13.0 miles

I couldn’t sleep in — I was too anxious. I got up and nervously watched the weather radar on TV. The severe storm was moving closer and closer. I wanted to get going, but my family was meeting me on the town square at 9:00. I paced the room and watched out the window as the sky grew darker.

At 8:50 I rolled the bike to the extremely slow and extremely small elevator. It was full and I had to wait for it to come back. All my nerves were on edge, and I was actually shaking with impatience. As I checked out of the motel, it began to rain. When I rolled out the door, there was thunder and lightning. I considered that I might have to skip the last 13 miles of the trip.

I backtracked a block on a side street so I could ride into town on the main street. On the square, my family huddled under a store awning, waving and cheering. And a fine surprise — my daughter had come from New Mexico to celebrate with me.

After end-of-the-trip pictures, I transferred most of my load to the car, keeping just the front bags so I could carry tire repair items.The sky miraculously cleared, and I decided I would be able to close the loop on the bike after all. My family drove home and I started pedaling the final miles.

With just one-third load, I felt like I was flying. I remember thinking, “Hey, bicycling really can be fun.” For most of the way I was grinning. But the first couple miles were quite emotional, and I rode with tears running down my cheeks. I cried out of relief that the ride was over. I cried out of regret that the ride was over. I cried out of love and appreciation for my family. I could never do my adventures without their support. It felt good to be home.

60.0 miles

Today was so much better than yesterday. It was sunny, and the wind was not quite as strong.

After yesterday’s experience with rough roads, I abandoned my plan to take the scenic route today. Instead, for the first half of the day I stuck to main roads that were direct, had a bit of a shoulder, and were generally smooth. By the time I turned onto county roads, I was far from city traffic, so the complete lack of shoulder wasn’t a problem.

Many people think Ohio is flat, but it’s not. I probably did as much climbing yesterday and today as I did in all the Adirondacks. They were short climbs, but numerous.

I rode past farms with cows, soybean fields, and tall corn beginning to tassel. It may sound funny, but it smelled like Ohio. I rode past lots of farms all around the country on this trip, and they always smelled familiar, especially the dairies. But this was different. This was the smell of Ohio dirt, made more noticeable by recent rains.

Each mile brought me closer to familiar territory. The maps that were my lifeline for the past year became unnecessary when I realized I could name the next crossroad before I reached the intersection.

The plan was to spend tonight in Orrville, OH, and then ride the ten miles into Wooster tomorrow for a hometown sweep before riding to Mom’s house to close the trip loop. But I got to Orrville early. The weather was nice, but forecast to be nasty tomorrow. I decided to go on to Wooster, but stay at a motel on the east side.

I turned west on Rte. 30. Wow — what traffic! I saw a sign I hadn’t anticipated: No Bicycles. But that was for the new 30, which I hadn’t intended to ride anyway. I was going to ride the old new 30 (or new old 30), not to be confused with old 30. Let’s just say I would ride the Lincoln Highway.

I’d only been through that area a couple times since they built the new 30 bypass, so I wasn’t sure how to access Lincoln Highway. It was easy to find, though, and I was soon out of the traffic and on the rough, but quiet, old road.

It was fun to ride past familiar landmarks and to anticipate staying in a motel in my own hometown. But, oh-oh. The first motel was booked. So was the one next door. A phone call revealed that even the old motel that everyone always forgets about was full. I’d ridden all the way around the country, and this was only the second time I wasn’t able to just walk in and get a room. I could have had someone come pick me up and take me home, but I’d worked hard on this timing, and getting ahead of myself would have ruined the finish for me.

I ended up with the last room in the motel right downtown. Now, instead of riding in from a couple miles out tomorrow, I’m already here on the main street. I guess I can sleep in.

53.5 miles

It was raining lightly when I walked next door for breakfast, but by the time I got on the road, it was only slightly misty. I headed south into a light headwind, and eventually the sky cleared a bit. It even got almost sunny for awhile. Unfortunately, when the rain stopped, the wind got stronger.

I never knew how bad Ohio roads are for bicycling until I rode in other states. The roads I traveled on today were rough, the shoulders were too narrow, and drivers wouldn’t move over.

I took a break in Mesopotamia, OH, in the heart of an Amish community. I visited Ohio’s oldest general store. It had a little bit of everything, including some brands that are no longer sold elsewhere. The cemetery had some of the most unique hand-carved headstones I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t get pictures, though, because my camera stopped working.

After riding west for awhile, I was in a pretty sour mood. The wind was so strong, I felt like I was pedaling in slow motion. There was a lot of long, slow climbing — something I haven’t done much of lately. A light rain began as I rode into a small town, where the intersection was blocked by a big truck and a tow vehicle. While I stood waiting in the line of traffic, it started to downpour.

It’s one thing to ride in the rain; it feels really stupid to just stand in it. I crossed to the sidewalk and went to stand under the awning of a gas station. The rain promptly stopped. Soon traffic got moving and I returned to the road. Immediately it started raining again. Yes — a very sour mood.

I’d had my friend Jim checking on motels in the town I planned to stop in. He found out there weren’t any, so I had to alter my route and head for a town farther away. At 4:00 it was apparent that I wouldn’t make it until very late. Since I was riding in Jim’s territory, I called him; he picked me up and delivered me to a motel in Kent, OH.

52.0 miles

The sun tried really hard to break through today, but it wasn’t quite strong enough. The wind was light and out of the southeast, which helped me along most of the day.

In less than 20 miles, I crossed the state line into Ohio. I found a small cafe in Conneaut for breakfast. Everyone in the place knew everyone else. It was one of the few times I’ve seen a table of old women having morning coffee in the local diner — it’s usually old men.

The ride through Conneaut was pleasant, on a nice road through a quiet residential neighborhood along the lake. Ashtabula was a different story. I knew it was an industrial city, and it lived up to my low expectations; it wasn’t pretty, and the streets were the worst since Richmond, VA.

At last I reached Geneva-on-the-Lake, one of my favorite Ohio towns. It’s Ohio’s oldest resort town. The main street is lined with shops, eateries, arcades and other amusements, rental cottages, and tiny motels. Strolling through town almost feels like a stroll through the 1950s.

I stopped for a rest break at the park and was befriended by an extended family having a picnic in one of the pavilions. They sat me down and fed me sloppy joes, pasta salad, muffins, and fruit. I would have stayed longer, but the wind was picking up, and rain was imminent.

I pedaled on through town, then turned south, leaving the north coast behind for good. Now I really felt like I was headed home. I got sprinkled on as I pedaled hard through the town of Geneva, and reached the motel by the interstate before I got too wet.

46.3 miles

I got up, I ate breakfast, I rode, I got rained on. For some reason it was a hard day for me — maybe because it’s been almost two weeks since my last day off.

Riding through Erie, PA, took a lot out of me. Traffic wasn’t really that bad, but the city just didn’t feel good to me. It’s as if it was stealing my energy. And it seemed to go on forever.

I had thought I would make it to Ohio today, but I was too worn out. By noon I felt like I’d ridden all day. In Lake City, PA, I looked for the motel that was supposed to be there, but the locals told me it had been closed for years. They directed me south “a few miles” to the closest motel. It turned out to be more like eight miles, and it was into the wind. But it’s a nice place, fairly new. It’s out in the middle of nowhere, and very quiet.

62.6 miles

Sunshine, gentle terrain, and a bit of tailwind — it doesn’t get much better. It was a fun day of riding. I passed miles and miles of vineyards, and often had views of the lake. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lake Erie that color of blue before. Is that becasue I usually see it at Cleveland?

I reached my planned destination early and decided to go on for another 15 miles. It would have been a shame to waste that tailwind. I entered Pennsylvania, and four miles later turned south to the town of North East. Heading east on Main Street, I expected to find the motel right at the edge of town. Instead, I had to pedal three miles into the wind to get there — almost back to New York. If I’d known, I could have cut south at the state line and saved myself some miles.

63.0 miles

I continued south this morning, toward a bank of black clouds. I checked the map and saw a way to alter my route; I turned west for awhile, keeping north of the dark sky. By the time I had to turn south again the clouds had blown through. The road was damp, but I rode in sunshine.

Since leaving the canal, the terrain has been gently rolling, so I was surprised when the road suddenly dropped into a creek bottom. The other side steepened so quickly I couldn’t get shifted down far enough, and I had to climb standing up. At the top, a jogger cheered me on with congratulations for the tough climb.

Then I was westbound again, fighting the wind. Not being a big football fan, I didn’t realize the significance of my location until I was pedaling past the Buffalo Bills’ stadium. I’m sure glad it’s not football season — it would have been real ugly riding through there on a game day.

It was bad enough as it was. This area was very unclear on my map, and I was counting on being able to feel my way through. But just past the stadium, my route was closed. I don’t like to blindly follow detours on the bike, so I went into the bar on the corner, got a Pepsi, and fished for information. The worst part was that it was a very busy area, with several major roads and heavy traffic. I didn’t want to get stuck on a road I couldn’t ride on.

The bartender thought I could probably get the bike through the construction area, so I gave it a shot. There was no easy way to get through the barricade, though, so I cut through a car dealership. On the other side, I lost all sense of direction. It was a place where three roads intersected, and with all the orange cones and detour signs, I couldn’t tell which road I was on or which way to go. I decided I’d be on the right track if I rode into the wind.

After a couple of turns I found a street wtih a name I recognized from the bike map. I followed it and somehow found myself inside the construction zone. I wasn’t going back. I shoved the barricades apart and squeezed the bike through. Finally on route again!

In just a couple miles I was staring at Lake Erie with the wind blasting me in the face. I turned left on Rte. 5 and grimly pedaled along the shore. I couldn’t wait for the turn-off four miles ahead. There was lots of traffic, with many intersections to be alert for, and the wind pummeled me sideways. Then, when I turned onto the smaller road, I thought, “Oh, no — put me back on 5!” There was no shoulder, the edge was broken up, it was hilly, the wind was worse, and traffic brushed by way too close.

As soon as I found a street that I was sure went all the way to Rte. 5 (I knew better than to try the one named Crescent Terrace), I escaped the shore. To my delight, I was now beyond the congestion on the main road, and it was much nicer riding wtih a wide shoulder.

Somehow I had miscalculated today’s mileage and ended up riding about 20 miles more than I’d expected. It was late when I reached the motel in Angola, NY, and I was tired.

46.1 miles

The rain moved through overnight, leaving behind strong wind and chilly temperatures. The sun made it just tolerable. I made my way back to the canalway, but the rain-softened trail along with the headwind made the pedaling too hard and too slow. After a mile I went back to the road for less rolling resistance, though I still had to push against the wind.

Near Medina, NY, I went back to the trail so I could walk under the canal. I didn’t know which road went there, but when I saw one named Culvert Road, I thought that was a pretty good clue. The canal and the towpath crossed the road on an aqueduct. Water leaked through and dropped on the road below, but not too bad, considering the aqueduct was built in 1823. I know the ancient Romans had aqueducts all over the place, but I still think it’s an amazing feat.

In Medina, my nose led me to a diner for lunch. I had a hot turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables. It can be hard to find a homestyle meal in a restaurant, and this one was very satisfying.

The sky had been full of dark-bottomed clouds, and by the time I left the diner, they had merged into one huge black cloud. I could see little patches of blue beyond the edge, and I wondered if I could ride out from under it before it started raining.

I had turned southward, leaving the canal behind, and I no longer had a headwind. The wind didn’t exactly help, though, as it pushed on my right side. I was just reaching the edge of the cloud when a new one developed overhead. It seemed I wouldn’t be able to outride the weather. Cold, fat raindrops fell. I thought I was really in for it, but it didn’t even rain enough to wash the towpath dust from the bike.

I unexpectedly came across a motel near Corfu, NY. The sky was still very dark, and didn’t want to risk getting caught in a cold rain, so I stopped for the day.

48.1 miles

Now that I’ve ridden more than 15 miles along the Erie Canal, I think the bike has earned the right to the name Sal. She’s a good old worker and a good old pal. Yeah, so now you know what song was stuck in my head all day. It gave way a couple times to “Hi-ho, the boatmen row…” and, when I bicycled under Buffalo Street, it switched to Buffalo Gal. It’s like being back in fifth grade.

It still hadn’t rained, but it was overcast and cool all day — just right for bicycling. The wind was calm, and the path was flat and fast, especially on the paved stretch around Rochester.

In Fairport, the path went under the Main Street drawbridge. At the other side, a set of steps went up to continue on the path. The instructions on my map said to walk the bike up the ramp. I looked at the concrete ramp at one side of the steps and thought, “You’ve got to be kidding!” It was so steep and narrow I didn’t think I could push a naked bike up, much less a loaded one. I was game to give it a try, though, and after first testing the ramp for slipperiness, I took a run at it. There was no way; the bike skidded back to the bottom. It crossed my mind to backtrack and find the streets to ride around this obstacle, but sometimes I’m just stubborn. I took the front bags off and wrestled the bike up the steps.

The sky started spitting rain around 1:00, and I rode hard to get to a motel in Brockport, NY, before it really rained. The bike and I were both covered with a coating of white powder from the trail. I was glad to get several days’ grime showered off.