Trek Log

Greetings from Albany! We biked 23 miles today and arrived early in the day. On our way to Albany, a brief rain cooled us off. A flat tire briefly slowed us down, but we made the most of the delay by creating a miniature bowling alley with water bottles. After fixing the flat, we had lunch at a park in Albany and bought 50 donut holes for the group. Refreshed after a nice lunch, we toured the New York Capitol building which was bedecked with gold walls and glittering sconces on the inside. After the interesting tour, we happened to get free donuts from the Dunkin inside the Capitol. Boys accompanied our half mile ride to hotel with varying zoo animal noises and a cappella renditions of Carol of the Bells! We felt spontaneous and did some cartwheels outside the Albany observatory. We then biked half a mile to the Hampton Inn where a parent had generously organized for cookies to await us. Kids called home and everyone showered. As a treat, we enjoyed a Mexican food place that was so so fun and delicious!! We walked back to our hotel and talked about our day and how to make the most out of Albany tomorrow! 10/10

Seven sleepy, excited Trekkers and two Trip Leaders met at Bryant Park in Manhattan, soon after joined by 3 more Trekkers at the Tarrytown Metro-North train station this morning to begin a 400 mile bike ride to Montreal, Canada. This morning they will gather in a circle to introduce themselves, play name games, discuss the up-coming adventure, and talk about bike safety. Once on their bikes its a short 15 mile ride on varied terrain to Croton Point Park where they will swim, cook dinner, and set up their tents on 2 peaceful campsites. Over the next 16 days the group will ride along the east side of the beautiful Hudson River, passing through Poughkeepsie, Albany, Lake George, Burlington, VT, and into Canada to Montreal. Stay tuned, right here to read about their daily adventures!

Our penultimate day. The rhythm has been found, and now it’s about to change again. C’est la vie. Wildflowers of all shades form a Monet blur. We’re never far from the sea, and can feel it’s weight in the air when we drop in elevation. Tires and coast, like any good relationship, have ups and downs.  Safeway parking lots are waypoints. At lunch, a family offers us a clam feast and a place to stay. If only we had more time. Is there anything more valuable? Is there anything less guaranteed? A stretch of timelessness is priceless. In between the Safeway and the blind curve, we slipped out of time and into a reverie. Bonded by setting summer sun. Our ice cream saloon had a second floor full of seashells and crabs dredged up over the last 150 years, including placards noting when, where and how. Fiddler crab, 1879, trawled up from 40 fathoms in Puget Sound. Turns out, this quaint display was the world’s second largest seashell collection. Philippines conches, Korean murex, South African abalone, Baja Californian geoduck. And the taxidermied seahorse pulling a scallop chariot? Divine. Spirals of all sizes. Shells to galaxies, broccoli to Nazca Lines. Circling around a fixed point, ascending. We return to where we began, but with new perspective.  Tomorrow, the Green Tortoise. There and back again. One final shell to shuck before we spiral on.

This yarn is nearly unfurled, like flags on the Fourth, or rolltop panniers. From each day we have pulled out something new. Connections, dreams, determination. Or something new again. The joy of motion. The rhythm of afternoon ice cream. What it’s like to be a bundle of pure experience with no screen between. Same mileage today, double elevation. No problem. This would have been far more daunting last week. I guess we have learned and grown. We ride far more efficiently, and patiently. A hair more tortoise brings us closer to hare’s pace.  The days are blurred like spinning spokes. Cycling together. We ate at a gourmet gas station. What the English might call a Garage Majal. An eclectic mix of Kiss and Teddy Pendergrass imprinted atomically into the cream cheese. Two different flavors of love.  We reentered and watched Wimbledon while the half dozen deli hands took thirteen panini orders. We pressed them further with bungees and rode off to a picnic lunch overlooking a marshy bay. Across the bay, we found Fat Smitty’s bar and burger emporium, whose politics were made known in the window. They welcomed us and filled twenty water bottles, no questions asked. We asked questions. How long have you been open? 42 years. Why is every inch of the walls and ceiling covered in dollar bills? Every five years they take them down and donate to local charities. $60,000 since they began. The mulleted Don Henley looking fellow said we’re living the dream. Don’t stop. Fort Worden is beautiful, windy, and the ground is prickly. That’s okay. There are WW2 fortifications all around. The campfire ban made boiling 17 potatoes impossible. Brett saved us singlehandedly.  The end is beginning. Sentimentality is creeping in. The bubble of timeless freedom we have floated in is glinting in the sunset, soon to pop. Nothing to do but put the Wayfarers on, live it up and take it easy. The dream rolls on.