weeks already, I remember feeling a bit let down that we weren’t even close to being halfway across the nation…now here we were, meeting again at a gas station just 30 miles from Utica where we would go to visit my grandma when I was a kid. We were almost finished with the trip and had weeks to spare. It made me feel happy and proud of how we navigated through the overwhelming space of this country and just simply rode.

After hugging it out, we decided we’d meet up again at the campsite. We finished off the ride with another 2 miles to the lake shore. We got a site and waited for my mom. She came driving up with her hot tea and we sat around our picnic table talking about our latest adventures. It was great to see her so excited. I could tell she had been looking forward to this for a while. She mentioned a couple ideas for us for dinner since she wanted to treat us to a nice meal. We decided on the The SeaShell Inn, right on the water. We ordered a couple bottles of wine and big plates of pasta. It was such a treat!

After dinner we went back to her hotel and sat along the water to watch the sunset. The sky had cleared and the sun was glowing a deep orangey-red—it was gorgeous. We relaxed and reveled in the thought that this was our last night of camping out. The rest of the trip was spoken for RE: places to sleep with beds and meals! The trip really was rounding out and we felt satisfied. It was a very peaceful night…until the storm hit.

After falling asleep happily cuddled up in our tent for the last time on this trip, we woke up at 4 am to streaks of lightning, bursts of wind and heavy rainfall. Finally I received a text from my mom, “do you want me to come get you?” I replied, “YES!” Casey and I knew the drill well by this time. We quickly packed up all of our sleeping gear, shoved it tightly under our arms before taking out all the stakes from the tent and running for cover. We laid out the tent under a pavilion, weighing it down with heavy stones so it wouldn’t blow away. Then we saw my mom drive up and we hopped right in. Before taking off for her hotel, we looked for Chris to see if he wanted to come. Casey ran out in the rain and asked him if he wanted to join us. He was still zipped away in his little bivvy sack which is basically just a plastic cocoon, big enough to fit one body laying down. My mom and I just watched from inside the car as the lightning lit up the night sky and there was Chris lying there, in a puddle in his cocoon. It was rather creepy but he decided to stick it out. Casey, my mom and I headed back to the comfort of the hotel and went right back to sleep.

We woke up to more rain. The storm had passed but the sky was still thick with dark clouds. It was rather disheartening. It was also hard for my mom to leave us knowing we were probably going to be biking through nasty weather. She was throwing ideas out there left and right about taking us with her in the car, going to buy a bike rack to hold the bikes, staying with us in case the weather got really bad…etc. She just really didn’t want to leave us in the rain but we assured her we had been through it before and had to take care of ourselves. We thanked her for everything and she left, albeit hesitantly. That morning was the first time we heard of IRENE as well. This massive storm that was going to affect millions of northeasterners. We were still a couple days out from Saratoga and we still wanted to spend some time with my family in Utica so we were a little concerned about this pattern of nasty weather we were getting in New York. And to be honest, the only day we rode in the rain was the one day from Casey’s parents house to Lansing, MI so we really weren’t used to bad weather. We could really only hope for the best and start riding. So that’s what we did.

Turns out, the rain cleared and we didn’t get one drop from Oneida Lake to Utica. We biked an easy 30 miles straight to the house my dad grew up in on Rose Place. Seeing this house I used to visit as a kid with my dad now after biking 3700 miles from the Pacific Ocean was so incredibly special. I looked at the stoop and saw my dad; I saw his face so clearly and he looked very happy. Happy that I had come to his old house and I was doing what I love.

After some reminiscing, we continued on to my grandma Winnie’s good friends, the O’Looney’s house where we were staying the night. As we turned the corner onto their street, we immediately saw a photographer and a cameraman along with some of my family members taking our picture. It made it quite easy to spot the house. We pulled up and before I could even find my grandma to give her a hug, a journalist was asking a whole list of questions. I told him to wait just a minute, that I would answer all his questions after hugging Grandma Winnie. It was so great to see her. My grandma is really a special woman. She has been the only grandparent in my life and she’s been so loving and supportive. She is such a strong person with great faith and an acute understanding and teaching of morals. She stood up on the stoop with her cane and started going on, “Oh! Oh! Oh! Way-ell, Cece you’re here!!!” She was so excited to see us and was in disbelief over our feat. I went around and hugged my aunt Ann and the O’Looney’s, Diana and Jim. It was really wonderful to share this moment of accomplishment with my dad’s family and friends of Utica. To be in the place he was as a child and to embrace his mom and sisters—I could feel his presence through all of them. It was something to cherish.

After doing a couple interviews and photo sessions on the front stoop of the O’Looney’s, we finally got settled. Diana made a variety of cold cut sandwiches and a great big pitcher of ice cold lemonade for everyone to share. We sat around their dining room table and shared some of our stories. It was also nice to learn more about The O’Looney family—a family that has always been a big part of my grandmother’s life. Diana and Jim have always been great friends to my grandma and have treated her as if she were family. So it was special to have this chance to hear their stories. Jim’s old stories about what it was like growing up in Kilkenny, Ireland were especially entertaining. Jim met Diana over in Ireland when she was traveling there as a young woman. They fell madly in love, got married and lived in Ireland for quite some time before making the move back to Utica, where Diana is originally from. They have now been in the same house for forty years—the house they raised all seven of their children. Diana filled me in on all the lives of her beloved six daughters and one son. They all seem like amazing people, doing great things. Diana and Jim really are a special pair, I felt fortunate to be welcomed into their home.

Later on that evening, we went out to dinner with my grandma, my dad’s two sisters, Vanessa and Ann and their husbands, Ken and John. We decided on Italian and everyone had to pack up leftovers except for Casey! My family was definitely impressed with his eating abilities. After dinner we made our way back to the O’Looney’s for some cocktails and good conversation. My aunt Vanessa was so excited we were finally in Utica, she could barely stop dancing and shouting. Every time she got up and walked passed one of us cyclists, she would smile and start clapping her hands in excitement. Then she made me a vodka creamsicle drink…

Apparently these are Vanessa’s new favorite cocktails but man are they sweet! It is whipped cream flavored vodka with orange soda, ice and sometimes vanilla ice cream! I managed to get a whole one down before switching to the scotch my aunt Ann bought us:) My grandma had a couple glasses of wine before she started in with her zingy cracks at Vanessa. It was really, very funny. After talking for a couple hours, my grams’s eyes started closing and she was clearly very sleepy. It was time to say goodnight. But before going to bed, Casey, Chris, Jim, Diana and I stayed up to watch my brief interview on the local news channel. I had a good chuckle at my disheveled helmet hair on t.v. before collapsing on my bed and falling into a deep slumber.

In the morning, after a delicious breakfast of eggs and bacon, we got ready to bike up north 18 miles to the town of Russia, where my aunt Ann and uncle John just built a log cabin. It was a very beautiful but difficult 18 miles of intense climbing. We were certainly humbled by the steep hills north of Utica. By the time we got to their cabin, the three of us were sweating profusely and breathing heavily. Especially in light of the very last hill leading to the property—it seems to be at a 45 degree angle, shooting straight up. Had we been carrying all of our gear we may have had to get off our bikes for the first time and walk them uphill…

Finally we pulled into their driveway and saw my aunt Ann with her camera ready. We started ringing our bells, just so happy to be on top of those hills, at our destination. I continued up their gravel driveway until I rounded the corner of pine trees to behold their little cabin in the woods. I stopped in my tracks and tears came to my eyes. It was so beautiful. This cabin they built is small and simple but amazing. It fits right in with the various pines surrounding it. When I looked at it I couldn’t help but imagine how much my dad would have loved it. He always wanted a log cabin—he would talk about getting one out in the Adirondacks one day where he could live out his days, peacefully. Now my aunt and uncle had their dream and I could tell they were so happy. It was awesome to just be there, with them at their new home. And we biked there. Even better:)

That night spent at the cabin will always be vivid in my memory. I will never forget my aunt and uncle cooking us dinner before they even had a stove/oven in the kitchen. The cabin is still so new, their stove has not been delivered yet. Ann has a picture of the stove they are going to have taped up on the wall where it will go but other than that, the cooking takes place in the grill and in their camper-kitchen. Yet they still managed an amazingly meaty feast of london broil, chicken and venison! Ann made the most delicious zucchini bread which Diana baked off for her in Utica and then she steamed up some deliciously sweet local corn on the cob. It was a great meal and the wine was flowing. We talked late into the evening before my grandma started snoozing. We let her sleep a while in the Lazy-Boy while we continued reminiscing. I can’t remember a time when I had so much one on one time with Ann and John and it was awesome to truly catch up with them. My siblings and I can always count on Ann and John to be there with solid advice, to tell amazing stories about our dad or simply for moral support. To see them at their cabin, in their element was simply awesome! Thank you for everything Ann and John!!

When my grandma finally woke up to be driven back home, she came over to the dinner table and asked me to sing her a song. I sang “16 tons” by Tennessee Ernie Ford in my best ‘Don Kauth’ voice. My dad used to sing us that song as we drove up to “camp” on Fourth Lake and my brother and I used to be his back up singers. As I finished, my grandma and aunt Ann both cracked up laughing that I still remembered all the lyrics. It was my dad’s song and it is always fun to sing!

Finally we all stood up from the table and ushered outside to say goodbye to my grandma. Casey took my grandma’s arm and helped her out to the car while I carried her stuff. We walked out to a clear, starry sky. Casey helped Winnie into the car and we all gave her farewell hugs and kisses. I loved every second of it.

We continued riding on to the little town of Lockport where we found a great little breakfast spot, Dee’s Diner. We ordered our “second breakfast” of biscuits & sausage gravy with bacon and eggs and endless hot coffee. It was cozy inside this little diner and the three of us sat for a while looking at the last leg of our trip on our NY map. It wasn’t exactly easy to saddle up again, outside in the drizzly western NY weather—especially after the hot food and relaxing, warm booth. Yet eventually we made our way out and started pedaling along the Erie Canal.

We biked east along this old waterway corridor, on a narrow muddy bike path. We made it about 20 miles before we became fed up with the wet, sticky and dirty conditions and made our way over to hwy 31. On the firm pavement we were able to cruise fairly rapidly—especially as the winds picked up, sweeping in a massive rain cloud with the wind carrying us like a surfer’s ocean wave. As the storm picked up, we rode faster and faster with the wind right at our backs. I kept looking over my left shoulder at the growing menace of a storm cloud at our tails, wondering when it was going to really hit. I have to admit: it was exhilarating! We made it to the tiny town of Albion before the sky opened up.

We decided to remain in Albion for the evening since the weather didn’t seem to be improving and it was already 5:00 in the afternoon. I also talked with my sister, Kathleen who was in route from her home in Toronto to our mom’s house in Saratoga Springs along with a couple of her best friends, Ally and Erin. They wanted to meet up with us for dinner and treat us to a night inside, away from the storms:) We waited for them at a bar of course: Shay’s on Main Street. After riding through a cold downpour I ordered a warming glass of Jameson and changed into some comfy clothes. My big sis’ walked through the door as I was putting my dirty riding clothes away in my panier still attached to my bicycle which I brought inside the bar. Beaming at me she says, “Our family is so weird!” I imagine she was referring to the odd circumstances in which we were seeing each other;) Nonetheless, it was so fantastic to see her, it’s always fantastic to see her! They congratulated all of us on how far we’d biked and gave us big hugs.

We all sat close around a table with a few pitchers of beer before talk of food became inevitable. We were all getting hungry for dinner so we cruised over to a local pizza/sub shop where Ally & Erin treated us to some hot, saucy meatball and chicken parm subs:) They were so delicious and reminded me again of where we were: New York, home of the best pizza and sub sandwiches. Good stuff!

It was fun to catch up with my sister and her friends. They were asking us some great questions about our adventures and filled us in on their latest stories and aspirations. For example, Erin was on her way down to a big sports tournament in New York City where she would compete in soccer and squash on behalf of the Toronto police force. She had us all laughing when she told us a young woman from Japan was coming all the way to New York to compete against her in squash! We had to figure this young lady is probably pretty darn good at squash to come all that way for a match and Erin was concerned she would be clobbered;)

Before taking off into the night, towards Saratoga, Kath treated us to a relaxing night in a bed & breakfast! There happened to be an old Polish catholic schoolhouse converted into a quaint little B&B right on the Erie and my lovely sister treated us to it! Thanks, Kath!!!

The Schoolhouse on the Erie is one of the coolest places I’ve ever stayed in. Lou and Jerrie, the couple who own and run the place have refurbished the place with great taste. They keep everything absolutely immaculate. Casey was walking around the grounds of the building, ooo-ing and aw-ing at all the details in the woodwork, stain glass, original doorknobs and old hand drawn town maps. He was so excited by this place, I thought he might want to move to Albion and help Lou with all the handiwork…

The following morning, after a blissful night’s sleep we woke up nice and late to an amazing breakfast on the back porch. Jerrie served up a big egg casserole, fresh scones with local honey, banana bread and lots of hot coffee, of course. We ate slowly, savoring each bite and each comfortable moment. It was so luxurious I could hardly stand it!

After breakfast Lou and Jerrie gave us a tour of the upstairs “playland”, a model of the county fair with functioning small scale rides made by a local handiman/artist. They also had relics of the historic Albion Santa Clause school started by Charles Howard of Albion. There were tons of old photos of different Santa Clauses and a little model village of the North Pole complete with functioning trains and Christmas lights and whistles. Chris, Casey and I walked around gazing at all the gizmos and gadgets in wonder and delight—turned into little kids again! It was a fantastical scene of toys and lights and ingenuity for the sake of fun. I must say, I have never seen or experienced anything like it. It was the cherry on top of an already unique visit to a small western NY town. Thank you Lou and Jerrie!

After a restful morning at the B&B, the three C’s were not quite ready for a long day of riding. We had been riding for eight days straight and needed a little rest. We got back on the Erie Canal path and made it as far as the next town 15 miles east, Brockport. We thought we were just stopping for lunch and a little bike maintenance but Russel, the owner of the local bike shop invited us over to sleep on his yard and we decided it was too tempting to pass up. We also liked the idea of going no further for the day; we were tired. So while Russel finished up a day’s work at the shop, we hung around the cute town of Brockport, eating good pizza and drinking a couple beers.

Before heading to Russel’s we stopped by the enormous grocery store, Wegmen’s—only in western NY. This place has everything and every brand, it is overwhelming really. We have been in a gazillion grocery stores though and have become experts at finding what we need and dashing out. Wegmen’s coulnd’t even slow us down;)

Once we set up our tents in his backyard, we spent the rest of our evening inside hanging out with Russel, his really nice girlfriend, Livy and his amazingly cute yellow lab, Sprocket. Sprocket is surely a bike shop dog as he had a big old stripe of chain grease across his adorable face while we were there. He kept looking up at me for some more attention and I couldn’t help but laugh. He looked like we do after giving our dirty chains some lovin’. It was all so appropriate… it was another great and memorable night on this lengthy adventure. It was also a great beginning to New York:) Thank you Russel, Livy and Sprocket!

We took a nice and mellow ferry ride from Algonac, MI to Whalpole Island, Ontario, a island community made up of mostly first nation folks. The border crossing was super easy and laid back, the interviewer simply asked us if we had any pepper spray to protect ourselves with and then told us to have a great trip…

Immediately upon riding through the streets of this island we were told to ride on the left side of the street. These First Nation Canadians were used to riding on the left side of traffic so we followed suit until we crossed the bridge to mainland where we switched back to the “right” side of the road.

After riding about 40 miles into Ontario, Corey left us for Toronto where he would visit his younger brother while the rest of us would veer south along Lake Erie. We all stopped on the side of the road and said our farewells. It was very awkward to be saying goodbye to one of our four C’s, we were all a bit silly for it. After so long traveling with one another it was like saying goodbye to a limb but we survived and so has Corey.

So the three C’s traveled down to the little “town” of Morpeth, ON where our adventure cycling maps told us we would find restaurants and a grocery store. There were no stores, no restaurants. After talking with some nice locals, we found out the nearest food store was the next town over. As our luck would have it though, the nice lady I spoke with about where the grocery stores were, Judy offered to take us into town for food! Per usual, we accepted the help—we jumped in her old trail blazer and were off to the store. After just 5 minutes of chatting in the car, she then offered us to stay on her property! Just keeps getting better! After talking even longer with her and her husband, Tom they offered up their trailer for us to sleep in! Judy brought out some cold beers for all of us and Tom provided the bug spray and we were in business! The funniest part of the whole evening I think was when Tom came out to finally say good night to us and he says, “The one thing I ask of you guys is to NOT leave anything on the table!” We were thinking he was talking about leftover food, garbage or some such but he went on… “I don’t want to come out here in the morning to find money or such nonsense! You know, I worked in the Canadian CIA and I can track you three C’s down! I just want you to enjoy this night for free, just enjoy it! Leave no money!!!” It was hilarious. Thank you so much Tom and Judy!!! Oh Canada, your hospitality scores high in our books:)

From Morpeth we continued east along the beautiful shore of northern Lake Erie. We went through all the little touristy port towns:Port Stanley, Port Burwell, Port Dover…etc. We ate tons of fried white perch with french fries and vinegar. So yummy! In Port Burwell we found a really sweet little hostel type lodging for really cheap so we stayed there and got some hot showers and a kitchen for cooking. We watched some good old tv and passed out early.

From Port Burwell we biked passed lots of lake cottages with docks and boats and people drinking beer. We were crossing our fingers to make friends with some of these people but it never panned out. We would stop occasionally and make up new questions to ask some of these cottage owners to see if we might end up with an invitation to stay and drink beer and play volleyball in their backyard but all we got were suggestions for Knight’s Beach campground, 15 minutes up the road. Well Knights Beach campground wanted $50 for the night! The same amount as the hostel with showers and beds! We rode away immediately. We went to the campground next door where we met Carol Ann, the owner. She asked us all about our ride and was so excited that my name was Cecelia because that was her mother’s name. She let us stay on their property free of charge! Oh Canada!
After our night at Carol Ann’s campground, it was the homestretch along Lake Erie to Fort Erie and the Niagara River. Upon reaching Fort Erie we followed the river all the way north until we reached the mighty falls where all the great lakes water eventually flows down. I have been there a couple times when I was little but I was still struck by the power of that water. It was a first for both Chris and Casey and they were impressed with the sheer amount of water. We watched the water fall for a while until the crowds became unbearable. We then made our way up the steep ridge covered in ridiculous shops and tourist bars blasting Bruce Springsteen—it looked like a carnival!

We were fortunate to find a fairly cheap youth hostel with a most gregarious owner. The ACB hostel is run by Patrick who seemed to have a story for every occasion. One has to be careful asking him a question if time is an issue…or hunger. After riding all day, I know I was in a hurry to find food. We asked him for a recommendation for a place to eat and got a 30 minute dissertation on everything from restaurants to a local history lesson on Edison and Tesla. While interesting, I was chomping at the bit to get out and eat. But Patrick’s a very nice guy. And the hostel was really cool. We woke up to homemade raspberry & chocolate chip muffins, local peaches and lots of hot coffee. And his recommendation for the brewery in real downtown Niagara Falls rather than the fake touristy section, was a very good one. The Taps on Queen had some really tasty brews and some good specials on greasy sustenance.

From the ACB hostel we had just a quick 10 mile jaunt to the Queenstown—Lewiston bridge between Ontario and New York. Again we followed Niagara River north and got some epic views of that steep gorge. We pulled over to see the enormous whirlpool created by the shape of the gorge and the amount of water flowing around this one particular river bend. There is a cable running across the length of the gorge with a gondola type thing to catch a bird’s eye view of the whirlpool but we all agreed: standing on the firm rock at the edge of the gorge was a good enough view for us.

We continued biking up to the massive bridge with cars lined up for miles trying to get into NY. We had to backtrack a ways to access the highway in order to cross the bridge. We then decided to test our luck by passing all the waiting cars—we figured that is the reward for pedaling all this way: not having to wait in line with the other, much heavier vehicles. We got right up to about 6th in line for customs but it still took about 45 minutes before we were next. We finally went up one at a time and answered a few questions about our trip and where we were from before he said, “Have a great rest of your trip!” And just like that, we were in NEW YORK!!!

I am happy we rode through Detroit because it really wasn’t so bad after all. Motorists were generally very considerate and due to the amount of vacant houses and general desertion, there weren’t a whole lot of them–at least not as many as one would expect from a city. We also had the help of Pat Harrington’s step-by-step biking instructions through the city which made things much easier. So, thanks once again Pat! Those maps you gave us saved us through eastern Michigan! I am also happy that we rode through Motor City because it was different and what we saw wasn’t exactly easy to see but we were just riding through–catching just a glimpse of what some of these folks are dealing with everyday: foreclosures galore, massive lots of trash, huge vacant buildings, burnt down houses, vacant lots…we even saw a big old boat sitting abandoned in the middle of a neighborhood sidewalk–it looked as though it had been there for months! I have heard about these kind of conditions in this country but have never been so “in it” seeing it firsthand. For me, this was a humbling, learning experience. An experience that made me feel ever more fortunate for the resources and people in my life.

On the other side of the coin, we saw incredible wealth. Once we crossed over Eight-Mile, into Grosse Pointe it was like crossing into a different country. One side of the sidewalk was deteriorating, the grass mangy and un-mowed, the other side perfectly maintained with immaculate lawns! It was an incredible juxtaposition of social and economic class/neighborhood conditions. I had never seen such vastly different places so close to one another. As we continued north along Lake St. Claire the houses got bigger and bigger, the lawns greener and none longer than a buzz cut. Every piece of property was private and there were “no trespassing” signs everywhere. In one day of cycling we saw the most extreme range of socio-economic living conditions. It was wild! Riding through the inner-city of Detroit my heart was racing a little bit in regards to how much we stood out with all our biking gear. Folks were taking double takes as we went by, as I’m pretty sure they don’t often see four young white kids biking through their neighborhoods with bikes packed down with heavy gear/equipment. It was also racing a little bit in the rich neighborhoods since it seemed we only had a right to be on the road and if my foot crossed into the perfectly manicured flower beds of Grosse Pointe some alarm would go off! Needless to say, it was quite an interesting bike ride–one I will never forget.

Once we made it to my Aunt Denise’s house just north of all the fancy-shmancy houses, I felt right at home. Denise and her husband Jack live in a lovely, modest home right on Lake St. Claire. As soon as we arrived we were greeted by her adorable labradoodle, Abigail and Denise served us up some cold beers pronto:) We didn’t have to do the whole goofy question and answer session–just got some big hugs & kisses and got right to laundry, dinner and drinking! Oh the perks of family!

Denise is my dad’s little sister and boy is she fun! She and Jack are kind of straight out of a movie–they are both characters and had us all cracking up. Jack owns his own construction company and he looks the part: white hair, barrel-chested with a gold chain around his neck and a cigarette almost always hangin’ out the mouth. He’s also almost always telling a story or a joke. He played football for Central Michigan back in ’74 when they won the national championships! He showed us the big gold ring he won and the photograph of the championed team–Jack had a big old handle-bar mustache and grin on his face. Casey was pretty excited to see the ring, with an outline of the state of Michigan on the side. It was pretty cool.

Denise had the house stocked with cold beer, wine, and scotch. Although we had a day of riding ahead of us, we all kind of let loose and celebrated our mounting cycling achievement. Jack had just smoked a bunch of pulled pork in his huge backyard smoker which all the boys were thoroughly impressed with:) And the meat was absolutely mouth-watering! We all devoured a massive share of barbequed meat and kept our cups topped off. We retired to their back patio where there were magically zero mosquitoes and the weather just right for sitting and catching up. Denise and I reminisced about good times with my dad. She kept telling me how proud he would be, beaming this big wide smile. She was just so thrilled to have us there and to see me on this trip, she kept screaming and clapping her hands in joy. It was so awesome! It was one of the happiest nights I’ve had. With family, friends and on a journey of a lifetime:)

The following day we woke with little headaches and smiles. Denise cooked us up a dozen eggs, scrambled with lots of cheese, fruit salad and endless hot coffee. She and Jack also sent us off with two big zip lock bags of smoked meat which lasted us another three meals! Incredible! As we were preparing to leave, Denise kept giving me more and more food saying, “here, you need this! I don’t know where in the world you’ll put it, but take it if you can!” We still have goodies from D & J. Every time one of us eats a peanut m&m or twizzler we say “Thanks Aunt Denise!” The boys had such a good time with you two–thank you so much Jack and Denise! You showed us such a good time and gave us a little piece of home:)

So, we made it through Motor City on bicycles. Ontario and New York: I hope you’re ready for us;)