Shortly after our first bike tour together, Rett came up with the broad concept of a “Chowder Tour” that would take us down the New England coast. When it came time to attempt to implement such a thing for this year, I wondered if there was a way to combine it with our yearly visit to her dad’s in upstate New York. It would be a nice bit of symmetry to continue on from his house, which was the final destination of our first bike tour. We could take ourselves and our bikes on the Amtrak train from Chicago to Syracuse (20 miles from her dad’s in Skaneateles), then ride to the coast at Acadia National Park in Maine, and finally head south along the Atlantic Ocean to Boston, where we would put our bikes on another Amtrak to ride home on their own while we hop on an airplane. 

The obvious route to Acadia would take us northeast from the Finger Lakes region, into the Adirondack Mountains of New York, then over the Green Mountains of Vermont, and the White Mountains of New Hampshire. It would be lots of climbing up and down, but presumably would be great for forested views and camping, something Rett wanted to do a lot more of on this trip for my sake. 

Well, there were surprisingly fewer park and forest camping opportunities along that route than I expected, and one day I noticed that Google Maps (using bicycle directions) showed an alternate route to Maine that shot way up north into Canada, adding some distance but essentially going around many of the mountains. At first that just seemed silly, but it slowly started to make more sense. There are a lot of nice waterfront parks along the St. Lawrence River, we could visit the bike-friendly city of Montreal, get a taste of a “foreign” country in French-speaking Eastern Townships of Quebec, and still get enough forested mountains over the Appalachian range into Maine. Then we’ll still get about a week of the original “Chowder Tour” concept down the coast. 

So that set it. The plan is around 900 total miles, 17 days of riding, a day off in Montreal, two or three days off in Acadia, with around a 55-mile average riding day. Especially when considering the hills, it’s a slight distance/effort upgrade from our previous tour, but hopefully will still be easier for Rett given her greatly-improved fitness and experience compared to her first go-around.

We’re both really excited to start! 

51.2 mi / 5:55:23 time / 8.6 mph avg. 2079 ft. climbing

We had a leisurely pancake breakfast, after which I had to make an emergency run to the toilet. That made me a bit nervous (would the shocking twist to our story be that I’m the one who holds back Rett’s adventure on our final day?), but luckily as the day went on it seemed to be just an isolated episode. Phew.

We headed back for our final stretch on the Erie Canal trail, but before we even got there I noticed Rett’s rear tire going flat. Even though our extra distance yesterday shortened today by a few miles, the hills would be the biggest we’ve faced by far, so we still didn’t have a whole lot of time to spend not riding. The hole appeared to be caused by a tiny sharp bit of gravel embedding itself in the rubber, so we went ahead with my knife and tried to pick out any other embedded bits we could find. And then it makes me question whether yesterday’s air boost was worth it or not; the firmer tires definitely help you go faster, but I feel like that firmness increases the risk of something pushing its way through the tire. So it’s always a bit of a gamble, or, yet another balancing act that’s part of bike touring. On the plus side, it made us think of Mike and Martha since we finally got use out of a tube they had generously procured for us way back in Ohio.

For a stretch the trail was the woodsiest yet, with the trees so close in it almost felt like mountain bike single-track. The ups and downs as the trail meandered away from the canal added to that feeling too.

In Newark we met a guy boating down the canal who loaned us the key to a really nice bathroom/shower facility. Apparently these are at every lock, and available to canal travelers. We’ll have to remember that for next time! And this one was cleverly painted up with pretty and historical 3D murals, so we did in fact find some time to smell the roses.

We finally reached the end of our 3 days on the Erie Canal trail at Lyons. We would be veering off south across the hills to reach the northern tips of the Finger Lakes. The maps showed that there would be no signs of civilization for the 25-30 miles between Lyons and Auburn, so we fueled up with a relatively early McDonald’s lunch, and the went off to see what the hills of New York held for us. I could tell that the fear of the unknown was putting a lot of stress on Rett, and it reminded me of the time Dennis and I had to climb the indomitable Moki Dugway in Utah. In both cases I wanted my touring partner to have as much information as possible about the road ahead, but since I’ve never actually been on the roads myself, there’s a limit to how much I can guarantee, and I again try my best to find a balance: prevent unpleasant surprises without inducing unnecessary terrors. I don’t feel like I found that balance very well in either case, but I think conquering the Moki Dugway ended up being one of Dennis’s proudest moments of that trip, so I could only hope that Rett might end with a similar outcome.

For the section between Lyons and Auburn, it felt like a return to the day in Amish country in Indiana. The up-and-down hills were larger, but the roads were just as empty, there were smaller farms tended by people with non-motorized vehicles, and it was beautiful country.

Yesterday, while riding over the rough gravel of the under-construction trail, Rett half-jokingly asked if there were any road surfaces I hadn’t yet taken her on this trip. Well, it turns out I had one surprise left: a half mile of dirt road over a steep hill, maintained only in the summer months. She was able to power at least halfway up it, and then we walked up the rest of the way (and much of the way down the other side).

Since we were on such random backroads, it was quite a surprise when, while taking a roadside break, a couple of young guys on loaded bikes rolled up the hill behind us. The fact that we stood chatting for at least 5 minutes with them just standing in the middle of road showed how untrafficed the area is. Eventually they decided to follow our lead and take a food break; they were a couple of fresh-out-of-college friends going from Buffalo to Manhattan, having quite an adventure on equipment much less-specialized than our own.

One of Rett’s motivations for this trip was to have such an adventure, one that she feels like she never had an opportunity to experience when she was at that young-and-stupid age. I think one of the reasons we associate such coming-of-age journeys with that particular period of life is simply because people tend to become more conservative and set-in-their-ways as they get older. Or more bluntly, they get scared. I think research has shown that’s more a reality of human biology than a value judgment, but that’s what makes me so incredibly impressed with Rett’s journey, and I don’t mean just the last 16 days. I mean the whole last year, when she decided she wanted to go on a bike tour and said “I don’t yet know how to ride a bike? Who cares? I’m not scared!” When she had a few painful crashes while learning: “I’ll get right back on, it hurts like hell but I know now how to avoid that in the future. I’m not scared!” When she has faced discomfort and pain and giant trucks and broken roads and thieving raccoons and barking dogs and blazing sun and cold rain and giant hills and crack motels: “I’ve already made it this far, I can get through the rest. I’m not scared!” It requires a sense of adventure to truly have an adventure, and I’ve loved learning that Rett clearly has that adventure embedded in her soul.

And in between all that bad stuff, I think she was able to also enjoy the flip-side of that “adventure” coin: the feeling of new strength, the perfect country roads, the leaping deer, the cute doggies out for walks, the rare but glorious tailwinds, the 25mph downhills, and the beautiful natural places to pitch a tent for the night.

I know I sure did, and my years of bike-touring experience meant that my adventure-coin landed much more frequently with the positive side up than it did for Rett. She continually felt bad that her tour was “too easy” for me, but it was exactly what I needed after my last tour, where I decided I needed to stop pushing my limits so much. I don’t think I could have achieved that without her help. And I was honored to be able to do whatever I could to help her succeed in reaching her goals, and that was a new type of work for me to learn on this trip. I in return felt bad that her share of the journey didn’t come as enjoyably as mine did; I wish I could have shared some of my positive coin-flips with her. But with her new experience, the next one definitely will be easier for her. Yes, since the first day, through everything, she’s continually been talking about ideas for the next one. Which is kind of awesome. On this adventure we’ve definitely confirmed that we make a good team, so we’d have to be really dumb to not continue having many more adventures together long into the future.

When, at the top of another hill, we reached the sign indicating the city limits of Auburn (the loud, unkempt neighbor eight miles from Skaneateles), it brought Rett to tears, and I think not entirely of the happy kind. Hungry and hurting, we got a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Red Velvet ice cream at a gas station, iced her knees, and as we sat at the picnic table, slowly those last miles started seeming less impossible, even though they were almost entirely up the biggest climb of the whole trip. We shared a last emotional moment with just the two of us together, got one more burst of air in our tires, and then headed out to finish this thing.

As I gave some directions, it was fun to have Rett out front saying “I’ve got it from here!” She was powering up the hills, and when she turned to look to the side I could spy a grin breaking across her mouth. As we got closer, I started waving to every random person we saw, hollering that we’d come all the way from Chicago. And then once we reached the crest of the final hill and saw the big downhill into Skaneateles, Rett let loose some wonderful screams of joy.

She routed us onto streets that would make the climb back up to her dad’s place a bit easier, and I thought how funny and awesome it was that this, 760 miles and 16 days into a six-state, two-country bike tour, was the first time she’d ever been able to ride her bike through her own childhood neighborhood. And she looked so beautiful to me as she did so.

Cresting the final rise on State Street Road, I glimpsed two figures out in front of the familiar house. Rett’s Dad and her sister Sophie had been keeping a vigil and were there with arms raised and love in their hearts as we rolled up the driveway. Rett leaped off her bike like she’d just had all of her joints replaced, raised her arms in kind, and shared big hugs with her proud family. And her proud boyfriend. Hundreds of miles, gallons of sweat, more than a few tears, and several drops of blood after leaving her home, she had made it home again. That’s a complete adventure, and an adventure completed. Now let’s all have a beer, right?

60.1 mi /  6:52:03 time / 8.7 mph avg. / 411 ft. climbing
Canaltown Bed & Breakfast

One thing I forgot to get at the grocery store last night was ice for Rett’s knees. She didn’t ask me at all to go back for some, so I took that (and the relative ease at which she’d been getting on and off the bike, and walking) as a sign that she was slowly recovering from critical levels. But less than a mile into the ride, the pain re-appeared with a vengeance, her energy levels were keeping her speeds low, and she was doubting her ability to complete the 56 mile day we had scheduled. I tried to assure her (and at this point, remind her, since she now has the experience herself) that the figurative winds change frequently throughout a day of bike touring, even when the actual winds don’t. A meal, different temperatures, or even just your body entering a different phase of energy-processing can turn a bad day good (or worse, a good day bad). My spoken thoughts were somewhat more optimistic than the ones I held internally, but what else could we do but carry on and see what the day held?

Entenmann’s and fruit in the motel fueled us for 15 miles to Brockport and Colleen’s Cafe. As we pulled up at 11:03, Colleen overheard us wondering if breakfast was still on, and she came outside and assured us that she’d make us whatever we wanted. My breakfast burrito and Rett’s fruit-filled pancakes, along with sausage and home fries, we’re some of the best breakfast items we’ve had, and Colleen’s obvious personal and opinionated touch on her cafe made it one of my favorite places overall.

We had an exciting moment when we saw one of the nicely appointed rented canal touring boats coming the other direction. Not only was the boat company registered in Skaneateles, the boat was named Skaneateles II, and it had bicycles on it! A sign! Also, there were baby ducklings about.


In the opposite direction of newborn ducks, the canal trail gave us a new species to add to our roadkill list: fish. This trip has produced more volume and diversity of roadkill than any trip I’ve ever been on. There has been raccoon, squirrel, chipmunk, rabbit, possum, woodchuck, fox, deer, cat, bat, turtle, frog, snake (maybe including one killed by me, oops!), a variety of birds, and probably a couple others we’re forgetting.

The canal trail again gave us the advantage of the trees to shelter us from the light north winds, and although Rett’s energy picked up somewhat after second-breakfast, we were still looking forward to the paved section around Rochester to speed us along. I realized that I had gone way too long in checking Rett’s tire pressure, and discovered that her front tire at least had been an additional drag on her that she didn’t need. My mini-pump can’t inflate to really high pressures, but it was enough for her to at least notice a difference. Next time I’ll have to remember to be more proactive than that, grr!

Unfortunately the paved section, while smoother, came with more ups and downs, either to rise to meet roadways, or pass underneath them (and boy are there a lot of highways entering and exiting Rochester!) Add in the longitudinal bumps from tree roots and such, and I’m not sure the pavement increased our speed at all. But it was cool to make the 3-bridge crossing at the unusual water-intersection of the Erie Canal and the Gennessee River, at a park I had been to when visiting my friend Dan in Rochester years ago.

When we reached the cute historic suburb of Pittsford, Rett spotted a bike shop with a free compressed air hose right outside, so I got all our tires good and hard. They also sold the brand of bike shorts that seem to work for her, so we checked out some of those but didn’t come away with anything. The pair of hers that she’s basically been wearing every day (and I’ve been washing every night) should at least survive the next two days.

Aladdin’s Natural Eatery across the street had a nice canal-view balcony, good Greek-oriented food, and with a glass of wine (and a good Rochester Scotch Ale for me), Rett’s day seemed to be reaching its hoped-for turning point. We had originally planned a final night of camping, for free, at a canalside park, but the lack of a real bathroom, her aches, and the impending hills of the next day motivated Rett to ask if there were any motel options nearby, even if it meant more riding today. I was pretty sure there weren’t but then I discovered a couple of B&Bs in Palmyra a few miles further, right on our route. I called and got the rates for one of them (Canaltown B&B), and said we’d get back to them. After finishing up our lunch/dinner, and while continuing to research other options, they called back and let us know about another room they’d “forgotten” about that was $20 cheaper. Hmm, seems like we did some unintentional haggling there. We’ll take it!

It was already 6pm, and we estimated we’d make it to Palmyra by around 8pm, easily making it our longest day on the bikes. And once the paved/brick section of trail through Pittsford ended, we were suddenly on very rough, large, and nearly unrideable gravel. Back down to 7mph. Ugh. I flagged down a Sarah Palin look-alike (who was actually riding an unmodified version of Rett’s bike) and she assured us the trail would improve in a mile or so. Turns out we hit the section in its pimply adolescent stage, in the transitional construction period between its smooth gravel youth and its paved adulthood. The surface did improve somewhat, but it remained under construction with plenty more rough patches all the way to the next town of Fairport. There were plenty of people on mountain or hybrid bikes who didn’t seem much fazed by it, but on loaded touring bikes it’s a different story.

But then we hit pavement again, and Rett was off like a rocket. Even once we returned to the normal smooth gravel she was still flying. The full tires and diminished winds of evening surely played a role, but the major factor was that mysterious internal wind-shift that’s something that just seems to be a part of bike touring. And it might even be one of the most important lessons bike touring can teach you: there is a spring after every winter, a sunset after every storm.

55 miles into a day when she didn’t think she’d be able to 5, Rett was going fast enough where drafting would once again be effective, but for the first time on the trip, her speed was so high that I couldn’t help add much to it. We were definitely making up the time that the construction stole from us. The character of the trail changed again (as it had many times already), this time getting more wooded, narrow, and remote. We started seeing the first tree-covered hills rising on the other side of the canal, and passed through an almost-squatters neighborhood that felt like it could have been deep in the Louisiana Bayou.

We got off the trail at Palmyra, which happens to be the place where Joseph Smith started up Mormonism. But there is religious (semi-) diversity too, with the main crossroads at the center of town having a major church on each of the four corners. So I was a bit concerned if we’d be in for a preachin’ at the B&B, but nope, they were totally cool. We had an uncomfortable moment though as I dug into my pannier for a personal check to pay for our room, only to find one wet and disintegrated from yesterday’s rain. Luckily I had one more in there that was damp but largely intact, and they were kind enough to let us dry it out overnight and write it the next morning. They provided some ice packs for Rett’s knees, she got a soak in the multi-room shag-carpeted bathroom filled with hundreds of towels, and we put together one more bed-picnic with some of the last food from our bags and a bottle of wine from Pittsford. Our next (and final!) day would now be almost 4 miles shorter than planned; hopefully today’s rising momentum would carry over into tomorrow’s hills!

49.3 mi / 5:27:14 time /  9.0 mph avg. /  506 ft. climbing
Staying at Dollinger’s Motor Inn

Back on our bikes, we crossed the Rainbow Bridge once more, this time in the vehicle lanes rather than the pedestrian sidewalk. That allowed us one last wistful look at the falls. Somehow I’m always a bit surprised when they’re running in the morning just like they were the day before: “huh, I guess they haven’t run out of water yet!” We wanted to beat any rush of hungover American teenagers who visit Niagara Falls for the 19-year-old drinking age (we succeeded), so we waited ’til we reached Denny’s on the American side for breakfast. Oddly, no toll for bicycles, only pedestrians.

We’ve gone through some pretty economically decimated neighborhoods along this Rust Belt tour, and usually one of the primary indicators has been the people in them, loitering on their porches and in the streets on a weekday morning. The US side of Niagara Falls didn’t even have that much. It felt almost entirely abandoned, and the occasional car in a driveway was the only indication that a particular house might be occupied. Rett had warned that the small towns we would be going through in New York would be similar, and though I thought we might come across some cute canal towns, at least for the first part of the day her prediction proved accurate.

At Lockport we dropped down onto the Erie Canal. The towpath trail, mostly fine gravel, with some paved sections, stretches some 400 miles across New York right next to the canal. Which means that it’s dead flat. Not one foot of climbing for miles. So while the gravel definitely slows down the bikes, it’s probably a wash when compared with the ups and downs of the road. The path mostly stays on the north side of the canal, and with the towns tending to be on the south side, it was surprisingly isolated and pretty free of other travelers. So much that Rett was happy to just go behind a screen of bushes right off the trail and strip off her shorts to change to another pair. Or maybe that was more an indication of just how intense the sudden itching was from her first pair. (and maybe partly an indication that a prim and proper city girl can adapt to the practicalities of a more-adventurous life pretty quickly!)


I think Rett was a bit disappointed that the day off yesterday didn’t result in super-speed today, but the combination of trail and headwinds slowed things down. And my past experience has been that rest days show their benefits later and more subtly than you might expect.

We went past Gasport and stopped in Midport (rare is the canal town that doesn’t end in “-port”!) for a late lunch just as the rain was starting. The cafe I’d seen on the maps was closed, but a bar across the street was open, and a guy on the sidewalk recommended the chicken fingers. There was initially only one person working and it was fairly busy, so it took time to get our giant pile of chicken fingers, but that was ok, since the rain wasn’t going to be a quick one. We’d be getting wet no matter what. Rett was looking pretty glum, though accepting of our fate for the afternoon. And we were lucky in several ways: we hadn’t gotten wet yet, the bar had an awning that kept our bikes dry while we ate, we were able to gear up into proper clothing, and Midport was the point where I had already been planning to jump off the trail onto the more-direct NY 31 anyway; the softness and messiness of a wet gravel trail just made that road route even smarter.

So with 14 miles to go we headed out into it. The route was hillier, but traffic (and the road spray that comes with it) wasn’t too bad. The town of Medina (the first actual cute and thriving canal town) was 5 miles in, and I told Rett to look for some sheltered place for a break. Almost like the line of magic port-a-potties from yesterday, the very first place in the center of town was an out-of-business bank with a giant drive-through garage, one of the best bike rain-shelters I’d ever seen!

Then we powered on the last 9 miles to Albion, and the rain lightened a bit, but Rett was doing the best she’d done all day. I, on the other hand, was starting to get a bit chilly in my wet shorts and 59 degree temperatures. We pulled into Dollinger’s Motor Inn, where they have a fun super-spy check-in procedure. There is no attendant, just a phone that you pick up which immediately starts ringing. The voice on the other end gathers your information and then directs you to find an envelope with a codeword, inside of which is your room key. I was glad to see that trust is still strong in Albion, and then even felt fine leaving our wet and dirty bikes outside the room under the nice overhang safe from the rain.

I ran over to the grocery store across the parking lot to gather provisions for another bed-picnic. On the way back, I was surprised to see a guy walk out of a room, since there were no other cars in the lot. Turns out I should have been the last person to be surprised, since he was another bike tourist (with his bike already in his room). We chatted a bit about our respective tours, and I told him about Rett’s improbable journey to this point. He said “wow, it sounds like you should keep her”. Wise advice sir, wise advice. I think I shall!

0 mi /  0 time /  – mph avg. / 0 ft. climbing
Staying at Canuck Inn

It was time for the second of our well-deserved days off the bike. Though unlike Kelley’s Island, we would actually be sleeping at the same place for two nights in a row, and never taking our bikes out of the motel.

So we traveled the old-fashioned way, walking. Breakfast at Perkins next to the giant new billion dollar casino complex (which apparently replaced some nice parkland since the last time Rett was here, making the place much more Vegas-like than she remembered). Then we walked across the Rainbow Bridge (paying our 50 cent toll) in order to be American tourists in America for the day. I had been to Niagara Falls before once with my brother, but we did a pretty quick (and cheap) in-and-out to the viewpoints, so there was still a lot new to me.

First up was Maid of the Mist, the boat ride that takes you right into the mouth of the Horseshoe Falls. While the swarming flock of gulls was exciting too, the moment when the boat turned around and left you with nothing but 180 degrees of white mist and white storm was almost overwhelming.

Then after eating a couple of plums while laying in the shaded grass of the state park, we crossed over to Goat Island for Cave of the Winds. As the sign at the ticket booth helpfully informs you, there is no actual cave behind the falls that you can walk behind; it was removed over 50 years ago, but why update the name of the attraction? Despite the complete lack of cave (and pretty limited winds for that matter), it was an even more powerful experience than the boat ride. You can walk right up to the bottom of the American Falls and get blasted and soaked just as much as you’d like. Water plus gravity is an extremely powerful pairing.





With some time to kill before dinner, we crossed back over to the Canadian side (easiest interrogation so far) and got drinks and a late lunch at Falls-view patio restaurant with some really odd decorating ideas.


We returned to our room and prepared for our fanciest (or at least most-expensive) dinner yet, atop the Skylon Tower in their rotating restaurant (I still wore shorts). After taking the outdoor elevator up to the restaurant, we wanted to wait for an outside table, so got directed to the bar. After ordering our drinks, I shared our menus with the young group of 3 that had pulled up next to us. One of the guys asked about what we were doing in Niagara Falls, and since he said they were from Rochester, Rett was sure this was some one she could say “Skaneateles” to. “Oh wow, I’m from Skaneateles!” Once those words came out of his mouth, we both had prejudged him enough based on his long-haired genial appearance to be sure that he knew Rett’s dad for one reason or another. And, sure enough, he had taken guitar lessons from him, and immediately named Rett’s half-sister, who had been in his class. Yes, cue the “It’s a small world…” music. The random chain of events that led to us finding the common link really makes you wonder how many such links pass by completely unnoticed.

The dinner was ridiculously overpriced, but the views at least made it easier to swallow. We saw the sun setting over the falls, and though there were no fireworks on Saturday, we still saw the lit-up Falls, and eventually dropped to the ground to see them better. Hardly anyone was there to look at this world-wonder in the dark.

But walking back up to the motel, we found out where everyone was: packed along the street of bright lights, bars, and other unnatural distractions of modern life. The only way I could understand it is if I assumed that none of them knew there were incredible waterfalls just a couple blocks away. Does the town you came from not have any bright lights or bars? (though given the 19 year old drinking age in Canada, this might effectively be true for a lot of the bros that were on the prowl.) Apparently the Niagara Falls tourism board isn’t doing a very good job. Oh, or they’re doing too good of a job.

54.5 mi /  5:37:47 time /   9.7 mph avg. /  714 ft. climbing
Staying at Canuck Inn

Some of last night’s groceries served for first-breakfast, which was enough to fuel us on to a second-breakfast at McDonald’s. The lakeshore-vineyard beauty of yesterday began fading into Buffalo’s suburbs, but there was still some pretty lakefront riding. When we first saw the Buffalo skyline (including the row of windmills) across the eastern corner of Lake Erie, both Rett and I expressed some surprise that Buffalo is a lakefront city. It just didn’t fit with my “rusting pile of steel” preconception of Buffalo.

After passing through (and surviving) another “worse than Gary” neighborhood, we took a break at a nice canalside history display, ate some plums, and read the commendably unvarnished tale of the boom and bust of the Buffalo/Lackawanna industry that still plays a large role in the current economic condition of the city and even the whole region.



On the way in to Buffalo, Rett expressed how much she actually enjoys the urban riding, but by the time we hit our third construction detour, she may have been reconsidering. I guess at least they’re doing construction on things! Just like in Cleveland, we went right through the heart of downtown, past the enormous city hall in the middle of a traffic circle, and then were amazed by the blocks-long stone castle (which turns out to be the armory building).


Then, after navigating yet another detour to enter the border zone, we reached the Peace Bridge to Canada. We both had giant grins on our faces when we reached the windy top of the towering arched span (riding on the sidewalk); riding my bike to another country was something not even I had done before.


After talking with so many people on the road about our trip, we cheerfully informed the immigration agent that we were traveling to Skaneateles, NY (from Chicago! On our bicycles!) when he asked, before realizing that he gave not one single shit about all that. He only cared about what we were up to in his country. We then apparently answered his other questions to his satisfaction, and he let us on through. Rett’s passport, which arrived only a day before we left home, got its first use!

The Peace Bridge is at the beginning of the Niagara River/Strait connecting Lake Erie to Lake Ontario, so we still had some 20 miles to follow it downstream until it would plunge over the falls. We got a late riverside-patio lunch at a Chinese place, and then rode down the beautiful parkland that covers the entire stretch of riverfront. Lots of picnic areas, an off-street bike path (more annoying than the road), and well-kept houses that sure made the Interstate highway+industrial American side look like garbage. Rett was kind of flagging as we turned north (and west!) into some headwinds, but we got some drafting going and the miles melted away. We took a break at a riverside picnic table and performed a blind taste-test of the three almost-impossible-to-differentiate flavors of Twizzler Bites. Or maybe just impossible for me, as, after much analysis, Rett got all three right, and I got all three wrong. Drat!

Wait, what’s that in the distance? Smoke? No, that’s the mist rising from the crashing Falls! I really felt like an explorer, approaching the Falls on the same path that the water does, and only getting indirect clues about what lies ahead. Almost no one (except a coyote) was on the path through the park above the falls, so we got to watch the increasingly churning chaos all on our own.

And then apparently a Canadian genie granted us a fairly inconsequential wish (as genies of all nationalities are wont to do): Rett mentioned “I could really use a toilet soon”, and, abracadabra, not 30 meters further up the path, we crossed a barrier of trees, and suddenly both side of the path were lined with dozens of port-a-potties. Unused. Sparkling clean. With hand-washing stations outside. If not a genie, I was sure we had unwittingly sold our souls to some Canadian devil for this over-the-top miracle. OK, it turns out it was for a charity bike ride the next morning, phew! But you bet we took advantage anyway!

And then we were at Niagara Falls! Another iconic moment of our trip.

Coming away from the falls, we walked our bikes up a crazy-steep street and navigated our way to the cheap motel (but with jacuzzi!) we had booked the day before for our two night weekend stay. Doubts about Rett’s passport and our ability to hit a target two weeks out on her first bike tour had prevented us from booking earlier, and that would nearly be our undoing.

Rolling up to the locked and empty office, two drug-skinny women in the courtyard called out “Room 15” for us to check in. I hiked over there, and after a few knocks roused a possibly brain-damaged man from his lived-in room, he grunted a few words to me, shuffled back to the office, and gave me a random key. Only after I mentioned the jacuzzi room did he call the motel’s owner and hand me another key. With drug deals going on in the parking lot as we went to check out the room, I feared the worst, and almost got it. The room had rumpled drapes piled in the middle of the floor, broken mini blinds sitting on a chair, suspicious ash piles on the table, and hair clumps on the bathroom floor. Though oddly, other parts of the room, including the jacuzzi, actually seemed quite clean. We had brain-damage call the owner back (who also had little grasp of English) and demanded that the room be cleaned. Surprisingly, 3 or 4 of the tooth-lacking but friendly workers/residents all jumped into action and pitched in, though we had to help jury-rig the curtain one of them loaned us from her room in order to cover the window. What the heck, we’re used to camping, maybe we can be flexible. But then when we saw things were still dirty, light bulbs, toilet paper, and garbage cans were missing, and, most importantly, that security was clearly lacking around this motel, we decided to take other action. We had assumed that we had already paid for the two nights, but reexamining our booking indicated that wasn’t the case. With the sun getting low, and being tired, hot, and hungry after a 54 mile bike ride, our options were limited. There was one other motel down the block, so we ran over to check it out. While it still had problems (no TV, clock, or drink glasses, ironing board but no iron, and electronic keys that were very odd), it at least felt more wholesome, and the guy at reception appeared to care and be trying. So I spoke once more with the owner of the first place on the phone, told him we were not staying, and expected not to be charged. We grabbed our bikes and luggage out of our room and moved on over. One of the girls who helped clean saw us going, and while she didn’t seem surprised, I actually felt a little bad that the limited effort they put in had mostly gone to waste. It’s hard for me to imagine that they’ve ever seen any non-drug-using visitors actually stay in their motel (there certainly didn’t seem to be any in the hour or more we spent there), but they almost had us.

After all that stress and time, it was past 10pm when we finally walked back into town to get some food; we stuck with the “foreign” theme of the day at the Guru’s Indian restaurant, and the excellent food, plus the bottle of wine, and another drink at a bar on the way back, helped to calm the terror we had faced. Whew, time for another day off!

49.6 mi / 4:53:09 time / 10.2 mph avg. / 1129 ft. climbing
Staying at Lighthouse Inn

Despite not being able to walk all that well in the morning, Rett managed to hobble out for one last lake view of the lake at Lakeview on the Lake, and discovered a baby bunny for a reward.


Breakfast at Freeport restaurant, 5 miles in, and at the bottom of a giant valley, was enormous, though not really by design. The place made their own sausage and bacon, so we had to try some of that (and it was damn good), and one order of sweet potato pancakes would have been enough for the two of us had we known. But hey, put the food in front of us and we’ll snarf it down.

About 5 miles later, we crossed into Rett’s home state, New York. Our reactions, while expressing emotions of similar degree and kind, couldn’t have been more different. She was leaping about with unadulterated joy, so happy to be “home”, and transported there entirely under her own power. I, on the other hand, had tears welling up in my eyes, so proud of her for getting herself in a position to be able to feel that unadulterated joy.

The part of the Pennsylvania lakeshore that borders New York is as pretty as the Ohio-bordering side is depressed. And crossing the New York border, things seemed even better. Greening vineyards stretching towards the dark turquoise lake under the bright blue sky; rarely have I done more beautiful riding than this.

Even better, the border was a shot of adrenaline and pain relief to Rett’s aching knees. Both speed and excitement picked up, and even the frequent creek crossings (that meant another hill to climb) were far more beautiful and natural than they had been even earlier in the morning.

The original plan had us heading for Evangola State Park, but in the interest of keeping various body parts on the mend, we decided to stop at a motel a little shorter, that would also save us some miles the next day. Late lunch was at Demetri’s in Dunkirk, and then we got provisions in Silver Creek, where the grocery store and the liquor store were separated by one of our biggest and steepest hills to date. I expected the $60 Lighthouse Inn to be a standard 1950’s era run-down motel, which it kind of was, but it was also lovingly decorated with a nautical theme, including sailboat lampshades, and a live plant! A thermos full of ice from the office treated Rett’s knees, a found tub-stopper let her get a soak, and we had a nice bed picnic of wine, blueberries, cheese, crackers, bread, and pepperoni. Mmm.

53.6 mi /  5:20:59 time / 10.0 mph avg. / 950 ft. climbing
Staying at Lakeview on the Lake Motel

There’s this cool thing about staying at a bed & breakfast: they serve you breakfast! We got waffles, fruit, and some of the best fresh-baked muffins I’ve ever  had. Oddly, even though the lake was a block to the north, there was a giant one-block hill we had to descend going south. Luckily we got a fairly late start, otherwise my squealing brakes would have woken half the neighborhood. It was a cool, cloudy day, and finally proved that tailwinds and comfortable temperatures wouldn’t be mutually exclusive elements for the entire tour.

We found ourselves riding down a road so quiet and empty that we fell right into a conversation with the mom & pop couple at Buccia Vineyard who were having a good-natured argument about setting up a tiki hut in their charmingly ramshackle front yard. We had a nice chat about bike tourers they’d helped out years ago, got a picture, and then went back to our bikes we’d left in the middle of the road.

We had some pretty good hills to navigate with Rett’s still-aching knee, though crossing into Pennsylvania was a nice distraction. Once we reached the Avonia Tavern for lunch, they were kind enough to get us a bag of ice to cool the knee down while we ate.

When we walked out, the couple of drips we’d felt on the way in had unfortunately turned into actual light rain, and it didn’t feel temporary either. So we tightened up the rain covers, turned on our taillights and went at it. As her first time ever riding through actual rain, Rett was doing a great job, but at one point while stopping for a break halfway up a stupidly steep hill, her weighted bike tipped out from under her into the vegetation on the side of the road. Nothing was obviously hurt but her pride, at least until she whacked her ankle on her kickstand while frustrated over her now-dirtied handlebars. After that though, the whole rest of the way, she impressively kept an iron concentration despite her pain and really trying conditions.

In Erie, we went through a neighborhood far sketchier than anything the people warning about Gary, Indiana could dream up (and once again made it out alive). We had booked a room that morning at Lakeview on the Lake (but apparently wouldn’t be getting much of a view with the weather!) and had already decided we would just order in pizza (another great idea by Rett). But we also wanted a bottle of wine as a salve for the mental and physical wounds. We pulled into a gas station only to find that Pennsylvania is one of those wacky states that only sells wine at government liquor stores. And despite the nice woman working there who really wanted to help us get our drink on, all of the options were too far off the route. So we resigned ourselves to an alcohol-free dinner, but then on our way out of town Rett suddenly stopped at a bar and reminded me that I’d passed along the detail that at least beer can be purchased at bars. So I ran into the happy-hour crowded place, was immediately helped by the friendly barmaid, and then had to figure out how to cart 6 cans of Yuengling the rest of the way. But that wasn’t any problem at all!

After more ice for her knee, and pizza and salad for our stomachs, Rett stumbled out to join me at 8:50 to see the sunset from the high bluff over the lake. The rain had stopped by then, and the sun finally dropped between the cloud bank and the horizon, making our first sunset of the trip quite a spectacular one.

When Rett is particularly struggling, she will draw upon the strength of heroines of literature who overcame great odds in order to survive, such as Scarlett O’Hara or Daenerys Targaryan. Repeating a mantra in order to make it true, e.g. “I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryan, Mother of Dragons…” Whenever the time comes where she will go on her second bike tour, she will no longer need those fictional characters. She will simply be able to say “I am Retta Harms (Mother of Pippin). Nothing can stop me.”

64.5 mi / 5:51:22 time /  11.0 mph avg. /  705 ft. climbing
Staying at Michael Cahill Bed and Breakfast

Since the early planning days, we always had a 65+ mile day lurking in our schedule. It was an unavoidable effect of the distance between Cleveland and Niagara Falls. It was originally scheduled for tomorrow, but after closely watching the weather forecast, we decided to modify the route at the last minute and do the big miles today. Tailwinds of 15-20mph were a gift too good to ignore, so we decided to make hay while the wind blew.

First-breakfast was at the cupcake cafe, and the we were over a giant bridge and through the heart of downtown Cleveland on the tail end of the morning rush. It’s pretty awesome how Rett, riding less than a year, can navigate a big city on a loaded bike like it’s no big deal. We made our way east and north, eventually dropping onto a lakefront path (far less-used than Chicago’s), and then to the east side complement of mansions to yesterday’s west side. Whoa. We thought yesterday’s houses were pretty amazing, but these mansions made it instantly clear that those were the new-money places, while these were the old-money places.

So it was shocking then how quickly the neighborhood changed to a dump in a one-block space, an even sharper divide than the invisible fence that separates Oak Park and Austin in Chicago. Good thing though, because if we had elaborate mansions to gawk at, we never would have survived the roads, which were even worse than yesterday’s, hard as that is to believe.

After second-breakfast in a Euclid diner, we had our first actual encounter with a touring cyclist, Hans, heading the other way. I stayed to chat while telling Rett to go on ahead, since we had so many miles to cover. I felt bad telling him about the world’s-worst roads ahead into headwinds on his skinny-tired bike, but he said Buffalo might be even worse.

On our way into Mentor, Rett hit something noisy, and soon after, her rear tire was going flat. Ugh, another delay on our long day. As we walked ahead to some shade, a local couple on bikes suddenly appeared behind us and asked if we needed any help. We assured them we’d be ok, but as fellow touring cyclists, they stuck around to chat. And good thing too, since one of my spare tubes failed, and Mike and Martha helped out with a better pump than mine, and tire inspection. And if that wasn’t enough kindness, Mike led us on to the nearby bike shop for more tubes, while Martha went home to collect a gift certificate for the bike shop that they otherwise wouldn’t have used. Such kind and generous people! Later learned that, in our haste, we missed Martha’s return with a snack packet, so they were even more generous than we knew at the time.

Climbing hills in the appropriately-named Painesville, the intensity of the sun’s heat was nearly knocking out Rett, so the sudden appearance of a Baskin Robbins provide relief and recovery. A late lunch was had at a classy brewpub in Madison, where I felt bad to not want to risk anything stronger than their pale lager.

The wind really helped, but the last miles were still a lot of work under Rett’s knee pain (on the bright side, the saddle pain is mostly cured!) We rolled up to the Michael Cahill Bed and Breakfast and its very accommodating hosts around 7pm, who gave us ice and essentially the run of the whole incredible house (where no one else, including the hosts, were staying). After some rest, Rett was able to limp down the giant hill a couple blocks to a barbecue restaurant, where I got a beer from Chicago’s Revolution. Rett’s longest ride ever was a success, thanks to her flexibility, effort, and positive attitude!

56.7 mi / 5:31:22 time /  10.3 mph avg. / 620 ft. climbing

A spatter of rain in the early morning was enough to justify our stay in the motel over the campground to ourselves. First-breakfast was continental at the motel (Cheerios!), and second-breakfast came at a cafe 14 miles down the road. I startled Rett by jumping up when I saw four touring cyclists pass by outside, the first we’d seen all trip. I think we might have finally joined up with Adventure Cycling’s Northern Tier route.

After breakfast, when the coffee/milk/water was putting its maximum pressure on our bladders, we almost missed the fanciest historical public toilet building ever, because who has a fancy historical public toilet building? We saw the 4 Tourers go by again as we stood outside, but they were too fast and far to have chat with.

Most of the day was spent hugging the Lake Erie shore, with a line of properties between the road and the water. Some pretty impressive lakefront houses (and the occasional enormous power plant) drew our gaze, and thankfully we finally had a pretty strong tailwind after few days of headwinds to keep us going forward. Unfortunately that means we returned to the heat of the earlier days as well. Despite the never-ending string of residences, there we almost no commercial properties, so I guess those must be further off the lake. I kept expecting cute lakefront businesses to pop up, but they never did, so we were pleasantly surprised when last-resort lunch at an ugly strip with a big parking lot turned into one of our best so far. $8 lunch specials (sandwiches) at a pretty fancy Italian place, plus an arugula salad (Rett has started craving more veggies).

It took a long time for actual Cleveland to appear, and we entered on a Riverside Rd. whose bridge towered over the river below. Who knew Cleveland had such heights? At least from the west, it’s a  much easier city to enter than Chicago, where the suburbs create a nearly impenetrable barrier to bikes.

After some slightly dodgy areas and some even more-dodgy road surfaces, we hit a section of literally miles of well-kept Victorians just waiting for Dennis to move into them, taking advantage of “the Cleveland Discount” on housing (we later looked at a real-estate office and saw some fairly-decent houses for sale for less than $60k).

We were staying at the Cleveland Hostel in the trendy Market District. Booked some time ago, it was a stop I’d been looking forward to for a long time. Even more exciting was that we arrived exactly on schedule after a week of riding! What a great job by Rett to make it happen!

The hostel, just opened last year, is almost more of a boutique hotel than what you might traditionally think of as a hostel, especially since we got a private room (with a  very clean and modern shared bathroom). Unfortunately we didn’t have time to take advantage of the expansive communal kitchen, or socialize with other guests in the common areas, though we did definitely take advantage of the laundry facilities. Their website said they had bike storage, but what I didn’t know is that there is a discount (10%?) for arriving by bicycle. How cool is that? If I ever stay in Cleveland again, I’ll definitely be going back there.

And the bike-friendly hostel was far from the only thing “Portlandia” about the area. Within  a couple blocks were an award-winning cupcake place, a high-end meat market, a Monster Burrito, and no less than 3 brewpubs! I had originally planned to go to the big one of the three, Great Lakes, but after Rett pointed out the Nano Brew with bikes in the window on our ride in to the hostel, I had to look them up. So check it out: not only do they offer half off your first beer if you bring your bike helmet, they also have an on-street bike box for locking your bike, and best of all, a bike stand and tools inside the bar where you can work on your bike for free while having a beer.

Rett’s kickstand had been coming loose for the past few days and needed to be tightened, but it required a larger hex wrench than I had in my tool kit. So obviously we went to Nano Brew. Funny thing was, while they had the tool I needed, they didn’t have a smaller hex wrench I also needed for the repair, and the fact that I had one in my bag back at the hostel wasn’t any help. Luckily, another bar patron (who I later learned was the proud owner of a week-old Surly Long Haul Trucker) was quick to offer his. We got the kickstand tightened, had some beer, and chatted with a friendly group of mostly computer-programmers. Unfortunately all that dallying meant that Rett’s appetite had dwindled, or she was just reaching her limit of fried food, so she didn’t enjoy it quite as much as I did. But it was awesome to hear her discussing local cycling conditions with those guys (“25th St. is the worst!”) as naturally as if she was a grizzled and experienced bike messenger! Hell, the fact that a girl who didn’t know how to ride a bike a year ago can even talk about riding on bad big-city roads in a city not her own, much less on a loaded bike after 50 miles of riding, is pretty ridiculous and amazing.

I don’t know about the rest of it, but from what we saw (and if you ignore the dreadful condition of the roads), much-maligned Cleveland turns out to be a pretty cool city.