The Adventure Resumes - Pete Bansen

September 18th/19th Rochester, NY to Sodus Point, NY

After an excellent three-week furlough back to Reno – so Cindy and I could celebrate our thirtieth anniversary – I boarded a red-eye flight from Reno to Chicago at 11:30 on the 18th, arriving in Rochester, New York on the morning of Thursday, the 19th. The Winnebago – a little battered from the road since I had last seen it – showed up in the arrivals area and off we went to find the Erie Canal Trail. The access to the Canal Trail turned out to be right next to the local Ronald McDonald House, so we borrowed a couple of spaces in their lot to unload.

The riders turned loose, I stopped at Costco for fuel and chocolate, then headed up the road to our rendezvous in Palmyra. I found a little park right along the trail, right next to Lock 29 of the Canal. Rob, Cathy and Tex arrived pretty quickly, had a bite to eat and then took off again – we would meet again in Williamson, about a 25 mile ride. I had a chance to walk up to the canal and explore the lock, which is really an amazing feat of 19th century engineering. This lock handles an elevation change of about 20 feet and I was amazed at how waterproof the mammoth doors are, considering that they're cast iron and probably better than 30 feet tall overall. I was also amazed at the mechanism for opening and closing them – the pressure involved must be tremendous – but it was a really simple rack and pinion kind of thing.

We spent that night in Sodus Point, a very quaint little town on Lake Ontario, and had a wonderful dinner with Robbo's sister Susan and her husband Bill, who were great company. Bill and I got to discuss fire service business and apparatus, since he's the commissioner of his local fire district. It was great fun and over too soon.

September 20 Sodus Point, NY to Port Ontario, NY

I had been really concerned about noises emanating from the van – it had a click from the left front wheel that varied with speed and a really awful squealing noise that was hard to hear from inside the vehicle, but was readily apparent when you were driving next to something (like a storefront or wall) that reflected sound back toward the van. As we left Sodus Point, I diverted to a large Dodge Truck dealer that was a few miles away to see if they could diagnose it. They couldn't help, but gave me the name of a couple of RV dealers who might be able to, so I continued on the route, passed the riding group and went to a giant RV dealer south of the town of Fulton. The service guy came out and listened and scratched his head a little, offering no particular assistance or solution, but referred me to a place called “Fulton Spring Service” back in the town of Fulton. Fulton Spring Service is one of those old-school garages that looks like it's been around pretty much since dirt was invented and the yard outside the shop was full of heavy-duty trucks, including a fire engine, which I took as a good sign. If the firefighters trust you with their rig, you have to be pretty good. The inside of the shop was cluttered and filthy and the office was three times as cluttered and filthy as the service area. I could see a guy on the phone a room or two back in the office and after fielding a couple of other calls and giving directions to his parts runner, he looked at me and said “Whattya got, Chief?” Then the phone rang again and he took the call. When he finished with that call, I told him I was a little astonished that he had picked me out as a Chief and I wondered how obvious it was and he laughed and said that he calls everyone that. His name – amazingly – was Pete, and he came out and listened to the van drive by, then lay down under the front wheels (warning me not to run over him) and came out to say that the ABS sensor ring had a shiny spot on it, so it was rubbing on something and that it might be annoying, but it was harmless enough. This was a big relief (it also turned out to be wrong, but it was a big relief at the time). I thanked Pete and went off to meet the riders.

We spent that night at a truly terrible motel in Port Ontario (yes, ALMOST as bad as the horrible Econo-Lodge in Boise), but the highlight of the day was sitting outside in the late afternoon watching flight after flight of Canada Geese come over, fifty or sixty in a group and at some times I could see five or six groups that had already gone over, far off in the sky to the east, all honking away as they headed for Mexico or wherever they were headed. It was a great autumn moment.

September 21 Port Ontario, NY to Old Forge, NY

No one was sorry to bid farewell to the Port Lodge Motel and head east to Pulaski, (local pronunciation seems to be “Puh-lask-EYE”) over some really beautiful rolling farm country. We had seen a lot of people who were obviously in the area to fish and the lodging rates were sky-high, because it was high season for something. As I drove through Pulaski, I crossed a bridge over a pretty small river (like maybe 150 feet wide) and saw that there were guys in waders along both sides of the river, literally every 20 feet or so for a long stretch. We thought later that maybe a salmon run was going on.

The route continued through pretty farm country and we met up again in Boonville, which was a picturesque little town with a beautiful library and some very pretty Victorian homes along a street overarched with huge maples. It reminded me of my old neighborhood in Philadelphia. The goal for the day was to ride to Old Forge – a town up in the Adirondacks where we'd been unable to find lodging – and then drive back down to Boonville to spend the night. We headed out of Boonville on Moose River Road, which was a narrow little country road passing countess family cabins – we were on Moose River Road for 16 miles and there was very little traffic. We came to the end of Moose River Road and turned onto Highway 28, which took us to Old Forge in about 9 miles. I got to Old Forge and found a car wash where I washed one side of the van before deciding that the car wash wasn't really very effective at removing the accumulated road grunge and insects. The riders arrived and we loaded up and drove 40 minutes or so back to Boonville, where we stayed in a property that was the polar opposite of the moldy, worn out motel we'd left that morning and had a great dinner at Boondocks – a rather raucous sports bar up the road a few miles. Boondocks had the distinction of being able to deliver on both prime rib and pork chops – restaurants seemed to magically run out as soon as we walked in – and both Rob and Tex took advantage of the opportunity to have prime rib and I got a couple of excellent pork chops. Rob's cut of prime rib was truly heroic: well over a pound and probably closer to two. He paid the price for this amazing protein soak the next day.

September 22 Old Forge, NY to Schroon Lake, NY

We 'portaged' from Boonville back up to Old Forge and started the ride there. The route took us right into the heart of “Adirondack Park”, a huge tract of a mix of private and state owned lands which had originally been owned by forestry companies and logged and then sold or donated to the State of New York. There were gorgeous lakes, rolling hills and the start of the fall foliage – mile after mile of beautiful forest and surprisingly good roads. Lots of motorcycles – they always know where there is a good Sunday morning ride!

I stopped at a little town called Long Lake and waited for the riders. The cell coverage was good, so I called Cindy and Helen who were in Provo, Utah on their way to Colorado Springs to visit family. When Cathy, Rob and Tex arrived, we took a picture on the beach at Long Lake to commemorate the completion of 3,000 miles(!!!). Heading eastward, the road climbed a long hill, then descended into yet another quaint village on another lake and then off into the forest. We eventually rolled into the town of Schroon Lake, our stop for the night. Another somewhat worn out motel and a pretty good dinner (albeit bar food with football on TV) at a tavern in the village.

September 23 Schroon Lake, NY to Brandon, VT

We got up pretty early (although it was to be a short riding day) and had breakfast across the road from the motel at “Shirley's Diner”. Shirley was not in evidence, but Adam was and he cooked up a competent breakfast, although we were beset with flies throughout. Lots of flies. An amazing amount of flies, given that were were indoors and there didn't appear to be any horses or cattle in the vicinity. Anyway, we struggled through breakfast while swatting flies, saddled up and headed for Ticonderoga, New York. When we had asked Chef Adam about the roads in the area, he seemed a little perplexed about anything on the Vermont side of the lake, although it was less than 20 miles away. He DID ask if we were taking the bridge or the ferry, which piqued our curiosity – ferry? We like ferries...

Soooo, we navigate through Ticonderoga, which seemed like a very cool little town and in the downtown area, there was a building labeled “Star Wars Original Set Tour”. No kidding – they have the original set for Star Trek right here in rural, upstate New York? Who knew?

I stopped for fuel and removed the front 'wheel simulator' which, I had now determined, was responsible for the rotational click in the front wheel. That glorified hub cap went into one of the storage bins and I filled the diesel tank and off I went, with a newly horrible squealing noise up to about 40 mph, when it stopped. The squealing noise that had been present earlier (and had persisted and was really stressing me out) had now reached epic proportions. Having determined that the only bridge was a significant drive north, we had decided that the ferry would be the best way to make our way over to Vermont. I clanked and squealed my way to the ferry landing and parked in the lot for Fort Ticonderoga. A look at the rear wheel on the driver's side revealed the cause of the terrible noises – the 'wheel simulator' in that wheel had worked its way out of its normal position and was clanking around, attached only by the valve stem extensions. The little spring-loaded fingers that were supposed to hold it in place had fatigued and would no longer hold it. I tried padding the inside of the thing with some pieces of duct tape and then taping it into the rim. A 100' test drive quickly showed the futility of that effort – it fell right out and started clanking again, so I parked and set to work removing it for good.

The riders arrived, having taken their own tour of downtown Ticonderoga and we loaded up for the ferry ride, which was about ½ mile across the lake on a vessel that could hold about a dozen vehicles. There has been a ferry at that location since 1758 – although probably not the one we crossed on. We landed in Vermont on a very rural road – beautiful green fields and dairy farms, gorgeous, quaint towns – just beautiful and quintessentially New England. We were heading to Brandon, home to Cathy's niece Kaynesha who would be our host that night. The town of Brandon is very cute, but was in the midst of a giant road construction project, which was snarling traffic and more or less wreaking havoc and straining tempers. We had lunch and went to Kaynesha's house, which is a lovely old farmhouse with a barn and chickens, a couple of dogs and four cats. We felt right at home and Kaynesha, Ryan and Theo, their toddler, were fantastic hosts! We had a wonderful dinner, then enjoyed the rain and a quiet night.

September 24 Brandon, VT to Ludlow, VT

After a fabulous breakfast, we snuck through the construction and out of town toward Rutland. I arrived in Rutland to find the main thoroughfare didn't allow bicycles (?!) and found a spot at the north end of town to wait for the crew, who then loaded up and rode in the van to the south end of town where we again deployed the bikes and headed toward Ludlow, our destination for the day. Ludlow is a great little town at the base of the Okemo ski resort, so it felt familiar to those of us who have lived in ski resort towns for most of our adult lives. We stayed in a nice little Mom and Pop motel at the edge of town and had a fun dinner at “Mr. Darcy's” with great burgers and parmesan truffle fries for $6! A group of gentlemen sat at the next table who we had seen riding touring bikes into town. It sounded like they were doing sort of a Vermont loop – they had started in Connecticut a few days before. They eventually figured out that we were a riding group also and were appropriately appreciative of where we'd been and how much riding we'd been doing.

September 25th Ludlow, VT to Lake Sunapee, NH Well, this was a day. Since our trusty Mercedes-Benz Sprinter-based RV had treated us so well thus far, I thought it would be a good idea to return the favor by getting it an oil-change and a 'well-baby' checkup, so I left at 6:45 to drive the crew's clothing to Cathy's friend Jean's house in Lake Sunapee, then go to the Mercedes dealer in Manchester, NH and have the rig serviced.

This worked surprisingly well, although the variation from routine was a little stressful. Everyone had to give me everything that they didn't plan to carry on their bikes (including their non-riding shoes and non-riding clothing) and let me know what they wanted dropped off, then I drove the whole route for the day in an hour, appeared at Jean's doorstep at 0800, gave her and Peter all of the stuff and vanished toward Manchester. The dealer did a great job of getting the Sprinter right in to the service bay and a few hours later I was back on the road toward Lake Sunapee.

Jean and Pete were fabulous hosts and we got to tour the area, see Cathy's old house, the ski resort, the beautiful lake and harbor and we had a drink overlooking the water before heading back to their place for dinner, which was superb. Everyone slept well that night and we enjoyed meeting and visiting with Jean and Peter very much – they were consummate hosts and instant old friends that we had never met. September 26 Lake Sunapee to Lincoln, NH I'm sure we all would have been happy to spend another day with Jean and Peter in Sunapee, but being on a mission, we saddled up and headed out of town early in the morning. I spent the morning listening to the House Intelligence Committee grilling the Acting Director of National Intelligence, Mr. McGuire, about his handling of the whistleblower complaint – pretty compelling radio, even if the NPR coverage in New Hampshire isn't exactly wall to wall. The trip over to the town of Lincoln was a fun ride and took us into the mountains and some pretty iffy looking weather. I got to the lodging – the excellent Mount Coolidge Motel – a little bit ahead of the riders and go to watch the rain from the comfort of the porch. Vicki Riley – one of the owners – came by and we chatted and I explained that I was waiting for the bicyclists to arrive and she very kindly went and found some extra towels for us to dry off with: a stack of people towels and a stack of bike towels! Very smart. Rob, Cathy and Tex rolled in looking wet and chilly and we dried everything and everyone off, had a shower and went to dinner at an excellent restaurant – The Common Man – over by the Loon Mountain base area. It's not often that we have a good motel and a really good dinner on the same night, but this was one of those occasions. New England is not turning out to be the food desert that we found in Washington and Montana.

September 27 Lincoln, NH to Fryeburg, Maine This was a much anticipated day of riding, because the route included the Kancamagus Highway between Lincoln and Conway – a classic New England pass much admired by bicyclists, motorcyclists and motorists. The fall foliage is still weeks away from peaking, but there were some very pretty reds and golds as we climbed towards the 2,855 summit. The riders found the steady gradient much to their liking and we met at the top and thoroughly enjoyed a descent where everyone was exceeding the 35 mph speed limit by a few miles per hour. I had traffic behind me, but since the bikes were meeting the speed limit, I stayed behind them and tried to stay under 40 until the limit increased toward the bottom.

We rode over to Fryeburg, Maine, loaded up and returned to North Conway, which was where we'd been able to find lodging on a Friday night. The motel was again pretty great and we had a really excellent dinner at the Muddy Moose and got a good night's sleep, interrupted only by a very loud, angry drunk ranting out on the highway about 12:30pm.

September 28 Fryeburg, Maine to Brunswick, Maine

We portaged back over to Fryeburg, unloaded and the riders rode the first mile on the 10th Mountain Division Trail into town. Fryeburg was preparing for the annual Fryeburg Fair – billed as the largest fair in Maine and it did look impressive) – and it looked like everyone in town was renting out their front yard for parking. We passed a number of really beautiful lakes and stopped in the town of Naples and enjoyed a quick break on the town waterfront. I spent what seemed like the rest of the afternoon being lost in one little burg or another before finally reconnecting with the riders about 3:00. They had gotten off course as well and had piled on a bunch of additional miles trying to get back on course. The day ended in Brunswick.

September 29 Brunswick, Maine to Rockport (or maybe Rockland)

The route from Brunswick started on a bike path that briefly followed the bank of the Androscoggin River before moving on to roadways through Bath, Woolwich and Wiscasset. I dropped the riders off and drove up to Bath to have coffee with my old friend Patty Wellenbach. Patty and I went to school together in Philadelphia from the time we were in kindergarten and then we both went to Colorado College, but had not seen each other since 1977. An outstanding photographer, Pat worked for Associated Press for the better part of 40 years and lived in Bath all that time. We had a great visit that was much too short and I climbed back into the RV to meet the riders at our pre-arranged stop in Newcastle. It turned out to be Damariscotta, where there was a huge oyster festival going on. We somehow connected in the parking lot right at ground zero for the festival, had a quick break and then hit the road. The goal for the day was our lodging in Rockport. Or Rockland – maybe Camden? Or somewhere in between – the communities all seem to blend together in Maine and it's hard to tell where one ends and the next begins.

I found the motel and decided to hit the local supermarket for Muscle Milk, mixed nuts, beer and the other staples of long-distance riding. Just as I was parking, Cathy called and said that Tex was having serious knee pain and couldn't continue, so I went back about 14 miles and picked him up, then went to Walmart while he iced his knee. We went to the motel, where Cathy and Rob were waiting. They were sitting in Adirondack chairs on the lawn outside our 'room', which had queen beds for Tex and me and a separate room for Cathy, a full kitchen and – holiest of holies – a washer and dryer!! It was gorgeous to boot and huge. Wow! If you are ever in Rockland (although it might be Rockport or Camden), Maine, it's the Glen Cove Inn and Suites and it is fabulous.

That night we went to a lobster stand in Rockport, er, Rockland and started our campaign to drive the crustaceans into extinction. It was a fantastic meal.

September 30 Rockport, Maine to Bucksport, Maine

After a superb continental breakfast, well-caffeinated and wearing clean clothes, we bade a very reluctant farewell to the Glen Cove Inn and Suites and headed for Bucksport. The route paralleled the coastline of Penobscot Bay and we went through some really delightful Maine towns like Lincolnville, Northport and Belfast. In Belfast, the riding route went across a wonderful and very unique pedestrian bridge that was a particular highlight. After a break, I headed toward Bucksport, where someone had told us we should really go up in some tower near the town. That suggestion was pretty cryptic until I got closer to the town, where a very striking bridge crosses the Penobscot River and one of the huge towers (~450 feet in height) has an observation level at the very top. It was part of a state park that also included Fort Knox, a 19th century fortification designed to keep invading British ships from making their way upriver to Bangor. We had a great time in the observation tower and exploring Fort Knox, then headed over to Bucksport, only a mile or so away, across the wide river. While the lodging in Bucksport was less than memorable, we had a fabulous dinner at McLeod's and enjoyed meeting proprietor George McLeod, who was a great character. The lights from the bridge and Fort Knox were visible from our rooms; a great memory of a unique place.

October 1 Bucksport, Maine to Mt. Desert Island, Maine

Well, the day had finally arrived – today we would complete the journey started 58 days before. It was a cool and drizzly morning in Bucksport, but everyone was excited about the ride to Mt Desert Island and the end of our ride. We arranged to meet in Ellsworth and the riders set out on Route 1 for a final day. I passed them on the way to Orland and continued to Ellsworth, which was a larger and significantly commercial town (with an LL Bean Outlet store!! woo hoo!!). My shopping list for the day included cheap champagne for ceremonial purposes – found that at a Hannaford supermarket and got a cup of coffee while I waited for the riders. We connected, took a very quick break and then turned onto Highway 3 for the final 20 miles or so toward Bar Harbor.

I found our lodging at Hull's Cove, just a couple of miles short of Bar Harbor and right on Frenchman's Bay – totally picturesque and classic Maine - a perfect spot to dip the bike tires in the Atlantic. Tex, Rob and Cathy rolled in right on schedule and reasonably dry and we walked across the street to dip the tires in the ocean, pop champagne, take pictures and celebrate! It was an exhilarating ending to an epic and memorable endeavor – a sunny, bright Sunday morning in Anacortes, hot days and steep mountain passes in central Washington, miles and miles (and days and days) of Montana and North Dakota, leafy trails across Minnesota and Wisconsin, riding with old friends in Ontario, the Erie Canal Trail in New York State, riding the Kancamagus Highway and visiting family and old friends in Vermont and New Hampsha and now, finally, the goal achieved on the beautiful coast of Maine.

October 2 to October 8 Epilog

We spend several days in Bar Harbor, although the 'we' was diminished the following day when Tex had to head for Texas for the wedding of his step son. Old friends from Vail, Randi and Danny, just happened to be in the area and added tremendously to the party spirit with their presence. After spending a long day on Thursday getting the RV ready for the return trip to Colorado, we hit the road Friday morning at 0700, heading for Batavia, New York (698 miles), then to St. Louis on Saturday (an epic and grueling 792 mile sprint with crosswinds and some truly horrible roads). We reached La Junta, Colorado on Sunday night after 787 miles across Missouri, Kansas (including a creative detour) and eastern Colorado and rolled into Durango in the early afternoon on Monday, tallying a measly 338 miles on the final day.

2616 miles in three and a half days isn't nearly as impressive as 3515 miles by bicycle in 58 days, but it's amazing to think that on Friday morning you were waaaay up on the coast of Maine and by mid-day Monday, southwest Colorado.

This was an endeavor that will stay with us for the rest of our lives and is full of wonderful and unique memories. For Cathy, Rob and Tex, it is an achievement that should fill them with pride and satisfaction at having endured and conquered an amazing challenge with determination and guts. I'm very proud to have been a part of it and gratified at our teamwork, amazing luck (superb weather, no injuries or significantly troublesome mechanical issues) and our enthusiasm and good humor every day. To quote our favorite corny popsicle stick riddle, “I lava you guys!”

Pete Bansen Reno, Nevada October 9, 2019