Day 3: hills

I woke up to discover the small hill next to my tent was no ravine, it was a small pond about fifty yards down slope from me. Beautiful. I watched the fog rise before the sun did and helped myself to an apple and a granola bar from my bag.


When the sun rose I packed my tent, wet from the heavy due ( I would remember to dry it out later), and with no trace of a human I got on the road.


Things were quiet until Bridgewater where I stopped to eat some breakfast, the second hot meal in my three days on the road, at Chef's Diner, Route 20: Ham, egg, cheese on an english muffin and a cup of coffee. $3.75.


I couldn't keep my eyes off a frame mounted on the wall, inside was a folded service hat, two badges indicating rank in the American Military, and an award of somesort, as well as a picture of a young guy all dressed up and ready for military service standing next to his two kids smiling impressively. I couldn't stop staring at the waitress' unamused expression and tendency to stare at he frame on the wall.


Much more uphill then I thought, route 20 was supposed to be relatively flat, yet I tried to keep pace, going pretty quickly up an increasingly steep route.
After the towns there would be a large,steep hill which would crescent and two or three smaller hills would follow in quick succession. Then? hilly plains, fields,blue sky, blue water.
The cycle repeated for hours, the hills getting steeper, in opposition to my hopes for a break.


A recurring natural aspect of the countryside, which I found quite rewarding, was it's large amount of small ponds everywhere. In the middle of grass fields with cows grazing; bright blue ponds, not marshes or swamps, nice water! Refreshing looking circles of blue punched into the centre of a forty mile canvas of dry wispy grass- the kind you can hear the wind through- and crops and cows and horses.


Long day.
The countryside changes from west to east state, more vast and rugged, the foliage is less thick, more farms and hills. The hills didn't stop. after an hour straight of climbing I hit one so steep I considered walking, even though it would be more difficult in the long run; anything but this, I thought.
My legs ached from yesterdays hills and my arms were getting faint and rubbery.


I focused on the top like there was a rope extended down to me- and I had been drowning in some cold ocean experiencing sufferings one thousand times worse than that of my fatigue- and all I had to do was pull myself up to be saved.
More hills, steeper, longer each time; I stopped hoping for a flat top, and climbed and breathed, and focused.
One hour, two, three hours of climbing with no break and then: Cherry Valley.


Valley's are great when you've been climbing all day cuz you get to go downhill, but by definition a valley means you also have to go back up the other side, and as I looked out ahead of this monstrous downhill slope I saw the opposing side and mistook it for a wall.


After another hour I started noticing serious aches in my fingers from gripping the bars so hard and I would push so hard I screamed out loud at times.
I later found out from a local that instead of going east through "river valley" where the bike trail was, I alternated further south and climbed the banking Adirondack mountain range.
A tactical error.


I would push so hard going up these hills that I literally decided that I couldn't put one more pedal rotation down, but whenever I was about to unclip, I recieved a small tailwind which would push me just a little bit, and I kept going.


This spawned a little moral lesson for me, I know this is corny, but hey, I did start a travel blog so here it goes: 


See, I had to get to the top, there as no other option. I couldn't walk with my clipped shoes while pushing the weight of my fully loaded bike up such a steeply pitched hill without sliding and falling.
I triumphed, not because I wanted to, but because I had to.
When I was physically unable to push any further I tried just to go a little more, and then I would get a tail wind. Almost automatically, almost as if it were possible for the direction of the wind to be reliant on my fatigue.
These subtle winds were enough to take me a few more feet and retain enough strength to take me to the top.


Later I came to this conclusion for myself:
When faced with a seemingly impossible task, one must still try as hard is is possible, even knowing perhaps it is not enough.
Who know's when the wind will decide to blow? Who knows when some random event will take place which you could not have factored into your efforts and help you along?
If you were providing a minimal effort, because you thought you would fail, then this event may not be enough to help you.
BUT if you thought success was impossible, and still tried with every fiber of your ability then a small gust of wind MIGHT be just enough to get you there.


Anyways...
I made it to the top eventually and it was euphoric to reach the top of a hill and see only sky ahead of me instead of more tree-lines.
There was a general store right there run by a fellow named Lucien who let me use his phone to contact some folks in Albany who I'd be staying with. 


Lucien was an expert on local geography and informed me I was about 20 miles off from Albany, and all downhill. I nearly hugged him.


I had written a list: 'things I brought, that I wish I didn't bring'
and top of that list was my ski goggles, wasn't cold enough.
But going down 10 miles of hills,after climbing all day with the wind in my face, I was glad I brought them.