Category: 2016 Northern Tier: The ride

Hello Canada!  We followed a bike trail along the Niagara Parkway for most of the day until the skyline of Niagara Falls was visible. Passing into Canada was a quick check of the passport, and then a hustle through a turn stile before walking our bikes over the long bridge that connected New York to Canada. Niagara Falls was beautiful and for the first time during this trip, we were surrounded by thousands of international tourists all enjoying the sights, smells and mist that surround the area. We took a long break walking our bikes along the edge of the falls. The power and movement of this water is spectacular. About ten years ago Matt and I took our first trip to Niagara Falls seeing it from the New York side. It was our first road trip together on our way to see my family in Maine. I remember the falls sparkling through a rainbow mist, and the feeling of damp cool air soaking into my dreads. My youthful eyes were filled with joy and excitement and anticipation of this new love and romance. Now, ten years later I look upon the falls with aged eyes. The raging waters create clarity and calmness while the sea of languages enrich my senses! I feel the strong mist soak through my short hair and I can’t help but smile at the love in front of me behind the camera lens.  Many people say the view of the falls from the Canadian side is better than the view from New York. I can’t remember how it looked ten years ago from the opposite side, but the view before me is spectacular and still fills me with a youthful joy and excitement!

We left the crowds and traffic of downtown and entered the quiet streets towards the hostel. We got to the hostel around 5 and were surprised to see the N.Y crew’s bikes. They had come in that evening and it was good to catch up about our rides the last two days. We set up our tent in the back yard of the hostel and biked over to the local brewery for dinner. We were back by 10 pm and  asleep soon after that.

Today the rain storms caused us to end our day early. What was going to be a short break to get out of the weather at Evangola State Park turned out to be a long day inside the tent. The rain continued throughout the afternoon and we decided to get a spot next to the lake. We hung our clothes inside the tent to dry as we listened to the rain come down all around us. We ended up eating fresh cucumber and cooking dinner of Mac-n-cheese using our Emberlit ultra lite wood burning stove. All of the twigs and sticks around us were soaked, but we were still able to get them hot enough to boil water. This stove, given as a gift from Scott, has been a lifesaver.

New York has been a haven for fresh produce stands along the road side. Many of these stands are on front lawns and look like they were picked right from the gardens in the back. Many times there are just donation boxes or small signs with prices. Beets, squash, cucumbers, tomatoes on every block. It is so refreshing and reminds me of the tables filled with Florida citrus during the winter at home. The cucumber we are eating tonight came from a man who was sitting out on his lawn. As we rode past him he shouted at us and asked if we wanted any tomatoes or cucumbers. I quickly stopped and turned the bike around. He gave us more than we could carry,  and we thanked him! The best cucumber and tomatoes of the trip and a great snack to eat waiting out the bad weather.

In June, the quaking aspen was the first tree I really took notice of. It shimmered on the roadside, its leaves trembling as the wind swept through it like the chill that runs through your body at the first touch of cold–that uncontrollable shake that runs up your spine. The quaking aspen appears forever caught in that tremble, its round leaves moving like a thousand tiny tambourines. The aspen showers the roadside with vibration, with life, with motion.

I haven’t seen the quaking aspen since Montana. Its territory rises into Canada in the high plains of the Dakotas, before dipping back down and wrapping around the Great Lakes.  It spreads across New England. With any luck, we’ll be greeted by the quaking aspen in the next week, as we begin the long ride northeast towards the Atlantic coastline of Maine. I imagine it waving and trembling as we pass, its whole being shimmering and reflecting cool, oceanic winds.

In the absence of the aspen, there has been the weeping willow. The weeping willow is an ornament of the Midwest. It will dominate a front yard, a green mound both shiny and pale. It will be tucked away in an abandoned lot, surrounded by growth but still standing alone. It will be old and it will be young. The willow hasn’t lost its place in this landscape. It speaks to the people who live here. When cycling, the weeping willow draws me into its shade. I stretch in its rounded branches, pulled down towards the earth. It sweeps me with the passing winds. I am a weeping willow, my limbs bent in sorrow, my soul swaying in grief. I am ornamented on the road, my eyes forward and down, my legs circling rhythmically.

—

I think what bothers me most when a car passes too close is the quick and low value placed on my life. In those seconds before a vehicle passes, the driver decides. The driver decides if my life is worth three feet. If my life is worth the fifteen seconds it might take to wait for an approaching vehicle to pass. The answer comes in the whistling of wind and the roaring of an engine as it says, no, fifteen seconds is more valuable. No, the space in this lane is more valuable.

The day we called, I had to explain over the phone just what her life meant. We had to place a value, a quality, on that life. How can a driver, in the short time before it is upon us, make such a weighty decision, such a decision where fifteen seconds and three feet holds more value than a life? I still struggle with the finality of our choice, now months past. I still struggle with those days when we thought the pills might be working, when we thought our will might be strong enough, when we clung so fast to hope, when we clung so desperately to the smallest sliver of driftwood despite the unavoidable waterfall up ahead. I still struggle with the moment when the signs were undeniable. When it wasn’t just hot out, she wasn’t just panting, or tired. Still we clung, even when we could see the falling water in front of us, could hear nothing but the roaring of rapids.

I just can’t shake this sadness, this grief. It has been a constant presence since the high plains, muffled by the cycling of podcasts throughout the day. There is something about the loneliness of the fields, the openness of the sky, the monotony of the farmland. Jodi has been stronger than she should have to be on these days, dealing with my moodiness and quick frustration. In these far-reaching fields and open skies, it feels as though the world is too big to not have our dog in it.

At night, when the stars are only just beginning to orient, when dusk is just beginning to deepen, I lay there with teeth clenched and wet eyes. What percentage of sadness leaves the body in sweat? Whatever amount, it is too low. It is not enough. I want this cloud to dump its rain. I want this rain to soak the ground, to steam upon the ground, to cool the air and to add gloss to the leaves and sponge to the bark. I want this rain to clap, viciously and loudly with thunder, to rattle the sky, to roar against the sky with ferocity. I want this storm to bring life, not to hang there, heavy and humid, stalled and slowly evaporating.

Good God, how I love this. How I love being out here with my wife, my partner. How I love waving at the people in their yards, waving at the children as they play outside their homes, caught off-guard and intrigued by these two mirages passing on the road. How I love that we are so fortunate to have this experience, to share it with family, to make friends, and to laugh and to play, to push ourselves and believe in ourselves. How I love every day of this.

Three States in one Day! Yeah that’s right we finished our tour through Ohio, made a quick straddle through Pennsylvania and have finished our day in New York. We had great biking weather, clear skies and temperatures in the high 80’s. We continued our day on Lake Road that kept us close to Lake Erie with wide shoulders and nicely, newly paved roads that brought us over the Ohio border into Conneaut, Pennsylvania. We then followed highway 5 on and off for the rest of the day and took a nice bike trail through the town of Erie before crossing the state line into New York, our 12^th state. As the rolling hills of Pennsylvania brought us up toward New York, we started to see our first of many vineyards and a ridge line to the south. We settled into camp and took a quick swim in the Lake. The wind was blowing hard from the west and the lake looked just like the Atlantic. Rolling waves held my mind in distant memory of the salty sea, and for a brief moment I was back at home.