Week ending July 5, 2009

As we pedal along thinking our thoughts and thinging our thongs, certain issues or subjects recur - so, in order to spread them out, we felt we should share them with you, dear reader.

The car drivers remain, for the most part, very courteous. The occasional idiot can be spotted approaching, usually driving a truck (badly) and wearing a baseball cap (badly). 

The roads, which were littered with black and orange caterpillars wriggling across the tarmac in New England in May has given way to small bits of bark, which fall from the numerous trucks and wagons carrying sawn timber or logs across the country. The forests are so large here, use of this resource is obvious. Apparently in Wisconsin, for every tree cut down, two are re-planted. There is a great mix of coniferous and deciduous trees, which makes for a harmonious effect reminiscent of parts of the UK.

An average farm in Wisconsin or Michigan includes a sprinkling of the following elements:- large, neatly mown lawns; full scale plastic deer statues in various poses situated under trees; muck spattered concrete roads past white clapboarded farmhouses leading to silos and cow sheds behind; an occasional rabid dog; large red barns made of wood, though sometimes with a stone base, which tend to be in a worse state fo repair than the farmhouses adjacent; trucks, tractors and cutting machines of all shapes and sizes, usually painted red; and various old vehicles abandoned and disintegrating in a field next to the farm. These places overridingly add to the character of rural Wisconsin and Michigan, though the space between farmsteads in eastern Wisconsin is far greater than in other places, which furthers the pastoral scene.

Being astute individuals, we’ve also noticed how the condition of the roads is directly proportional to the volume of traffic they carry…  We therefore look for the holiest, lumpiest, most useless strips of concrete or tarmac available - and can be sure that we won’t be bothered by any vehicles. It strikes us that in some parts of some States, the highways teams have either forgotten where the roads are, or how to repair them.

Wisconsin features, at least in the eastern part, more metalled roads than Michigan, the State with the least tarmac that we’ve seen. However, as we left Marshfield this morning, we found the tarmac dried up and gave way to red earth on all but the road were were riding. Each pair of side roads featured 10″ of tarmac, and followed by miles and miles of earth.

Joy noticed that the flowers have opened and in some instances have changed. Lupins have disappeared now that we are in late June, though Day Lilies have been seen for the first time. Forget-me-nots also died back in New York. Seeing the seasons slowly change as we ride is something unforgettable about travelling so slowly through a country.

The male Chicadee (a common US bird the size of a sparrow), which followed us from Maine and then stopped singing in New York, has once again found us in eastern Wisconsin. Whilst difficult to prove, we don’t think it’s actually the same bird that’s followed us…

Turkey Vultures are now more commonly seen wheeling above us, patiently waiting for us to fall off our bikes, and the Osprey that we saw at the weekend outside Stevens Point is apparently becoming more common, the further west we ride.

Our awareness and understanding of the places through which we travel is reinforced by the people we meet along the way. It is interesting to note that some people  consider the friendliness of the locals will improve the further west we ride, while others tend to think the friendliness of the locals will disappear and be replaced by large guns, the further west we ride. All we know is that so far, people across the spectrum have been courteous, interested, friendly and generous…  Except of course for those drivers whose brains were removed on receipt of their drivers’ licence.

Week ending June 29th, 2009

Ludington is a pretty little town, but the 6,000 population belies the size of the place, which could as easily have accommodated 30,000 in Britain. We sat by the rather snazzy new harbourside, with its condo’s and yachts, before cycling onboard the SS Badger, a coal-fired ship which has carried passengers non-stop across Lake Michigan since 1953.

SS Badger, docking at Ludington, Michigan

Because of the time change from Eastern to Central, we arrived at 11pm rather than midnight. It was a 4 hour crossing, and in the middle of the lake we could of course see nothing but water. Manitowoc, pronounced ‘Mantwoc’ was quite a functional place, but stood no chance in a beauty contest. The saving graces were the library, the Rahr West museum and art gallery and the West Botanical garden. Only the first two however had air conditioning.

We stayed at a very respectable, clean and cheap motel, the $40 Econolodge, situated right downtown, which was so well air conditioned that we decided to stay two nights.

Leaving at 7.20 in the am, in a vain attempt to avoid the worst of the heat, we headed along a most beautiful stretch of land. In Michigan, dairy farms dotted the place at an average of every 100 yards, their silos projecting skywards at every turn. In Wisconsin however, the number of farms dwindled, as each farmer owned more land. The rolling hills and deciduous trees reminded us in part of Sussex and Kent.

A traditional farm in Wisconsin

Wisconsin is known as the Dairy State, and for good reason. Crops which we had witnessed regularly in Michigan including corn, wheat and strawberries gave way in large part to grass, which was cut and stored as silage, for winter food for the thousands of cows that live here.

We arrived in New London, which didn’t look at all like old London, and found another air conditioned motel. It was far too hot to camp. At 8am today we saw that the temperature had reached 80*f. Our attempt to avoid the heat had failed. We had covered 88 miles and were properly hot.

The next day, we left even earlier…..I hadn’t realised that there was a 6AM, as well as a 6pm until I was awoken by Joy, eager to get going. At a place called Amherst we met Dave, whose name we had been given by Michael in Maine, with whom he had cycled across the States last year. Dave had biked out to meet us, and we then we all rode back to his home in Plover, in central Wisconsin.

We met his wife Karen, and were welcomed into the cool interior of their lovely house, in the suburbs of southern Plover. As a fellow cyclist, Dave realised that a shower and a cool drink were our initial requirements, during which time Karen put our clothes in the wash. Marvellous. We spent the afternoon chatting and then off to the local restaurant for some traditional Polish influenced, Wisconsin-style Fish and Chips. And given that the micro brewing industry is up and running in Wisconsin, we felt obliged to sample a few of the wares…

In the simple life of a cyclist, there is little better than a shower, clean clothes, a drink and some food. We retired and looked forward to a kayak trip the next day down the Plover river, to the north east of the town.

Paddling was a great change to pedalling, and the meandering river and colourful wildlife held our interest. After a picnic lunch and a trip home, Dave wanted to show us the nests of a Bald Eagle and an Osprey. A quick drive through town found us in the car park of a paper factory on the outskirts. Apparently paper factories are vociferous campaigners for conservation, and plant many more tresss than they cut down. Perhaps as a result, an eagle’s nest was obligingly situated on top a large white pine tree. We saw three very large, but immature birds, sitting close to the nest, looking rather like gangsters in trench coats. The view was amazing. They were non-plussed and sat around ignoring us.

A short drive away, an even more amazing view awaited us. On top of a telegraph pole, a metal frame had been erected for Ospreys to use as a base on which to build their nest. The pole was one of many followed a wildlife path, which encircles the town, and on top of the pole sat the parents and a single chick, being spoiled by mum and dad.

Ospreys and their chick, central Wisconsin

Karen rode with us the following day to Rudolph, where we saw a cheese factory in action. Cheese is a big thing in Wisconsin, but by the time we began pedalling again, the wind was our main concern. North westerlies gusting at 25mph were not appreciated, but the rolling scenery helped soften the blow. We managed 55 miles, having set off at 10.30am and arrived, rather tired, in Marshfield, in the centre of the State.

Week ending June 21, 2009

We pedalled along the far western part of the Erie shore, and the wind blew across our left shoulder all day long. We met another chap named Bob. We stayed with him in his trailer by the lake, and had a fantastic dinner, along with cups of tea with Jean (an ex-pat who made real English-style tea) and her husband and son. Bob rode a recumbent, which looked rather scary alongside our traditional upright bikes, but he made it sound simple.

Bob, Joff and recumbent

It rained that night, and the next morning, it continued where it left off. We got wet as we moved north west up the St Claire River, which divided the US from Ontario. We took a 15 minute ferry to Marine City, a small town with lots of its own rain. Customs was easier here than Lubec in Maine. He thought us as odd as the other border guards had, to be cycling to Argentina, but I think this guard actually knew where Argentina was.

Whilst soaking the carpets in a cafe by the water, and chatting with the friendly owner, he mentioned that he had an apartment over the shop which he would let us have for $50- as we were cycling. It usually retailed at $100…. we thought about it for 2 seconds and agreed. The room had an en suite whirlpool bath and shower, a lovely kitchen and lounge. All very comfortable, and quite welcome. We dried out, watched the weather channel on TV and went for a pizza. Another fine day. 

Marine City seemed somewhat run down, but there was a good cycle path which took us north. We rolled on, wathing the landscape change from roughly flat to pancake flat, which reminded us both of the Fens in England.

A family event in St Clair, up the road from Marine City

As the number of trees increased, glimpses of England again appeared across fields, grain silos on the horizon reminiscent of church towers in Norfolk; the sound of sparrows and starlings reinforcing the Englishness of a Michigan landscape.

We covered over 50 miles and stopped for a milkshake at a small village called Brown City. The lady in the cafe suggested we stay at the recreation park that night. We pedalled down there on her advice to find a hive of activity, as groups of 5-10 years olds, both girls and boys, playing T-ball or mini baseball. It was good to see so many of the towsfolk out enjoying the weather, though one little girl, fielding for a team who saw no action (because the other team were singularly useless) wanted to sit down and play with the grass.

We had pizza and chatted to the inquisitive locals, then found a quiet place on the playing fields to set up camp. I wondered whether the name of some of the villages reflected the aspirations of the founding fathers, who anticipated that thier village would become a ‘city’, in much the same way that the Vikings named their new found island ‘Greenland’ in an attempt to woo more of them to the icy wastes - whilst Iceland was so named to discourage others from finding the green and pleasant valleys.

From Brown City it was a long day and 83 miles over gently undulating countryside, dotted with farms and individual houses, before we were rolling into Bay City.

A picturesque and common sight in the Michigan countryside

A big place for us, it took us a while to find Dan and Ellies place, a lovely house from 1903 in the leafy suburbs to the south of downtown.

Dan and Ellie welcomed us warmly and took us out for dinner to a local diner, whilst we left a load of clothes in the wash machine. 

Dan is completing the conversion of his third electric car, the web link for which I have included on our homepage. Fantastic venture, he has also converted a motorcycle and a bike.

Dan, Ellie and Joy

We left their peaceful home on the saturday and cycled across the city to find another couple whose names we had been given by Michael, way back in Bar Harbor, Maine. Jerry had cycled across the country last year with Michael and he and his wife welcomed us to their home at lunchtime.

We were slowly simmering in the early summer heat, so was glad for the air conditioning. In the evening we met their daughter and son in law and went out on the river in their boat. The town has seen better times, but the old housing reflects the rich history of the lumber barons, who created the wealth in a State which relied and continues to rely so much on logging for its income.

When we hear on the television of the depletion of the worlds rainforests, I was entirely unaware of the expanse of both deciduous and coniferous forest that cloaks the north of this huge country. From Maine to Michigan, the villages and farms have literally carved their way out of the trees, and much of the prehistoric treebelt remains in tact (though of course much has been replaced as felling and replanting has occured.)

We headed north west to a small community in the woods called Lake George. Most of the campsites in this part of the world are situated inthe woods. Despite green space being available, apparently Americans and Canadian enjoy camping in the trees, amongst the mosquitos and bears which, to be fair, I have seen few signs of…

Undulating country lead us to LeRoy, a lovely little town with its share of Amish folks living around and amongst the general population. We said hello to a couple as they carried out their duties. A girl in a pretty bonnet walking by the road, in a scene straight out of the late C19th, and an old farmer with a huge white beard sitting on a horse drawn grass cutter. The horses were large beige Belgians and slowly walked the field as the man and his machine cut the grass to make hay in readiness for their winter feed.

Apparently, according to Roger, who bought us dinner that night at the local bar, the Amish folks have their own schools, usually the traditional one-room types which are slowly disappearing from the country, and they only attend until they are 15 or 16. They don’t go to college or university, but are expected to be baptised during their teenage years after a brief flight from home, when they sample the wider world. If they come back and are baptised they are welcomed, but if they don’t return, then aparently they are shunned by their families and the community at large.

Roger, the owner of the hardware store, and his friends, invited us to have dinner with them, and we had a relaxing evening discussing life, the universe and the quality of steak and corn; which was absolutely marvellous. Roger insisted on paying for us, which was very kind of him. We then visited his hardware store to see the original shop, from the late C19th, with a Victorian cash register, barrels still full of C19th nails, and photos of the people who set the place up.

The only downside to our brief visit to LeRoy was the motel room - which we couldn’t  complain too bitterly about, for $30… still, certain evasive action was required… sandals in the shower and sleeping on top of the beds in our silk liners were in order. You get what you pay for, but the smallprint on the receipt didn’t mention bedbugs or verucas.

Ludington had been a name on our lips for a few days, as the place where we caught the ferry to Wisconsin. We covered the 71 miles by 3pm, and then sat in the furnace-like heat and drank a milkshake - followed by another. The half gallon bottles of choccy milk that garages sell are very tasty, and cost less than the equivalent bottles of unadulterated milk. Mmmm. We don’t look too closely at the ingredients, but haven’t, as yet, begun glowing.

Lunch took place in a local diner and soon we were in conversation with Robert and his daughter, who were climbing the highest peaks in all of the 48 contiguous States in the US. They had so far completed about half, and were on their way to Tomms Hil in Wisconsin to bag another. As we left, Robert insisted on paying for our lunches. Another lovely gesture, which only reinforces the kindness of strangers. We hoped to meet both of them in Minneapolis, en route west. Thank you very much Robert and good luck on your joint quest!

Week ending June 14 2009

At the Walmart we discovered, much to our amusement, that the shop was not a ’super supermarket’ and as such, does not sell fruit and veg - though fried food, pharmaceuticals, clothing and tools were all there. My abiding memory of the shop was seeing a lady the size of a small country wheeling a trolley out with two pizzas in it, sitting on top of a hula hoop (’so when I’ve eaten my lunch, I’ll just do some exercise to burn off the calories…’). Yeah, right.

Lake Erie is the shallowest of the Great Lakes, but it’s had its fair share of marine fatalities. Various memorials to the men who have drowned followed us along its length. 2 campsites later, we find ourselves in Port Dover, watching the evening strollers go by before heading to our campsite for the night. A pretty little town, we’ve discovered that our maps show little distinction between ’smart little resort town with a lively atmosphere and plenty to see and do for the evening, to ‘hole’. This is a bit of a flaw in the program, but one with which we cope…

Poppies alongside Lake Erie

At Dunnsville, we met Randy Thompson, the owner of Buckner’s sport shop. We needed to meet him, as I was somewhat peeved that my indestructible tyres managed to accrue 4 holes in one go. I toiled in the sun, in Main Street in Port Colborne, another of the smart towns that we came across, only to discover the next morning that my efforts were in vain. The tyre required pumping every two miles, so thankfully Randy’s place was only 12 miles away. Or 240 pumps. He removed the tyre - which was very hard to take off, it wasn’t just that I’m a weakling…. and replaced the inner. He insisted that as we were doing the ride for charity, he would only charge us for the parts. Decent chap. We then stood with him and his son and watched a parade through town which lasted at least an hour, and consisted of everything from one man and his dog to dancing girls. It was tough to leave, but a big breakfast was calling.

some things are just meant to be...

Port Stanley, 62 miles further down the coast, is another town with a lively atmosphere. Margaret and Bob very kindly put us up for two nights here. Their lovely, unique timber cottage sits on Main Street overlooking the river and here we cleaned our bikes, did computery stuff and relaxed - which was very handy as the sun shone, our legs ached, and we felt like a break. We even washed our clothes, for which the local residents were very grateful. The following day we all cycled out of town and said our goodbyes. The road was clear, the sun shone and it felt good to be on a bike.

Bob and Joff outside Bob and Margaret's lovely home overlooking the river

To date, we’ve done 1440 miles. Time flies as we crawl along, but day by day the west coast gets closer. The hospitality of the people we meet, and the colours and shapes of the landscape continually change, and it all helps us to cover the miles. Today we cycled through lush green land similar to parts of Norfolk or Cambridge, followed rapidly by a landscape similar, I imagine, to North Dakota - flat, hot, with arrow straight roads heading into the mirage, and trucks rushing by us.  

At one campsite we stayed the other night, we met Rob Dalton (a real life relative of the famous Dalton Gang, but a lot friendlier) and his family and friends. He said that if we needed any help, we were only to ask. The next day as we pushed our bikes out of the campsite, his friend Peter gave us $20 for a decent breakfast, and a couple of cans of beer. What more can a man want..? Marvellous.

Week ending June 14, 2009

New York came and went. The Erie Canal, with its 350 miles of off road towpath cycle route, was lovely - and quiet. We pedalled over the (very high) bridge and into Ontario, Canada.

The bridge over which we rode, as seen from the Niagara Recreational Path

Customs was simple, as was the route into Niagara Falls. A dedicated cycle route called the Niagara Recreational Path showed us the way into town: though we hesitated cycling right into its heart - the lights, the traffic, the action… it was all a bit too much like a ‘city’ for backwater folks like us. We poled up to a motel on the edge of town. We wheeled the bikes in to the room, showered and braced ourselves as we took the shuttle bus into ‘downtown’. Piece of cake. After the obligatory look at the American and the Horsehoe falls we had some dinner (ok, a couple of bagels with cream cheese, spread delicately by Joy’s finger, as she’d forgotten the penknife….) and then we wandered back to the shuttle bus, easily avoiding the allure of the casinos and the all-you-can-eat dinners - which actually appealed quite a lot to me. The natural wonder of the place was certainly worth the effort, but the gaudy, artifical wonders were not. At least, we thought, the development of the strip, and its colourful illumination, was kept back from the edge of the valley into which the Niagara carved its way. The hotels and casinos sat patiently beyond the falls a quarter of a mile, giving this part of the thin but long Niagara Park a leafy and very verdant breathing space on which people promenaded all evening.

Us (and the Horseshoe Falls in Ontario)

We moved on next morning. We took the Recreational Path all the way down the side of Niagara, which offered some lovely - and quite different - views of the falls and the city from the south west. As we cycled on, the shape and the size of the place diminished and the natural beauty of Niagara re-appeared. Then we got to Fort Erie.

As we needed our bikes fettling, and I didn’t want to get my hands dirty (or struggle with the technicalities of limiters and brake stretch) we popped into Cycleman.com, run by Steve. Great guy, and what he doesn’t know about fettling isn’t worth knowing. The bikes ran smoothly after that, and in thanks, we added his link to our site. If you happen to be in Erie, and need some work on your bike, Steve’s the man.

It began raining at about 4pm. It didn’t stop. So in recognition of this, we had a burger in a Wendy’s restaurant. Marvellous. And then we splashed out on another motel instead of pitching tent in what was rapidly becoming monsoon season. I like tenting, but there are limits. Rain, mosquitos, bears (or the idea of bears) and no shower blocks all contrive to put me off. Whilst Joy is more hardy than I, even she had to concede that it was raining properly and that we should get to somewhere dry. The chap in the motel assured us it was only a short downpour, but by10pm it was still raining. Heavily.

Thankfully, it did dry up next day. The reconstructed Fort Erie appealed to us, and re-enacters took us around on a personal tour, fired the canons and muskets and explained the war of 1812 - which was, according to those in the know, an entirely futile and utterly pointless undertaking, based on squabbles over land. Funny that.

Excellent visit to Fort Erie

Apparently, when the Americans and the British/Canadians/Iroquois had killed sufficient numbers of the opposing teams, they all went to Ghent in Belgium, to sign a peace treaty, which essentially set the international boundaries on the line at which they were before war began. But at least Britain remained Great.

Week ending June 14, 2009

Pulaski had a grittiness that we had been ushered away from, in the rather more refined places we found in the mountains. It was a good place, yet the motel we stayed at (albeit it was only $50) had a few residents within the sheets which we hadn’t anticipated. They bit, and we could only scratch.

The scenery continued to open out, day by day, so that the big skies and verdant landscapes, which had always been there, began to appear more noticeable. Pine trees disappeared. Deciduous trees became more numerous. The wind also began to have fun slowing us down, rocking us from side to side and even, on occasion, speeding us along as it blew from behind.

Fairhaven, a quaint and rather expensive lakeshore resort, saw us camping in one of NY State’s 178 National Parks. Huge and well maintained, we actually pitched on grass, with the delightful omission of mosquitoes or blackflies. Marvellous. We had the customary soup, custard, hot chocolate and tea for dinner (we couldn’t face pasta again quite yet) and were asleep in the bright light of a sunny 8pm.

We cycled off to Palmyra, where another Warmshowers contact awaited us. The village is apparently unique in that it has 4 churches on the 4 corners of its main street, all facing each other in a picturesque religious stand-off. Dale and Nina greeted us and gave us tea and offered us a lovely place to stay. Thank you both very much. The food was again lovely and the conversation interesting. Dale gave us advice on the route west, in such detail that he could tell us the names of the campgrounds he’d recommend, 3000 miles away.

After a much needed rest on a comfy, clean bed, we set off on the start of several days cycling along the Erie canal path, which has been turned into a walkers’ and cyclists’ mecca, stretching several hundred miles from central NY State, to Buffalo. We whizzed along, wind assisted, at 15mph. Lunch called, though we swiftly moved on, skirting the southern edge of Rochester, possibly a lovely city, but from the canal path only a distant noise. It seemed to take ages to get round the city, but we eventually stopped for afternoon tea in Spencerport, at the exact moment it began raining. A charming little canalside town, the bar did good hot choc for only $1.50. We sat and watched the rain, but as we left, the sun came out. We covered the last 8 miles to Brockport quickly and, because Joy had trapped a nerve in her shoulder the evening before, making cycling somewhat testing, we settled for a motel - this time with no unwanted guests - and a leisurely continental breakfast in the reception area the following morning.

While we bimble along, meeting people and thinking thoughts, there is happening a slow realisation that what we are doing is different and quite ambitious. People on a regular basis struggle with the proposed scale of the trip and many question the sanity of those involved. We look regularly at what we have achieved and what we have to do, and wonder whether we can really do it, and how long it’ll take us….

Having said that, we also consider the other side of the discussion: we have only been pedaling a month and have completed more that 1150 miles. Our plan to cover 250 miles a week is quite achievable, and in so doing, we’ll get to Seattle before mid September. All we do is 50-60 miles a day, 5 days a week and bingo, we’re making progress.

Our leisurely morning sees us buying food (bagels, cream cheese and pasta…) visiting the town library, and cycling along the path towards Middleport for an evening’s camping.

So far so good. The constant thread that runs through this trip is the enduring friendliness of everyone we meet (well, 99% ain’t bad) and the positivity it gives us each time we chat to someone about the trip and the cause. We still need to visit more newspapers, like the Three Counties Advertiser in Brockport that we intend seeing this morning, to advertise Duchenne, but slowly slowly we are getting into a pattern, which includes rest days, publicity, FOOOOD, and the constant search for accommodation. We’re certainly having fun, and remain thankful for what we’ve seen and who we’ve met.

The wildlife is another pleasant surprise. We saw tiny hummingbirds in Maine, and still see them on occasion in NY; as well as vibrant birds in yellow and red; Bald Eagles at close quarters have eluded us, but we still have a few miles in which to see a few…. We also saw a turtle depositing her eggs in a hole in the mud on the side of the Erie canal yesterday, which was one of those David Attenborough moments - we even found ourselves whispering to the camera; then we saw some groundhogs, curious, furry little ‘critters’ that have little interest in passing cyclists - they just look at us, and continue eating.

We still haven’t seen moose or bear, but are happy with that, given the tales we’ve been told about their temperaments. However, Montana will no doubt oblige us on both counts.

Week ending June 7, 2009

Well, tomorrow did arrive. Judy and Dan invited us to stay another night. Oh, alright then. We all went for a great hike up a local hill that day which provided some wonderful views of the Lake Champlain Basin, with the Adirondack Mountains beyond. The longer we could put off cycling up these big hills, the better, we thought….

Dan, Judy, Joy and the view across the Adirondacks to the west

We had another lovely dinner at a  local pub, and planned to meet Judy and Dan in Guatamala sometime in February next year. We finally set off, at 10.30 the following morning. Joy noted that whilst we had said goodbye to our friends at home, it was quite a surprise to be saying goodbye so many times to newly made friends over here too.

The further away from their home we pedalled, the sadder we felt. Vermont was lovely, the scenery picturesque and the company grand. what would we find in the State of New York?

The ferry across the Hudson to NY State

A 7 minute ferry ride across the Hudson saw us enter the State, and the land around Fort Ticonderoga, which saw a lot of action during the period leading up to the Revolutionary war.

We visited a Walmart store - just for investigative purposes, you understand - and then, in our rather glum moods, booked in to an overpriced motel in town.

Hoorah. Breakfast. Pancakes, homefries, sausage, maple syrup with toast - and tea. What more does one need to set one up for some cycling..? Strangely, we only managed a few miles to Newcomb and another State run forest campsite. Oh good. Gravel to pitch our tent on - a campers favourite - and blackflies and mosquitoes came to visit. They didn’t leave when requested. It’s fair to say that I wasn’t the happiest camper on the site - but, as Joy is almost hysterically happy and positive all the time, and we were the only two in the place, there wasn’t much competition.

After more climbing into the Adirondacks proper, and as the trees closed in on us almost visibly, we expected to see Moose and Bear. But we saw nothing, except trees and sky. The occasional glimpses out of the trees that were offered were however worth the hard work. The view back over the Green Mountains, and forwards over more mountains, was poetic, if not entirely welcome.

Raquette Lake was our destination for lunch on June 3. We pulled in to this sleepy little village on the lake and into the only bar we could find. We began chatting to a lovely couple over the bar who had moved up here from the towns, and it was news to hear that even the locals had trouble with the flies. We had begun to think it was only tourists that they enjoyed feeding on. Anyway, following a good lunch and a great chat, the couple insisted on paying for us. This was entirely unexpected, and only reinforced our view of the friendliness of the people in this part of the world. It was no use discussing it, so we gratefully thanked them and left, just as they offered their place to stay the night if we had no luck en route.

We did however find a motel in Inlet, where we washed some clothing, had a drink in the village, and fell asleep before dark (which is apparently about 8.45pm at the moment).

The last few weeks really have been a whirlwind. Time flies, we meet some lovely people, the scenery is worth every pedal push and the goals, of having fun and enjoying the ride, are tangible at every turn.

June 4 saw us pedal a smooth piece of tarmac to Old Forge, also known locally as The Town of Webb. After breakfast we rolled over to the local newspaper where we met Marilyn Monroe, the editor, to discuss our trip. (Google ‘The Adirondack Express’ next tuesday, June 9, for an article featuring two rather tanned cyclists from overseas). I was somewhat surprised by her name, and of course had my photo taken with her. (which is to follow in due course….)

A long uppey and downey but beautiful ride  saw us emerge from the forest to discover, too late, that the Adventure Cycle Association map, which showed a camp site in the village of West Leyden, HAD LIED TO US. It appears that the campsite hadn’t been in existence for roughly 20 years according to the locals. Handy.

We scouted around for the local church, and then for somebody in the vicinity to ask, for permission to camp there. We would be gone by 8am the next day. Would leave no mess. The lady we asked, Lois, said that we could camp in her garden. And have a shower. And would we like a cup of tea with our dinner?

After a shower, a cuppa and a lovely chat, we realised that it was Lois’ birthday. She received lots of phonecalls, and had a special get together arranged for sunday - but that evening, thursday June 4, she was doing nothing. We were her guests and, she said the following morning, had made her day. This was a very special visit, and further reinforced the kindness of strangers. We had breakfast together the following morning, and pedalled off across her lawn, at 9.30. Thank you, Lois, and happy birthday. We hope sunday goes well.

The route between West Leydon and Pulaski was rather sad. The depressed state of things here was very noticeable in the condition and size of the houses - which mostly consisted or caravans and trailers - along the route, and the volume of rotting metal in the gardens. Old Chevvy’s and Dodge’s were being subsumed by the earth, old houses literally falling down, rather than just in need of some paint, and The barking dog syndrome, which had blighted part of our trip in the backwoods of Maine, had returned. Only these dogs didn’t really seem up for the race, once they had got to within ankle biting distance; which was nice.

The usual breed of man’s best friend in this neck of the woods seems to be the Rottweiler, followed closely by the Alsatian, a bit of a whimp by comparison (but let’s not tell anyone I said that, eh..?)

WE REACHED 1000 MILES TODAY. We took some photos of the cycle computer and my wristwatch to corroborate the evidence then pedalled on, buoyed and invigorated by the achievement. What we were doing was worthwhile we thought, and so far, had been very enjoyable. And not very painful.

Lunch, a vital part of my day, saw us at Cindy’s a great little diner on the village of Orwell. Huge scrambled eggs, sausage, homefries and toast coming right up. As we sat eating, and chatting to the couple sitting adjacent, we told them of our trip. When asked, we said that yes, we were doing it for charity. Which one, they asked? Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. The chap said that in the late 1950’s his brother died of Duchenne - and that his nephew, who is 37, also has it.

They insisted on buying us lunch and thanked us for our generosity. I didn’t know what to say.

Tonight we are in Pulaski, close to the south eastern edge of Lake Ontario. While it may not appear so from our ramblings online, we remain humbled by our meetings with people, the kindness of strangers and the friendliness of almost each person we pass. We are very grateful.

(Photos to follow. Honest. But in the meantime, have a look at the Flickr map, which will have some on it.)