Day 62. Rome to Old Forge, 54 miles

I woke up blessedly chilly, packed up, and got the hell out of dodge.

Things were quiet and damp after overnight rain, and it had cooled down significantly. 🙌 As I left Rome, I went down streets with dilapidated and abandoned houses and a few little charmers.

I also saw my first Confederate flag of the trip; as Emily notes, surprising it took so long.

I was headed back north and east to Old Forge, Adirondacks-bound, so I knew to expect the terrain to get lively. It was chill at first, and then I made a turn onto SR 28, and shit got real. I began climbing and then kept on climbing, and soon I hit two hills so steep I had to walk my bike the last bit for the first time this tour. I checked the grade, and it was 13%! *squeaks with indignation* But it calmed down soon after, and the road resumed its more reasonably-graded ups and downs: challenging, but not brutal.

I crossed the Mohawk River.

I passed through some fairly run-down territory, places that had, presumably, seen fat-cow years but were now barely hanging on.

In Boonville I hit a snack bonanza. Salt & vinegar peanuts! The day was truly turning out kind.

More riding, more up and down, mostly up; it ended up being a day of 3k+ climbing with only 1900 feet of descent. Those climbs got me back up to 1800+ feet, working my way up from the great basin that is the Midwest.

I crossed the Moose River.

I was headed for Nicks Lake Campground, a NYS campground that sounded peaceful and picturesque, and I was looking forward to the palate cleanser after Rome. And indeed as I entered the Central Adirondacks Communities, things got cute. NY is committed to the brown road sign with yellow text—so natural!—and the Adirondacks took that theme seriously; everything was quaint and rustic and low-key (read: old money) and, I must admit, totally up my alley. I am from the East, let’s remember.

I stopped in town for a PBR and supplemental snacks. I’d like to note that I’m not normally much of a beer drinker. I mean, I like a nice lager or Pilsner with Chinese food or burgers, but I’m not wild for beer. But I would posit that any cycle tourist who drinks craves a nice yellow beer at the end of the day. Cold, refreshing light skunkiness, and, I’m told, essential electrolytes!

I got a terrific site, one the ranger told me was generally booked all the time; he assumed someone had canceled. It was wooded and right on the lake, and I could not have been happier. (Technical note: NYS campgrounds, which are generally great in my experience, have a two-night minimum for reservations; you can get one night as a walk-in, but you can’t reserve in advance, which can be nervous-making. But they generally give a direct campground number, and I call ahead to see if there are ample sites available.)

I plunked myself down on rock by the lake and watched the cheeky ducks, and then set up, showered, made dinner, and went right back to my rock to watch the evening coming on. I had to sign a bear waiver on registration; turns out they’ve been seeing bears in the area. So I stashed my food in the bathroom with a note. Andrew asked about raccoons, and I should recognize and express my gratitude that it’s been a miraculously raccoon-free tour; I haven’t seen a single one that wasn’t roadkill. Far cry from the year a raccoon ate a hole in the tent. Must have been a cold winter?

It was cool enough for the leggings I hadn’t pulled out for weeks and my sweater, and getting into my sleeping bag and snuggling down was a joy.