August 18, 2004
All Roads Lead to Rome, Don't They?
Baldwinsville to Little Falls
After ten hours of deep sleep, I awoke to yet another day of perfect weather. Surely the bike gods will make me pay. On the road by 7:30 I quickly came to a stop at the B'ville Diner, my third diner in three days. After making a pig of myself (if I keep this up I'll have to switch from Advil to Lipitor), I headed out on the road to Oneida Lake. I cruised along Bike Route 5 through Belgium, Euclid, Clay and Cicero, where I stopped at a gas station mini-mart for my usual healthy provisions.
On I rode to Bridgeport, yet another town with bad roofs in need of patching. Along the road, I saw a sign lamenting the cause of a central New York landowner. It seems the Seneca Indians are using their casino revenues to revisit some land ownership issues from colonial expansion days. As I understand it, the Senecas have taken legal action to reclaim thousands of properties that they say were not acquired using proper legal procedures. This casts into doubt the title of these properties, greatly reducing their resale value. The uncertainty from these disputes almost certainly is contributing to the economic woes of the region.
After 20 miles of riding south of the lake, Oneida Lake finally came into view, only to disappear behind lakefront property. After a few more miles it came into view again from its eastern shore. It occurred to me that over the last 30 miles I never saw the Fairfield Inn and saw very few places to camp along the way. Staying in Brookville turned out to be a good decision.
After State Bridge and just before Verona, Route 5 turns north toward Rome. At the turn I stopped for lunch at a restaurant with a 3-D sign of a steer. After last year's tour, I had come to understand that cheeseburgers are a biker's friend. The cheeseburger at this place was excellent. (Frankly, after riding over 200 miles in less than three days, a cow patty probably would have tasted good.) After stocking up on water and more dubious food, I continued on in the direction of Rome.
Rome was known in my high school days as the home of a high school hockey powerhouse. That's all I knew about it. And apparently that's all I will ever know. I took a turn in Stanwix and missed the bridge over the Erie Canal into Rome. For some reason the Bike Route 5 signs continued on the south side of the river anyway, so I didn't realize my error until I was many miles east of Rome.
As luck would have it, my misrouting lead me straight to Oriskany State Park, where a Revolutionary War battle took place. The signs claimed that the Battle of Oriskany was the bloodiest battle of the war. The battle, fought in significant part by Indians on both sides, was won by the British, but it was a pyrrhic victory. Soon thereafter the British forces in central New York retreated to Canada.
Just past Oriskany, I crossed over the Mohawk to get back on route. Along the way I saw my first bike tourist headed the opposite way. I slowed hoping to trade information but he continued on without stopping. I continued along with help of the wide shoulders and smooth pavement. All across the center of the state traffic gave me ample room to ride. Nevertheless, it was hard to get lost in moment when every minute or two my serene ride was disrupted by a car or truck zooming past at 50 miles per hour.
After apparently riding through Maynard, I entered Utica. The Mowawk flows straight through this town once celebrated for its hometown beer. I had been to the part of Utica on the south side of the Mohawk a few years ago and remembered it as a bombed out, depressing place. I was happily surprised to see a rather charming, if dated, section of town on the north bank of the river. I must have passed a dozen fifties-era motels (called motor inns in these parts) along this stretch. Come to think of it, this stretch wouldn't be a bad location for a black and white film noir.
I was still feeling pretty strong so I decided to pass up these fine accommodations and ride on to Herkimer. Somewhere between Utica and Herkimer my right knee, which normally doesn't complain much, started giving me fits. There was no warning, it just decided to go on strike. The knee didn't seem to want to move through its full range of motion. I decided to slow down, spin lightly and hope the trouble would rectify itself. Fortunately the discomfort dissipated over the next several miles. Crisis averted, Nellie and I rolled on.
Herkimer is one of those places I'd heard of a million times growing up, but I never actually knew where it was. Now I do and I can check off another of life's great accomplishments. Feeling fine, I resisted temptation and passed up the chance to really 'do' Herkimer, and headed out for Little Falls. Along the way I kept an eye out for bandit camping opportunities. As nice as the Mohawk Valley is for riding, it really is quite swampy. Cattails lined both sides of the road.
According to my map, the next chance for camping would come at Fort Hunter 35 or so miles to the east. I decided to see what Little Falls would bring in terms of lodging. Just south of Little Falls I stopped at a beverage center and asked about motels. I was told the only place nearby was a Best Western in Little Falls. I bought a Gatorade by way of thanks and, after passing a sizable billboard advertising the Best Western, headed down a 1-2 mile long hill toward town.
The Best Western seemed to be the only game in town and at $80 a night it was priced accordingly. I really didn't want to spend that much but, rationalizing that it was my 49th birthday, I checked in. My room had a noisy air conditioner, a torn bedspread, a tub that wouldn't drain, and no refrigerator. To add to my comfort, the hotel lacked a pool and a laundry room.
After dropping off Nellie for a nap, I headed out to check out the town. I talked to a 20-something woman outside the hotel. She complained that there were no jobs in town that paid more than $6 per hour. She said she didn't want to move but had no choice. It was a depressing discussion.
Little Falls has many beautiful old buildings, relics of a prosperous time that ended a generation or two ago. I walked all over town looking in vain for a laundromat and finally stopped at a gas station mini-mart. I bought what the Asian Indian clerk described as an oil can of Labatt Blue. I moseyed down to the riverside where attempts are being made to dress up the buildings that appeared to be the oldest part of town. Here I saw active locks on the river and a sign noting an old pre-Erie Canal that bypassed the rapids of the Mohawk in the 1780s.
Back at my room I washed my clothes by hand in Dr. Bonner's soap. Then I headed out for supper. I almost immediately found a huge Laundromat across the street from the hotel. A block away I found a pizza place called Ruggiero's. I bought a mushroom pie and, after eating a few slices, headed back with my boxed Italian breakfast in hand. Needing appropriate libations, I wended my way back to the mini-mart for another oil can. In the mini- mart I talked to the clerk who grew up in Agra. I told him I'd been there and elsewhere in India. He showed me a cherished old black and white snap phot of himself as a little boy standing with his parents in front of the Taj Mahal, where he used to play as a boy. Later he moved to Singapore, Germany and England and somehow ended up here in Little Falls. You would think he'd be down after living in all those exotic places, but he seemed pretty happy. Little Falls is what you make of it.
Today's ride: 86 miles (138 km)
Total: 263 miles (423 km)
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