June 26, 2023
A Wet Jaunt through a Bit of Canada
Middleport to Buffalo
I woke up with the birds, sort of. As usual I barely slept in my tent but somehow it was 5 a.m. The weather forecast called for thunderstorms at 8 so I packed up my things, grateful that everything was dry.
I said goodbye to The Erie Five and headed west on the canal for Lockport. It was a pretty ride but the towpath surface was muddy in spots making for slow going.
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In Lockport the path is paved. At the very end of the canal the path goes straight up. I mean a 10% grade or steeper for a few hundred feet. I went to shift into my granny and the chain wouldn’t move. I resorted to pushing The Mule up the hill. I realized that the wet limestone grit on the trail had gummed up my front derailer.
At the top of the hill I started looking for a hose to get the grit out. Unbelievably, the town had a little park set up for canal riders, and in it was a hose hooked up to a fire hydrant. The hydrant had two pressure reducing valves attached to keep people from damaging their bikes. It worked like a charm, freeing up the movement in the front derailer.
Next up was breakfast. Lockport has some sketchy looking diners. After two duds I found a good one and ate eggs and sausage and toast and home fries washed down with coffee.
After breakfast came more bike maintenance. I cleaned and lubed the chain and put drops of oil-based lube on the cables to free them up.
I hit the road, traveling due west for the Lewiston-Queenston bridge to Canada. The skies were darkening. I stopped to put on my rain jacket. A man in his driveway told me a bad storm was coming and I should seek shelter. He suggested at a gas station about a mile ahead on the Tuscarora Reservation. He said that after that there was nothing for miles.
I took my chances and kept riding past the gas station. What rain there was was very light. The road took me straight to the bridge to Canada. After 15 minutes in line, I was admitted to the Great White North without ceremony. The immigration agent had an Ontario accent. How odd that language changes so noticeably in just a mile.
After a bit of confusion getting out of the border complex I found the Niagara River Trail that took me north past massive hydropower operations and a botanical garden.
A few miles late I arrived at “The Falls” as the road signs say. The place was very crowded as expected so I walked The Mule past American and Horseshoe Falls.
It took quite a while to extricate me from the crowd. Every time I thought I was clear of the throng a bus would stop and disgorge another wall of people.
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Once clear of the tourists I switched to the Niagara River Parkway. Traffic was very light and I started making good time until the black clouds ahead and I met.
Pouring cold rain with thunder, and eventually lightning, mixed in for atmosphere.
In no time I was soaked. The only thing to do was to keep pedaling so I did. It was a residential area with no place to shelter except an ice cream parlor. I feared that if I stopped I’d get hypothermia so I kept plowing into the storm.
By the time I reached the Peace Bridge to Buffalo the storm had passed. I was a good boy and walked The Mule over the bridge. It must have been a mile. Customs and Immigration was by the numbers, soon I was following my Google master to the hostel smack in the middle of downtown Buffalo and only a mile or so off route.
I promptly threw all my clothes into the washing machine and took a hot shower.
What a day. At least I can now say I’ve ridden outside the U.S.
Tomorrow promises more rain. Why not?
Today's ride: 64 miles (103 km)
Total: 1,995 miles (3,211 km)
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