New York City: The end of a very, very long road.

I feel a bit lost at the moment, trying to explain exactly where I am.
I'm on Staten Island, in New York City. I'm at the end of the road in America, the final destination for this country, this continent.
I'm at the finish line of the trip which I started from my home in London nearly 13 months ago, after setting off one morning with a firm faith in the bike I sat on, and a less firm faith in the direction we were headed.
I'm also at the end of several years of day dreaming, months of planning, weeks of bike building, and more days of packing and unpacking my panniers than I could ever remember.

But right at this moment, I'm in a warm dry house, having eaten a huge dinner (have been craving chinese for a while), and sitting on a wonderfully comfortable sofa - I will never forget how good seats are after spending so many night cross legged on the cold hard ground.

Today started off like any other day: with maple syrup and coffee.
Drizzled generously on my porridge oats, we ate our fill, packed our panniers, and strapped them onto the bike one last time.

One very specific thing which made today's ride different to most (other than that it being the last), was the fact that we passed through the area of New York where I grew up 20 something years ago. We ate our lunch outside the library that for some reason is emblazoned in my mind. I visited the house we lived in, which as is always the case seemed so much smaller than I could remember.
We cycled past my brother's school, and the kindegarten which I remember being at, and which I was first recognised for that... Incomparable artistic flair. And we headed to Scarsdale Station, where I can remember at least once, waiting with my Mum and brother for Dad to come home from work....

Amazingly right from that spot at the station, we were able to jump onto a bike path leading far into the city. Navigating the streets once off was a more interesting affair. Trying to work our way across the city to the Hudson Greenway, I was nearly run over once, and honked at near non stop.

That trail took us all the way to the tip of Manhatten, where amidst the throngs of police (apparently there's a visit from the President due "some time"), we hopped with ease onto the free Staten Island ferry. After that, it was a mere couple of miles to where we were staying, with only one more stop: to light up the €1 cigar that I've been carrying since Jack first joined me in Germany a year ago...

I guess I can't really say for sure right at this moment how it feels to have finished. Proud, sure. Satisfying, maybe. Terrifying almost definitely.
But one thing I can say without a doubt, is that I feel incredibly grateful. Grateful to everyone who has helped me on the way. The countless numbers of people who have fed me, housed me, even clothed me. Every country has brought smiling faces and generosity beyond that which I could have imagined possible. Every country has brought challenges too of course, but they fade away into the murkiness of "things that happened". The people I've met though, will stay with me forever. And I'm here because of them.

I feel gratefulness too, to everyone who has thought of me while I've been away. In the semi-conscious state that you achieve sometimes while cycling, your mind drifts back to recount every single person and encounter you've ever known, and to think of all the people you've ever met, known, loved or hated. Its nice not to be forgotten.

But most of all, right this moment, I'm just grateful to be indoors, and lying down with nowhere to go, for once tomorrow.

After 13 months and 18,000-odd km around the world, I can conclude one thing: beds are an amazing thing.

Goodnight.

Despite my lop-sided sleeping pad, and a rather chilly night, I woke up after a full night's sleep, relatively undisturbed save for some irritating warbling that I can only assume came from a wild turkey...

After a slow and relaxing breakfast of rather unusual but delicious oatmeal pancakes with (you guessed it) maple syrup, we headed out on our penultimate day of cycling. I still can't believe a whole year of cycling has passed, but its true. This last week running up to the end of the trip, the miles have just seemed to take care of themselves. Whether larger distances on flat roads, or mountains to climb, without much effort we've found outselves on the edge of the city, and near the end of the trip.

We knew we'd largely be following nice paved rail trails today, firstly along the Dutchess Country trailway, and later along the Putnam Country Trailway which leads much of the way into New York City along beautiful paved asphalt. The downside, was the need to cross the Appalachian mountain range at some point, which although by no means meant the highest of mountain passes, still brought on some rather steep climbs in our ascent, along with a number of infuriatingly badly signed streets (and thus wrong turns). The climbing today also seemed to take my shoes to their neverending limit, tearing the zip ties holding the soles in place. I can only hope that there are no big climbs tomorrow, otherwise it looks like I'll be doing my last few proud miles in New York City barefoot...

Nevertheless, we eventually got on track and swept down the mountainside onto the rail trail, where we pulled out the tents for the last time to make sure they were fully dried in the midday sun, before packing them away until our arrival back in England. The trail was a welcome sight after the morning's climb, with gentle grades, and smooth conditions. There were only a minimum of tree-root bumps, and the occasional section of pathway which seemed randomly flooded. But the biggest obstacle on the path seemed to be the plethora of Sunday walkers and riders. Even as my trip reaches its conclusion, I still enjoy the somewhat narcissitic feeling of people staring at us as we cycle by - some in confusion, mouth hanging open and heads turning to follow us, some looking decidedly disgusted at the very idea of people having the audacity to be doing something so stupid. But the main reaction we get are the enormous grins, and occasional waves or thumbs up as we cruise by.
There's also every now and then the young couple who at a stop sign will weave past us on their carbon fibre road bikes, and shoot off in a flurry of superiority. More often then not though, we end up catching up to them shortly thereafter. I like to save my most casual riding position and carefree singing for them, as we roll past.

So what else is there to say about tomorrow. 

It's the last day of the trip. 

After setting off over a year ago, the last day's cycling will be spent battling through the streets of Manhatten - knowing our luck of course, it will be dark, cold raining and rush hour when we arrive.

But for once I don't care. 
Nothing can stop me now.

Wish us luck,

It would of course happen that on the last time I ever have to set up my tent, in the tranquil setting of the garden of someone we're staying with surrounded by deer roaming around the woodland, wild turkeys warbling away, and of course mosquitoes buzzing incessantly around my head, that my sleeping pad pops. Not in the expected air leaking way, but rather annoyingly the internal stitching, which has left a huge bulge on one side, and which will no doubt lead to a very disturbed night's sleep. I suppose I should feel fortunate that my equipment has only started to fail at the very end of the trip, and while I was still faced with months of sleeping on this lop-sided pad. Still, I can't help but feel a slight twinge of irritation that this rather expensive component of mine has for the second time on the trip decided to break.

Tonight at least does feel a good bit warmer than yesterday- the air was decidedly chilly when I woke up this morning, and of course everything soaking wet. But, as we tucked into a breakfast of leftovers from the bake sale, and watched the local youth American Football team train on the pitch that we were camped by, the tents hung drying in the warming sun and gentle breeze.

As someone new to the sport (and indeed who finds watching just about any sport to be a strange and trivial waste of time), American football is an especially odd game- not least of all when played by children. With kids thrashing out against each over and barely able to keep upright for more than 5 seconds past the whistle, football seems little more than organised bullying. Not to suggest that it isn't a tough game full of skill and strategy, but for me, watching them crash into each other and go toppling, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. Much to the annoyance and glaring of one of the coaches.

The ride today was once again a gentle and enjoyable run through the rolling hills and country side of the Hudson Valley. Starting off heading through Catskill (what an amazing name), and across the Rip Van Winkle bridge over the Hudson, the story of which was set in this area.
Lunch today was a rather simple affair- not spotting anywhere more suitable to pull over and take a break, we stopped off in a cemetery which offered at least a quiet little area to sit down on a wall. Here at least we were able to relax in the sun for a moment, continuing through our stockpile of brownies, cakes and cookies that we were given from those friendly democrats last night.

New York City is only two days away now. I'm very conscious that every day now I'm counting down the days until the end of America, and the end of the trip. I guess it's a mixture of the excitement and fear, of sorts. I've always looked forward in a way to that feeling of having finished what I set out to do, and what I've been dreaming about for a few years now. But now that the end is all but upon me, I have this sense of fear, and a slight feeling of nausea. It could be because of the sense that everything that I feel that I am is coming to a close....

Equally likely though, is the possibility that after dinner I stuffed my face with too many of those stale cookies leftover from last night....

Although I should really have realised it, it never occured to me that we would see such obvious signs of destruction from Hurrican Irene, which passed through the East coast of America a few weeks ago. The tiny town of Schoharie seemed all but completely destroyed by the storm, and the flooding after. effects.
Every shop and restaurant along Main Street was closed, and gutted of all its merchandise and furnishings. Dust blew throughout the streets from the debris and silt left behind from the floodwaters.
Further on the town of Middleburgh was a similar story, the supermarkets being wiped out from sight, and the few building that were there were closed and empty of wares. The occasional window sprayed tall with a warning against anyone thinking of looting.

The only little convenience store in town of course was doing a roaring trade. Everyone seemed to be rather curious about us, and eager to help (hearing that we were British, they all seemed flustered in trying to find us Earl Grey tea, which we neither asked for nor wanted). But still, the towns were bustling with life, everyone eager and determined to get life back on track as quickly as possible.

We've headed just about as far East as we're going to now, in America, and on this trip as a whole. The ride through the rolling hills around the Catskills has been perfect today- a truly idyllic day of cycling. A nice strong tailwind, and winding quiet roads through the countryside meant that despite our late start, we still managed to finish up before in the early afternoon.
Turning into the town of Cairo (which we found out is pronounced Cay-ro "like the syrup", not Cairo "like Egypt"), we rolled down Main Street until we saw a sign for the Town Park.
Thinking this may be a nice quiet spot to pitch up for the night, we rolled in, and were rather surprised to find smoke pouring from the pavilion and a crowd of people standing by. It turned out it wasn't a fire at all, but a fundraiser for the local democratic party, with a big old chicken bbq and bake sale. With 500 odd chickens bbq'ing seductively away, we sat ourselves down nearby. Soon we had offers of food and drink, and even suggestions of camping here for the night.

It turns out that everyone wanted to hear our story, with people praising us and thanking us for making the trip, among murmers of "God bless you for doing this". Although rather overwhelming, everyone's kindness was certainly appreciated- especially when Jack and I both were given a whole roast chicken dinner each, and more brownies than even I can bear to think about right now...

In a rather odd set up, the local police station (ie hut slash toilet) seemed to be inside the park. For the first (and last) time in America we did the proper thing and checked that it would be ok to camp. The police officer seemed uncertain, until he found out we were British. To this he simply said "oh cool, well I guess you're not going to kill anyone", and pointed to a corner of the field to pitch up.

We have bikesurfers lined up now for our home straight into New York City, due South of here, which is probably a good thing given the definite autumnal weather we have tonight.
In this quiet, small town park, sitting in the spectator stands under a starlit sky on the edge of the football pitch, this will (hopefully) be our last wild camping experience of America, and of the whole year around the World.

I miss it already.

I think that the sound of wind and rain, as it whips against the windows of a house is made worse by the fact that you know that for at least a short while longer, you can pull the duvet over your head and stay warm and dry. Which is exactly what I did.

The rain had started early during the night as predicted, and showed no sign of easing up by the time I came down the stairs in the morning.
Thick pools of water were forming on the gravelly driveway, and I knew that it would be an absolutely miserable day's cycling in that weather, even if we didn't need to go that far.
There really was only one sensible conclusion to be made: forget cycling.

So close to New York, and with relatively so much time to make it there before our flights, there seemed little reason to push ourselves into the cold and wet when I could stay inside this comfortable warm house, by the wood burning stove, and look out at the rain.
Jack and I were however only too pleased to stay here another day in exchange for helping out with some chores that needed doing. After all, we had warm comfy beds and delicious meals, so could hardly complain. Breakfast was another day of luxury, with the most fantastic waffles I've ever had, and of course: syrup. Janet takes her Maple Syrup seriously, buying gallon jugs at a time. It was also heated gently to make a more runny syrup - quite the contrast to the thicker syrup that I usually use, from keeping it in the refrigerator or even freezer.
As I write these words, I'm beginning to realise that this website is becoming more of a homage to maple syrup than anything else.I think that can only help its popularity.

Jack and I set to work on an old house that was being renovated, and helping with the clear out. Like all building which are well over 150 years old, this house had plenty of areas that needed work, though for us today our only concern was with cleaning. Not the most glamourous job, but our efforts were rewarded by returning back home to the smells of food cooking away atop the stove of the wood burner. The evening was spent sitting around with bellies full, relaxing and talking, and trying to make sure the dog didn't eat the silica packet the dropped out of one of my food bags. Poisoning the dog of the people we stay with probably wouldn't look that good.

With the first frosts of the year predicted tonight, it's amazing the way the weather has suddenly changed.
But, of course, tomorrow we really will be cycling. With little more than 200 miles to go, there'll be no more rest days until we get to New York City..

Cinamon rolls, scrambled tofu, pancakes and lots of coffee for breakfast. Pretty fantastic you might think? Indeed. But far better than that is the fact that it seems my love of maple syrup precedes me; no sooner had I sat down for breakfast, Brian revealed a bottle of the good stuff, explaining that he'd seen me mention it on my site. Beautiful.

Suffice it to say we set off that morning with bellies bulging, and feeling very satisfied. Our day continued for the most part through the flat valley bottom, joining up with the canal path on occasion and skimming along the smooth tarmac roads at others.
There are times, such as this morning, when I find myself with a blank mind, peddling along with the scenery rushing past, and suddenly looking down at my legs. Its during these moments that I sometimes am looking in almost foreign bemusement at my own legs, which I suddenly realise have transported me however many thousands of miles around the world. Surely they can't be my legs....

Thoughts like this aside, with the flat terrain and light tailwind, we stormed along, and so had quite some time on our hands. Stopping for light lunches and watching the canal life go by, we also did the most British thing possible and paused for afternoon tea. Which is no mean feat in the heat of the day, and with a petrol stove. That requires dedication. And an excess of tea, which we still had from being given bags of the stuff a little while ago.

As we sat there sipping our tea, it was quite satisfying to watch a large group of casual cyclists amble by our bench, as I greeted each of them in a different accent. Perhaps it was the sheer tedium in repeating "hello" to each of them, that convinced me that was an amusing idea.
Sadly it became slightly more awkward when a short while later we caught up with them, and was forced to speak in my normal boring voice. I should've just gone full Aussie on the....

With this same group of people on the pathway, I also discovered a couple mor things. Firstly, that I can use bubble gum in lieu of a bell by making loud popping noises with it. Secondly, it's never that satisfying overtaking an older gentleman, even if he is on an electric bike.

Our day would have probably come to a straightforward conclusion after that, had it not been for our blind (and admittedly foolish) faith in Mr Google. The first indicator should have come from Goggle's instruction of "turn left onto proposed bike path". I'm not entirely sure how someone's meant to turn onto a trail that as yet only existed as a concept. Perhaps it had decided that we'd transcended the realm of the physical, and could move amongst the fictional world. Perhaps it simply thought that the world should be based on its design, and not vice versa.
Our second treat came while climbing up a steep incline to reach the house of our bikesurfing host in Sprakers for the evening (if you don't know the term bikesurfing, you clearly haven't been following closely enough. Oh the shame).
The hill itself, although a bit of a shock to the system after weeks of relative flatness, wasn't too bad. What was confusing was the fact that after typing in the address of our destination, Googly had determined exactly where it was, and proudly directed us to it. It will of course come as no surprise to learn that this was not the right house. Nor even close.

The lesson of course is that no matter how good and effective such software and technology is, it's not always 100% reliable.

Lesson learned.

Now to plan tomorrow's route on Google Maps.

It's definitely beginning to look like the equipment I have chosen has a specific lifespan, and is reaching its end. Aside from my shoes being constantly strapped back together with duck tape and zip ties, my tyres too have been reluctant to go on any further.
The nail hole left in my tyre back in Montana has slowly been deteriorating, and even my rudimentary fixes haven't been able to hold it together. But, being me, I've refuse to buy a new tyre this close to the end, and so after covering it with another patch and a few more layers of duck tape, finally decided to swap them around to reduce the pressure on the damaged tyre. A lengthy and uninteresting insight in the state of my gear, and how to get around it, but the simple summation is that my stuff has reached its limits, and I'm cheap so now I have to ride around on underinflated tyres.....

Most of the day was spent riding alongside the canal. This was mostly very straightforward due in part to it being well signed, with basic tulip diagrams sprayed onto the asphalt at junctions, but also by the fact that it was the canal path. Next to the canal.
Nonetheless we still managed to run into some characters, like the old man hiking along the trails, upturned walking sticks with the crooks cut off to create rubber topped poles, who seemed to be a bit lost. Though he didn't ask for directions or suggest he needed help....

We reached the end of our trail today in Utica, where we met our host at the lock. I was a bit apprehensive initially, as this was the first time we were invited around to stay by someone... who was living with their parents. Not becuase there's any shame in doing so, but because it very much felt like it was someone else's house.
Still, I thought with my best British charm, I could surely convince anyone that I was a decent and respectable guest, and that people the world over are generally nice, and not going to rob the house in the middle of the night.
Something I usually have trouble with, being so cruel and ungrateful....

Before heading back home though, we stopped off at the local high school to catch some of the Football (ie soccer) game. Things here, even like soccer, seem very different, such as with the stadium, the kits, the equipment, the electronic scoreboard... Next they'll be saying they don't have oranges at halftime?!
My favourite aspect though was the halftime huddle, which although amusing in itself, was finished with some sort of war cry, or "1,2,3, White!".
At first it sounded like a slightly bizzare and disquieting white supremacy cry. Only later did I find out this simply refered to the colour of their jersey.

It was as always great to spend the evening with people, and the great conversations with Brian and his family and friends.
The menu tonight consisted of "Trash-Bin Burgers", which were simply a combination of more fruit and vegetables than I can remember, compacted into burger form. Certainly more delicious than they sounded, it also brought a nice change to know that we were eating so many vegetables....

There's a lot of things I like about the open-mindedness, and creativity here. There's a genuine want to find out about new things. Its a really healthy and exciting look on life that I hope I can take with me when I return to England. Reminds me of times with Nate, sitting around, drinking tea and talking crap. But in a good way. And without anyone walking off with my futon.
Speaking of which, time for sleep. I seem to be sharing a smaller bed than normal with Jack tonight. Fine in theory, I just reeeeally don't want to wake up with his beard near my face. That's the stuff nightmares are made of...

Even though I crawled out of the tent into another sopping wet morning, I could tell it would be a hot day. And I wasn't far wrong. I didn't even bother to put my cycling top on this morning, and before long I had a thick film of sweat on my chest, dotted with dozens of black specks that were the flies that had stuck to me. Not a pleasant sight.

On largely uneventful days like today, the mind wanders to strange places. Cycling along the bumpy canal path and quiet roads running nearby, there's only so much attention you need, before your thoughts drift off to other things.... Of my zip-tied shoes, and stitches tearing from clothing. Of my damp tent that has somehow survived the trip, and ripping tyres that just need to make it another 250 miles. Of life, love and ligament damage. And of the chocolate bar I knew was buried at the bottom of my handlebar bag.

As I tried to dry off my tent this morning, I couldn't help but feel weird at the thought of how few more times I would be using it. With one week's worth of cycling now until we reach New York City, and the end of the trip, it feels as if everything is sort of gliding by undramatically. Not that riding along a sunlit canal path listening to Curtis Mayfield's "Move on Up" with a gentle breeze on your back isn't an ideal way to spend a Monday, of course.

When we did reach the house of our host that evening, we had a couple of hours to relax and enjoy the sounds of shouting and swearing from the house next door. It was a fun and factual evening- as well as having burritos and weird beer with hot sauce in, we discovered that glandular fever and mono are the same thing, cities in England don't necessarily have to have a cathedral in, Germ Theory has been around for a couple of hundred years, and American attempts at British accents tend to be awful and just sound like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.

And to top it off this evening, we got to use a Whirly-Pop; a type of strange saucepan with a cranking handle and series of cogs to effectively rotate the popcorn kernals so that they cook evenly and don't burn.

I prefer to just shake them.

I wouldn't really suggest staying up to watch NASCAR and drinking beer for those wanting to cycle a full day. By the time we crawled into our tents, neither of us were in the mood to be packing up and cycling off at the crack of dawn. So just after 8 the next morning, we dragged ourselves out of the dew covered tents and set about with our morning rituals of coffee and porridge. Before long, the neighbouring kid had come out for a chat, and was soon hovering around asking a thousand questions, in between chasing after his dog and running about the garden.
Hunched over my coffee, never before had I wondered in as much amazement how children have so much coffee. Eventually, after the dog had covered me in grass and dew, his mother came out, and shortly afterwards Russell (whose bike shop we stopped off in last night) and his dog Sprocket. It was far from an efficient morning, with all the conversation and dog chasing, but after Jack washed the dog pee off his tent, and we were showered with gifts of peanuts and tea bags, we headed on.

Our first stop was in Rochester for lunch, working our way through the city to get to the Dinosaur BBQ, something people have been telling us about for a few days. Sadly not real dinosaur ribs (nor the cheapest way to eat), it was still a delicious and meaty lunch.

It feels like we've had all sorts of weather today, starting off burning hot with a gentle tailwind, moving on to cool with a slight headwind, followed by heavy rain, grey cloud, and finally clear skies and a pleasant evening, as we cooked up our dinner of chili and beans in the park.

As well as the mosquitoes that have reappeared tonight for the first time in a while, we also seem to see a lot of cats skulking through where we camp, whether its in a park, a garden, or by the side of the road, not to mention all the people we've stayed with who've had a cat or five. We even had some sunning themselves by the canal path, which freaked out a little bit as Jack rumbled closer.
There are a lot of cats in America.
That's a good thing.

And as the post's title suggests, there are also bats, fluttering throughout the trees tonight.. Unlike Alice however, I have no belief that either will eat the other. Probably.

After getting hold of a golden gun, and holding people at hostage, I remember very clearly trying to sleep, and being woken by the police, who I asked to let me sleep for just another half an hour.
Perhaps it's no coincidence that these dreams are after the first time I've played video games...? Or maybe I was just tired enough to dream of sleep.

Once we had breakfast and I re-tied my shoe back together, we headed straight onto the Erie Canal Path, which will lead all the way through Northern New York before we reach the Hudson. The trail isn't the asphalt that we've been so lucky to have in the past, but of course it's nice to cycle on such quiet and beautiful paths.

We had set off rather late this morning anyway, and with a the crunching of gravel and dust underneath, and the slight headwing still blowing against us, it was a certainly not a day of racing manically to rack up the miles. Despite contacting 5 people off WarmShowers in Rochester, we hadn't been able to find a host, and so it was instead that we were going to just pitch up somewhere in the ample grassy verge by the side of the path.
I suppose it's these ways which play out, to result in hugely different outcomes of the day.... Because no one replied, we planned to stop early. The first town we checked though didn't have a supermarket, so we decided to head on another 15 miles to the next town. By the time we finished our shopping it was after 5, and we were eager to stop. Jack decided to buy a spare innertube after yesterdays punctures, and we thought we'd ask the owner if he knew the best place to pitch up our tents.

Well, just a short ride further down the path, we turned off and set up our tents in his garden. My only concern was if he didn't make it home that evening until late, we were going to have to find a private spot to use as a toilet....
Luckily that wasn't an issue, and packing away the remnants of dinner, we joined him inside for some Nascar and a drink. He and his partner were both only midly interested in the race, but with sudden outbursts of enthusiasm. With his neighbour there too, it felt like my mind was going to explode trying to keep track of everyone's conversation, everyone telling a story, asking a question or exclaiming at the tv (which had been turned right up, presumably so that it could be heard over the talking). Of course with all that noise I found myself talking louder and louder too, still not having a clue what anyone was talking about or what was going on in the race.
For those wondering, I believe Jeff Gordon in the 24 car was in first place (which according to cries of delight was a very good thing).

Eventually we extricated ourselves and headed out into the cold wet moonlit night. After only a couple of hours outside in the darkness our tents were dripping with condensation.
Perhaps it wasn't the early night that I was expecting, but I'd have chosen this over a bit more sleep any day.