The Awkward Pose

Miles Today: 77

Miles to Date: 1,053

May 23, 2015 – Sunny, 60 degrees

I woke up this morning thinking about my father. It was inevitable that the old man would settle in for entire day I was headed to Williamsport, PA. Fifty summers ago he came home from work one afternoon, announced that he was talking all of his twelve-year-old Little Leaguers to Williamsport for the World Series, and decided there was enough room in the Rambler station wagon for nine-year me as well. There were eight, maybe nine, of us. I climbed in the way back and squatted on top of backpacks in silent awe of my two older brothers and the twelve year old all-stars from Toms River Little League. My father drove all night through torrential rain on pre-Interstate two-lane blacktop. We sang ‘’A Thousand Battles of Beer on the Wall’ all the way down to one. Never done that before or since.

Today was perfect, though cold; not one cloud all day. I slipped out of my warmshowers gig right at six and clocked sixty miles by noon. My fingers were numb, but the rest of the world was heating up for Memorial Day weekend. The VFW guys at the Stebben barn were grilling racks of chicken before seven, to be tender for their noon BBQ fest. The sun hung behind the mountains until after eight. Three deer ran with me for about a mile, stopping every few moments to look back and make me feel clumsy in their grace. The sawmills were humming by nine, holiday weekend be damned. But by ten the sun was high enough to thaw my digits and folks propped themselves in front of RV’s parked along Highway 14 to watch the world pass by. The forests were dense, the rivers crystal clear, and the hunting signs ubiquitous. I wondered why the Rodman Gun Club had a wood sculpture of a Neanderthal outside their clubhouse, but decided not to inquire.

I stopped for a breakfast sandwich and sweet bun early on, but was hungry again when I came upon the Marsh Hill Market. Candy made me that Pennsylvania specialty: the hoagie. A hoagie is more than a sub. It is everything so bad that it’s really good. Start with a squishy loaf roll. Slice it down the middle and swab it with mayo. Layer on three varieties of low-cost luncheon meat, the kind that’s pinkish plump from too many nitrates. A few slices of indeterminate cheese as well. Scatter hot peppers, sliced onions, and pickles everywhere, add shaved iceberg, drizzle with oil, then drizzle some more, cut it into two huge halves and top each half with pale, cellophane tomatoes. It’s impossible to actually fold a good hoagie, and Candy makes a very good hoagie. After I downed it all, with a Diet Coke and an ice cream sandwich chaser, I handed my cards around the musty market and got blanker stares than the earlier deer.

I was near Williamsport when I passed signs for a Pow Wow Reenactment in Trout Run. I had to go astray. It was an odd event – Native American costumes, drums and dancing coupled with Revolutionary War wannabes and speeches about the heroism of American veterans. I couldn’t make any sense of it until Sandra Lee Hitchcock, a Cayuga Indian from New York, gave me a coherent explanation, as well as the most poetic answer to my question to date. She insisted I accept a leather neck pouch with fresh sage to protect me on my journey.

Sandra’s protection was welcome, this being my Jack Fallon day. Fifty years ago, when our station wagon full of boys pulled into Williamsport mid-morning, the sun decided to shine. My father inquired about a room in the City View motel, on a hill overlooking Little League home plate. Miraculously, they had a last minute cancellation and gave us a room with a direct view of the World Series Field. Throngs of people from all over the world crammed for a view of the little ballplayers, while we Johnny-come-lately’s landed the equivalent of a corporate box.

Given that precedent, I was compelled to roll into Williamsport without the security of reservation. I passed through downtown, crossed the Susquehanna, and climbed the hill toward the field. Little League has come far in fifty years. The City View is gone, replaced by a museum and administrative building. The main field is still there, plus a second stadium and a dormitory complex where sixteen teams from all over the globe live during the World Series. I enjoyed touring the complex, and discovered a vintage 50’s motel just down the road where I got the nicest room of my entire trip, with a private outdoor porch in the same orientation as the City View. The only way to channel Jack Fallon is to play fast and loose and come up with the best.

In keeping with the sprit of the day, I walked down to the Mountaineer Lounge fro dinner, an Italian gin mill with wood paneled walls and husky voiced waitresses. I snarfed down a meatball sub with fries and draft beer. When the fake blond hostess asked me if I was alone, I nodded. I figured she might not understand that Jack had been with me all day.

Miles Today: 22

Miles to Date: 976

May 22, 2015 – Sunny, 60 degrees

The history of the Chemung Valley can be described in four phases: before settlers, after Corning, before the flood, and after the flood. The flood occurred on June 23, 1972, but for many it is fresh as yesterday.

I spent a day as tourist in Corning. After a big breakfast I got a private tour of the Patterson Inn by Events Coordinator Pat Monahan. The Inn was built in 1796, one of three built in this region to accommodate settlers coming north from Philadelphia and New York to tame the land between the New York line and Lake Ontario. It is the centerpiece of Heritage Village of the Southern Finger Lakes, which also includes a restored schoolhouse, blacksmith shop, barn and log cabin. The Inn is beautifully restored with period furnishings and accessories, as well as one of the most intricate looms I’ve seen.

From there I passed Corning headquarters in the center of downtown. The company took the town’s name when it moved from Brooklyn to this rail hub closer to coal sources essential for glass furnaces, and then the company put the city of Corning on the map. The Corning Museum of Glass (CMOG), like so many places in Corning, marks the high water line of the 1972 flood that changed Corning and its sister city Elmira forever. Both cities downtowns were completely underwater, and each has addressed significant reconstruction.

I met with CMOG’s Director of Communication, Yvette Sterbenk, and Chief Scientist, Glen Cook, to talk about tomorrow. Afterward I toured the galleries, which are housed in four interconnected buildings dating from the 1970’s to this year. The span of the collection is tremendous, a balance between demonstrating glass’ technical attributes and artistic possibilities. The new addition by Thomas Phifer is stunning and worth a visit alone, but don’t miss the rest. I met an assortment of people, including a transitioning transgendered person who had incredible ideas about tomorrow.

I didn’t leave Corning until after 4, and had my easiest cycling day in every respect. The weather was perfect, the wind at my back, and the road through the Chemung Valley a gentle slope. Of course, it was only 20 miles, so that made it easy as well!

I had a delicious dinner with my warmshowers hosts Paul Kingsbury and Wanda Tocci, along with Paul’s father, Paul. That made three Paul’s. Paul Jr. owns a local bike shop and gave the Surly Long Haul Trucker a once over – the Crown Victoria of bicycles is holding up like a charm. Wanda and Paul live above the shop, in a cool penthouse with a roof deck that would fetch millions in Manhattan. Paul opened his bike shop in 1981, when he was twenty years. This led him to quip that tomorrow would be just like every other day for the past thirty years, but that’s definitely not true. There was a lively energy to our foursome. Not only because we had good food and wine and companionship, but the other two Paul’s possess a zest many 50+ and 80+ year old guys lack. I figured it had to do with romance. Paul and Wanda have been married less than a year, while Paul’s dad, widowed a few years ago, is “communicating every day” with a woman he met on Match.com. With so much good vibe in the present, we didn’t spend much time talking about tomorrow at all.

Miles Today: 49

Miles to Date: 954

May 21, 2015 – Overcast then clearing, 50 degrees

I considered biking back into Ithaca to breakfast at the 24-hour deli, but was more intrigued by moving ahead, even though the next sizable town was over twenty miles. I navigated Ithaca’s big box strip on NY 13 south, and then veered west up a major hill. Thank to the glaciers thousands of years ago, cycling in the East is very predictable: valleys run north/south, so you’ve got to climb and descend when travelling west. In this part of New York, the rise and falls are long, several miles up and then as many down into the next valley.

A light rain fell as I ascended a long hill. I saw a sign for Newbridge, a small town off the main road, and detoured in search of breakfast. I was rewarded with the Varietywich at the Newbridge Cafe: steak and egg with cheese, mushrooms, onions and bacon on a bagel. I met Freddie, who tosses papers three hours a day and loves his job; Nikki, a gas jockey at the local Mobil; and Bridie, the friendly cashier who retired from working for the county, and has been working the cafe counter for sixteen years. “You’ve got to get out. Working here, you meet people.”

By the time I left, full, and pedaled past the covered bridge for which Newbridge is named, the sun started to peak through. My massive breakfast sandwich fueled me all the way to Corning. Trivia of note:

Exquisite Gothic gingerbread architecture

Small waterfalls along the road only people at bicycle speed can appreciate

Highway crews installing new guard rails. No work is done by hand anymore.

Empty ice cream stands due to the unseasonably cold weather

Very effective Interstate highway barrier through the town of Horseheads; I couldn’t hear any traffic noise

The gorgeous Chemung River Valley in Corning

I arrived shortly after one, and settled into a McDonald’s for an Internet session. McDonald’s is a mid-day haven for cyclists. Fast and free Internet, pleasant interiors that are never crowded, the folks you meet are the full cross-section of humanity, and I am a sucker for the $1 soft drinks or $1 cone. Audie, my counter help, was about the friendliest person I ever met. I spent over two hours catching up with the world electronically, and enjoying her boisterous banter. I was reminded of Dean Freidman’s song:

I am in love with the McDonald’s Girl
She has the smile of innocence oh so tender and warm.
I am in love with the McDonald’s Girl
She is an angel in a polyester uniform

When I left, after four, I realized that my motel was a ways out of town. Luckily, I passed a great looking barbeque joint on the way and stopped for an awesome early dinner. By the time I got to Corning Inn, I was content to settle in for the night.

Miles Today: 59

Miles to Date: 905

May 20, 2015 – Overcast and windy, 40 degrees

I had some good things going for me today. A simple route and easy ride: NY 13 the entire way, with gentle rises and long downslopes along a wide valley. But the moment I stepped out of Stone Cottage on Lake Cazenovia, I realized that the ride would be tougher than anticipated. The weather had taken a hard turn from warm to raw. I began with my windbreaker and Gore Tex gloves. Then I stopped to insert my hand warmers. Then I stopped again to add my fiberfill insulator; more layers than I had used the entire trip. It was difficult to appreciate the beautiful farm country with the grey skies and strong wind, mostly against my favor. The thermometer clung to forty degrees all morning.

I made decent time, considering my shivers, and saw some elegant nineteenth century architecture along the way. I landed at Cortland Diner before noon. The local crowd all complained about the weather. My neighbor exclaimed, “Well, we’ve had two days of summer, and now it’s back to fall.”

Fragments of sun popped through my 20-mile ride to Ithaca, but it remained a chilly day. For some reason, road kill was rampant. I swerved by an opossum, skunk, turtle, black cat and full-size deer. I’ll spare my readers photos.

The other unfortunate deterioration I saw were many abandoned houses. This well-kept little ranch next to a well-proportioned Greek revival ruin struck me in particular; though I also saw more recent houses, from the 1950’s and 60’s, abandoned and naked to the elements as well. One man’s palace is another man’s junk.

I rolled into the backside of Cornell and cruised through campus before descending into the center of town. It looks much as I recall from when I was last here, seven years ago, with the spectacular addition of the new IT building, Gates Hall, designed by Thomas Mayne of Morphosis.

After getting set in my motel, I walked to Downtown Commons, which is under construction but funky as ever. Ate an organic burrito at Vive Mexicana and then cancelled out its beneficial effects with a macaroon sandwich – two cocoanut macaroons with chocolate in the middle. Cornell graduation is in two days, so town is full of graduates and families, and most are happy to talk to bike guy about tomorrow

On the way back to my motel I passed the famous Moosewood Restaurant. It would have been a great place to eat and chat with folks, but the serendipity of this journey is that for every experience I gain, there are uncounted missed opportunities. I pass through each place only once and encounter some small slice of life.

Miles Today: 43

Miles to Date: 846

May 19, 2015 – Sun, clouds and thunderstorms, 75 degrees

Linda Turner, my warmshowers host, fried up hash browns, steak and eggs. Over breakfast she shared her explorations in genealogy – up to ten generations back through some branches of her family. She has connected relatives that didn’t know each other existed, bridged gaps that occurred when so many died in the 1918 influenza, held a reunion for more than 200 people from the ‘Murphy’ branch, and traced her ‘Adams’ connection back to our founding father. Linda demonstrated the amazing array of historical resources she uses on line and contributes her own findings with sites documenting her family roots.

The day started muggy. I encountered a cooling light rain as I headed west. When I stopped at Apple Betty’s for lunch, the waitress told me I had just missed a huge downpour. Good thing I made a late start; also good that I ordered Apple Betty’s namesake dessert, which was terrific.

I spent the afternoon at the Oneida Community Mansion and had a fascinating discussion with Executive Director Patricia Hoffman about the impact of the Oneida Community on the nineteenth century utopian movement and what their legacy means for tomorrow.

By the time I began my late afternoon ride, the storms had passed, the air was crisp, the farms lush, the birdsong delightful. I meandered on country roads in a south and west direction, clinging to river valleys except for one questionable turn that took me up a wicked step hill. Eventually I returned to U.S. 20, which I had left yesterday, and pedaled the long rolling hills into Cazenovia.

John Cawley, my warmshowers host, lives in an incredible Civil War era building called Stone Cottage that sits at the very end of Main Street, overlooking Lake Cazenovia. We visited in his living room, which has the most incredible crown molding – made of wood – I’ve ever seen. Then he cooked spaghettis with meatballs, offered me Yuengling, then ice cream. We took his dog Teddy for a walk along the lake at sunset, and when I climbed into my period four-poster bed, I fell into solid sleep.

Miles Today: 72

Miles to Date: 803

May 18, 2015 – Sunny, 80 degrees

I made several trips to my hotel breakfast bar and floated out of Cobleskill on a beautiful Catskills morning. Thunderstorms were in the forecast for afternoon, but I had detailed directions and plenty of time to log the 67 miles to New Hartford. I rode through glorious farm country, past graceful churches, Mennonites in buggies, past millions of dandelions, and odd roadside attractions.

Route 20 is a huge road with wide shoulders and absolutely no traffic. I was making good time.

At Richfield Springs I turned off U.S 20 to NY 28 then County Road 150. The turns didn’t lay quite right, but I was confident of my sense of direction and kept on. It was one o’clock now, the sun was straight overhead, and I lost my cardinal sense. When I came upon an intersection that included roads I had already left, I stopped to study my GPS. A couple sitting on their porch offered guidance. I took off on a new tack.

Less than a mile along an empty road my chain skipped on my rear sprocket three, four times and then – snap – my chain broke and strung out behind me. I’ve never had a broken chain, or ever knew anyone who did. I took out my cycling tools and inspected the break. I couldn’t repair it. So, I took a deep breath, devoured a Power Bar and an apple, and repacked my stuff. I laughed that is was my thirteenth day out, so bad luck should have been expected. I figured I’d walk uphill and roll down until I got to the highway three or four miles away, and then hitch a ride to a town.

Just as I was about to move, a car drove up, the couple from the corner. They stopped. We figured out how to take my bike apart to fit in their car.

They drove me to Dick’s Wheel Shop in Herkimer, stayed with me until Dick found the right part, and wouldn’t take a dime for their trouble. I lingered at the bike shop for an hour or so while they replaced the chain, checked everything else, and directed me to a beautiful road that ran along the Mohawk River all the way to Utica.

The afternoon rains came. Not as dark thunderstorms, but as gentle showers that took the stinging heat out of the air. I rode along, thankful for the cool wet breeze, the generosity of humans, and the strange coincidences of my day. The couple that picked me up were named Frank and Lou, same as my grandparents. They delivered me to Herkimer, where my parents spent their first Honeymoon night. And Dick, the bike guy, was definitely my own father’s soul brother. Speculating upon the mysteries of life while pedaling through a soft rain is satisfying, but ultimately life delivers wonders that we must simply accept.

I didn’t arrive in New Hartford until six. My warmshowers hosts, Linda and Mike, fed me salad and grilled steak, baked potatoes and foil-warped onions swaddled in bacon. So good after a long day of riding and no lunch. Yet we still finished in time to watch The Voice.

Miles Today: 37

Miles to Date: 731

May 17, 2015 – Sunny, 80 degrees

A cycling fact: fifty miles before noon is easier than thirty miles after noon. I got off to a late start, on purpose, because I went to church with Dave Gibson and his family. It was a worthwhile experience, but put my on the road after noon. I planned a short day, but was lethargic all afternoon. Perhaps it was the eighty-degree weather and the saturated sun. Perhaps it was the fragrant abundance of lilacs. Perhaps it was the cotton candy clouds. Perhaps it was the long swales of blacktop that lulled me into reverie. Perhaps it was the cultural rhythm of Sunday as a day of rest. All of that combined to wedge the song “Lazy Afternoon” in my head.

Though I lacked energy, I also had ample excuses to stop. The entire world was out on this gorgeous day. Fellow cyclists passed me, which didn’t bother me since I’m about distance over speed. I stopped along the road to talk with people out walking. Bob and Pat from Altamont explained the virtues of tacking Alaska on to my trip. Myrna stopped working her hay farm to chat. Judy Lawyer hailed me from her seat in the shade of her open garage door and offered me cold water. She and her husband Bill have lived in the same house along New York Route 7 since they were married, on property her parents gave them next to the house where Judy grew up. Now, with three grown sons of their own, they spend a good amount of time watching the road and reporting tales of travellers. One couple’s RV broke down in front of their house; they stayed in Judy’s yard for two week while it was repaired. I gave them a card, but Judy and Bill aren’t Internet people. I imagine the next vagabond that comes their way will hear about the cyclist with the question mark on his chest.

I stopped at Stewart’s for lunch. Not because it’s good, but because I have an unreasonable devotion to the Albany-area convenience chain. There was nothing remarkable about my roast beef sub, Stewart’s cola, or dish of salted mochachinno ice cream, except that I loved observing the disorder of Stewart’s home-made signs, paper cups of condiments, and zig-zaggy counters. Every aspect of the place screams out for orderly, but therein lays the charm.

Somehow, I got a room at a too-good hotel, which means no door directly to the outside. It’s awkward to roll a bicycle through a hotel corridor. Also, there is no desk. Why do all basic hotel rooms have desks, while the next level up have upholstered chairs and too high tables?

While I’m ruminating on minutiae, here’s a chilling reality. When we get directions from A to B on Google, it gives us the predicted travel time. Pretty easy in a car, where almost everyone drives the speed limit when they can. They do the same thing for bicycle routes. Bicyclists ride at a much wider range of speeds, yet the ride times that Google gives me a spot on to my usual speed. Are Google’s ride times customized to my own riding habits? Does my computer somehow know how fast (or slow) I cycle? This is where I stop humming “Lazy Afternoon” and start to whistle “The Twilight Zone”.

Miles Today: 72

Miles to Date: 694

May 17, 2015 – Cloudy, 60 degrees

Nature is breaking me into her fury in a most gentle way. After encountering no rain for ten days, this morning’s forecast called for a few hours of showers. Reality turned out to be a gentle mist and steamy fog rising off of Mount Equinox as I pedaled south from Manchester.

Rolling through Arlington brought forth memories of many good times there with my housemate Paul, who had a house there for years. I rode past his old house, the park where we walked his dog, Silas, and the covered bridge over the Battenkill where we taught Silas how to swim. Since he got used to the water, that dog dives into any pool or puddle he can find.

The metaphor of the Empire State in decline was too obvious to ignore as I passed the state line and the solid road, pristine gentlemen farms, and well proportioned white houses of Vermont yielded to cracked blacktop and farms past luster. Still, New York’s countryside is beautiful and the expanses of planted fields already further along than those I saw north and east only a few days ago.

I plan to be in New York State about a week, cutting a swath through the center of the state. I traversed the Erie Canal, Mohawk Valley, and Western New York on my last bike trip, and will spend time in the Big Apple on my return. There is a lot to see in New York.

I stopped for breakfast at the Country Gal’s Cafe in Cambridge. There’s nothing like it in Cambridge, MA for sure. That gave me plenty of energy to push through to Saint Joseph’s Provincial House in Latham for lunch, where I met with my aunt, a 93-year-old nun, and her fellow sisters to talk about tomorrow.

I also realized that I was passing out of Red Sox Nation and entering Yankee territory, though the Country Gal’s Cafe hedged their bets.

Am I the only one who thinks this is funny?

I took an easy ride to the other side of Albany to stay with my friend Dave Gibson, his wife Chris, and the three children they still have at home. They have ten children in total and several grandchildren to boot. We made flatbread pizzas on the grille and ate on the deck overlooking their wooded yard. As old friends do, we talked until nearly midnight – very late for this cyclist, but a great time to catch up.