I wanted to make it to at least Corning, N.Y. by the time I slept, and I did it. I am now nestled between train tracks, three highways, and a housing development, trying to ignore the lights and engine noises so I can relax.
But what a day I had!
First, I awoke in the middle of Pennsylvania, ten miles west of a pinprick of a town called Steam Valley. It was insanely difficult traveling, with hills that would be better suited to mountain climbers than bikers. In 95 degree heat without rapelling equipment, it literally took me hours, including a nap I took by the side of the road. I was not happy by the end, and thought I’d never get to New York.
But then I hit US 15. Oh, what a glorious road. It cuts through the mountains like a chainsaw through butter. I was back up to normal speed, and at the New York border by nightfall.
Right before New York, I stopped in a biker bar and had a burger. Unless you’re up to something, bikers are often some of the friendliest people in the world, and they good-naturedly made fun of my slow ride. My four-day no-shower stink impressed them, though, so we watched a marathon of COPS.
Then, I was on the road, riding at night. Biking in the dark is one of my favorite things. I don’t get tired, don’t sweat, and keep cool. Best yet, I can see cars coming from a mile away by their headlights and move accordingly. The only downside is that I can’t see potholes so well, and there were many.
Just across the border, I met Chris, a young cop who was passing through Lindley, N.Y. A sweet 19-year-old, he pulled over right in front of me, making me think he was trying to stop me. Instead, he had hit a kitten.
Chris, it seems, had a soft spot for animals. He made a habit of rehabilitating ones he found by the road, including a bobcat that now roams his backyard and environs. So when he hit a kitten, he was very sad. Even with a flashlight, we never found the cat.
But we did have a good conversation about Pennsylvania, New York, and why the latter is so much cleaner than the former. I love Pennsylvania, my home state, but the government and the people don’t take care of the scenery the way that New Yorkers do. And there’s a lot more stinky roadkill down by the Mason-Dixon as well.
Chris also liked biking, and when he was 16, started his own journey. In different spurts over 18 months, he visited every town in Pennsylvania. Every single one. I even quizzed him about my suburb of Pittsburgh, and he had been there. While his excursion is cool and unique, he did admit that it got boring, as many towns looked so much alike.
Now I’m in a sleeping bag, exhausted and sticky with sweat. I wish I had taken more pictures today, but I was either too tired (Pa.) or it was too dark (N.Y.). But c’est la vie.
