the bird, Mark goes to prison, under his eye

September 12, 2022

I slept well for eight hours, then lounged around for a while planning the rest of my trip and reading a book. Today will be another short day so there’s no hurry to get started.... I’ll either be hanging out either here or wherever I end up, and this is as nice a place to be as anywhere else. I considered increasing the number of daily miles in order to get to Montreal early, but why? A bike tour isn't about the arriving, it's about the getting there.

So, instead, I just sat in the gazebo watching the rowers on the river gracefully sliding back and forth.

Eventually, I gathered up my motivation, then my gear, and had everything loaded up and packed into the panniers around 10:30. As I always do, I took one final look around to make sure I hadn’t left something, usually a small item that got overlooked.

It was then that I noticed my giant ground cloth, spread out and drying, still unpacked about fifteen feet away. Just a slight oversight.

I ate brunch at the Old Saratoga Eatery, chatting with the waitress for a few minutes, and got the “I couldn’t ride around the block” comment we all so frequently hear.

At 11:30 I finally started riding, and a couple of minutes into the day’s pedaling I realized that I’d overeaten.

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river on the right, canal on the left, with some algae

a view from the bridge in the picture above

I'm keeping an eye out for snowmobiles, but haven't seen any yet.

The Riverside Cemetery is actually very picturesque, and the pictures don’t do it justice.

On Cary Road, between Fort Mill and Baldwin Corner, I glanced down a blacktop side road and saw a couple of guys beside loaded touring bikes, one of whom was waving at me, so I turned around and rode over to introduce myself.

Nick (72) and his son Derekson (45) were taking a break in the shade of one of the few trees in the immediate area.

Of course, the topic of Nick’s son (why not Nickson? or Nixon?) being named Derekson eventually came up, and I learned it’s an old family name.

Nick started his solo trip in Seattle and is traveling to Boston; Derekson drove out yesterday to finish the ride with him. We chatted about bike stuff, and he told me he’d just met a guy who’s touring with only a hammock, and no tent. Having read a single book a couple of months ago about hammocking (if that’s a real word), The Ultimate Hang 2, I now considered myself to be one of the world’s top experts on the subject, which is even more impressive when you consider I’ve never actually slept in one. Even so, I didn't offer any comments on the topic.

The concept of using a hammock is intriguing; however, I love spreading out my stuff inside a tent. It somehow feels like my own little kingdom. Plus, you can (almost) always find a place to pitch a tent. Even being extremely creative, unless your rope is 2-3 miles long, which might be problematic on a bike trip, I suspect there are places where you'd be unable to hang a hammock. Ideally, I'd like the option of selecting between a tent and and a hammock each night, but then I'd have to carry both.

Although Nick mentioned a hammock, he's using a Big Agnes tent with a massive vestibule. It's apparently large enough to accommodate his bike, all of his gear, his extended family, and a large section of Connecticut.

Since Nick and I are on the older end of the spectrum of bikers, we also chatted about how many more years we’ll be able to continue touring. His comment was, “I look at older bikers and think, ‘He’s 75 and still going, so I should be able to keep riding until that age.’” I wondered at what age that stops. “That dude is 93 and a half, and I’m only 93. I’m takin’ a six-month tour tomorrow.”

When he found out I was from Iowa, he asked the same question I get every time someone finds out I’m from that idyllic state:

“Have you ever done RAGBRAI?”

I pointed to the jersey I was wearing with large letters across the front spelling out the word "RAGBRAI" and said yes, back in 2009. After talking for a couple of minutes more, Nick looked at his phone and abruptly announced, “I have to text someone.” Then started texting. Apparently I’d been dismissed, so I took my leave.

At the bridge in Fort Ann I stopped to eat a Clif bar under the gazebo as I watched the ants get very excited about the crumbs I intentionally dropped. Even as interesting as I found their industriousness to be, I got a bit sleepy and dozed off for a few minutes on the bench.

At Fort Ann, the route leaves US Route 4 for a few miles, climbing into the hills, then circles back to USR 4. The spike in climbing is at Fort Ann on this section

Immediately after exiting Route 4, the path turned to gravel and became very steep.

For some sections, the nice scenery along the top of the ridge was difficult to look at because of the road, all washboard gravel with potholes, requiring continuous attention. The downhills were almost as slow as the climbs for fear of slipping and taking a spill.

you can't really see the washboard or the potholes in the gravel

At one point, I could see Washington State Prison below me, and I eventually pedaled right past it before getting back on Highway 4. You can see the ridge I rode on behind the prison

I was curious as to why it's called "Washington State Prison" when it's located in New York. I learned it's in Washington County... so, it's not WASHINGTON STATE prison, it's washington STATE PRISON. (It's not WeedSport, it's WeedsPort)

When I arrived back on US Route 4 the shoulder was nice and wide at first, but it became increasingly narrower with a lot of large vehicles whistling past me.

I'll be staying in Whitehall (pop 4035) tonight, which was the first settlement on Lake Champlain, in 1759. It's also notable for having been named the birthplace of the U.S. Navy, if not by the Navy, then at least by the New York state legislature.

The first settlement AND the ostensible birthplace of the Navy? But wait! There's more!

Whitehall also boasts The Grey School of Wizardry (perhaps boasts isn't exactly the right word).

The school was founded in 2004, six years after the first Harry Potter book was published, and now has more than 500 classes in 14 departments. The school's headmaster and founder is Oberon Zell-Ravenheart, who was originally named Tim Zell. The name change was probably a good idea, because what kind of wizard cred would a guy named "Tim" have??

The first settlement, the birthplace of the Navy, AND a school for wizards? What's not to love?!?!? Now if I can only find a place to pitch my tent.

The forecast calls for overnight rain and I was hoping to find some kind of pavilion or boat cover at Champs RV Park on the other side of town so I wouldn’t have to pack up a wet tent in the morning. On the way through Whitehall I passed a large pavilion, and kept it in mind as a possible location if the RV park didn't work out.

I pedaled through Champs Park, but there were only RVs and campers nestled next to each other on both sides of the short gravel road. Nothing there could be remotely used for cover so at the end of the lane I turned around and rode back to the pavilion at Riverside Park to check it out.

The covered area was large enough for seven or eight picnic tables, and had a hefty-sized brick fire pit in the center. Thinking of Pat from last week, I didn’t know if it would be okay to pitch a tent in a public area like this and pictured a local cop swinging a baton as he encouraged me, a vagrant, to “move it along, son.” Or, at the minimum, a guy with a paunch riding up to me in a security golf cart apologizing that, "I need to tell you that we don't want any bikes here."

Of course I realize those scenarios are pretty farfetched, but it illustrates my introversion and wanting to be invisible, just a shadow in the background, watching.

I also considered just throwing my sleeping bag, sans tent, under a picnic table or onto the covered fire pit, but when I mistook one of the local mosquitoes for a dragonfly, its proboscis like a 20-gage needle, I decided a tent was the better option.

I could also wait until dark to pitch my tent, hoping that no one would notice me, but there were a couple of issues with that: (1) there were enough lights to keep the area well illuminated, thus ensuring any passersby would see me, and (2) there were several cameras.

Even with my elite criminal skills, it would be hard to sleep there and not be monitored. And even if the cameras were fake props, I'd still feel like I was Under His Eye.

It was time for dinner so I took my stove over to the amphitheater to cook some Sweet Pork and Rice (800 cal). It’s silly, I realize, but it just felt a little creepy knowing someone could be looking at me on the monitor all the time, so the amphitheater seemed a better option.

plus, it's a nice location for dinner in itself

Whitehall is a quaint-looking community. This is the view from the pavilion. The mansion on the hill is named Skene Manor, after Philip Skene, a British patriot. The town was originally called Skenesborough, but the name was changed after the American Revolutionary War because of, you know, the "British patriot" thing.

While my meal was rehydrating I walked across the street to the Fire Station. Surely someone there could tell me the rules for camping in Whitehall. It was empty, and my "hello?" echoed in the large bay. A scruffy guy came shuffling in from the back of the building, and I asked him if it would be okay to spend the night in the pavilion across the street.

“I dunno. I’m just washing my car,” he responded, as if that explained why some random dude is using the Fire Station as a place to clean his car. He added, “The people you really need to ask are the police,” then pointed down the road to the police station. I thought about making the hike but decided against it, partly because my dinner was ready, but also because with the cameras staring down at me they likely already knew I was there and could tell me to leave if they wanted. But, of course, mainly it was because I’m lazy and didn't want to walk down the street.

I pitched my tent in the darkest spot under the pavilion, again noting the subtle smell of tuna fish on my mattress pad even though I'd cleaned it. I read until 11:00, then fell into a surprisingly deep and uninterrupted sleep.

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distance:   41.3 miles
total time:   5:59:01
moving time:   3:32:57
maximum speed:   28.1 mph
average moving speed:   11.6 mph
calories:   1731

Today's ride: 41 miles (66 km)
Total: 450 miles (724 km)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	6
Comment on this entry	Comment	4

Gregory GarceauRAGBRAI does seem to be one of the few things that out-of-state cyclists know about Iowa. One time, while on tour in New York, I mentioned growing up in Iowa. I got this response: "Ah yes, the state with the potatoes."
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1 year ago

Mark BinghamTo Gregory GarceauI've heard similar comments ("Iowa Buckeyes, right?"). I never correct them because I'd like to keep this place a secret. :-)
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1 year ago

Gregory GarceauTo Mark BinghamHey Mark, in what part of Iowa do you live? You don't have to name the exact town if you don't want to--a little hint will do--but I've been curious about that ever since you told me you lived in that fine state.
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1 year ago

Mark BinghamTo Gregory GarceauAs a soon-to-be-famous Pulitzer prize winner for your writing, I'm sure you're as tired of the paparazzi as I am. However, even so, if you wait a couple of weeks I'll be posting something that will tell you where I live within a small radius. As I was writing it, I was thinking that of all the people I know, Greg Garceau will appreciate this journal more than anyone else.
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1 year ago