
My cold weather sleeping bag weighs three times as much as my summer bag. It takes up more than half the room inside my backpack. Packing up in the morning takes 20 minutes, and the bulk of that time is spent trying to stuff my bulky old bag back into the bottom of my pack.
But on a morning like this, I was mighty glad to have it. The temperature outside my cocoon hovered just above freezing. I didn’t want to get up. I’d tossed and turned during the night, but it wasn’t on account of the cold. I felt downright toasty.
If it weren’t for that “miles to go” thing, I’d ‘a been happy to stay bundled till the sun came over the mountain. But I had a room waiting for me in Bennington, so eventually I rousted myself and hit the road about 6 am.
Good thing I still had my shoes. I’d thought about sending them home, but the early mornings are still too crisp to walk in Tevas, even if one is willing to burn holes in the fabric of our modern-day fashion-based reality by wearing socks and sandals on the same feet at the very same time. I myself am not averse to burning holes in the fabric of fashion-based reality, but I’d prefer not to lose any more toes to frostbite. So I wore shoes for the first couple of hours.
By noon I was in Bennington, and by 3 pm I was fed, clean, and rested from a nice, early afternoon nap. Then came the real work.
I spent the next four hours looking at alternative routes heading west.
This first week has been pretty well mapped. I had places to stay lined up, and when I didn’t, familiarity with the territory gave me a good idea where to look for campsites. But west of Bennington is new ground, or might as well be. I haven’t walked through upstate New York since 1987. I needed to be sure there would be places away from houses and people where I could stop for the night.
The trouble started when I tried to find a hotel the third night out.
Good trouble, I mean. Fantastic trouble. Kicking-myself-in-the-backside-for-not-seeing-it-before trouble.
I couldn’t find a hotel option that I liked in Perth, so I reluctantly started looking at a more southerly route. One that would take me into Amsterdam.
I’d been deliberately avoiding the larger cities and busier roads. For the most part, I hadn’t even looked at them. That’s the only excuse I can give you for missing something that seems so obvious.
The Erie Canalway Trail runs practically the entire length of the state. The easternmost stretches are too far south, but I can pick it up in Amsterdam and follow it all the way to Lockport — just a day east of Niagara Falls. And it follows roughly the same route I’d originally planned, only it passes through the more urban areas that I’d been working so hard to find ways around.
So! Maybe, if it all works out, I’ll have three more days by the side of the road, and from then till Memorial Day, there won’t be anything but bicycles to dodge.
Wouldn’t that be fun?
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