Day 63. Old Forge to Newcomb, 68 miles

Today was great. The Adirondacks are great. Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

It was cool and overcast for much of the day, which was grand. I didn’t drip sweat once. Because Andrew and I split up some days here and because I decided to turn my fifth planned rest day into shorter penultimate and final days, I am moving at a very relaxed-feeling pace. I have one 70-mile day, but the rest are all mid-50s and below. When the very warm and lovely owner of a market/outdoor rental place near my campground told me to savor the final days, it was nice to be able to say “I am, I will.” She had been running the place for 29 years and was getting toward wanting to have her own summer adventures. I enjoyed the heck out of talking with her while I downed a coconut water (“con trocitos!”). She also told me that they don’t usually see things slow down for another two weeks, but while they’re definitely still seeing higher traffic post-COVID, the season looks like it’s already ending. Selfishly, I hope this means Bar Harbor and Acadia aren’t so mobbed, both for the sake of traffic and camping and for Andrew’s and my day of touristing.

I was anticipating a hard day. A few days ago I’d read the map’s road conditions summary, and the final line had stuck in my head: “East of Lake Ontario it gets hilly, east of Old Forge mountainous.” I mean, OF COURSE: mountain ranges tend to be that way. And, frankly, I’d found the last day on Ontario pretty dang hilly anyway. But the line had stayed with me, and I went into the day expecting it to be tough like those 13% grades. It wasn’t? I dunno. I climbed a lot, though not as much and steeply as I will. It wasn’t hot. It wasn’t that hard. I didn’t have tons of miles to cover, so I could take breaks at my pleasure.

The wind seemed mostly low; I couldn’t really tell where it was coming from, which was fine. Which was great! It didn’t matter much in terms of speed; with 3900 feet of climbing by the end of the day, it was a slow one for good stretches. But also 32 mph at a couple of points! And only 32 because I was pumping the brakes–there were some sweet, fun downhills.

I rode through a string of lakes called Fulton Chain; there are so many lakes that they just number them instead of naming.

Which turns out to be a better approach than they took to naming other bodies of water.

At the top of one hill I took a break to gaze at a lake, and as I was gazing a pair of riders came up. Brian and Jamie, retirees from Maine and Colorado respectively, are doing a loosely itinerized westbound tour, currently headed toward the UP. He was new to touring, but Jamie was a veteran, having ridden the Natchez Trace, the Pacific coast, and the continental divide, among others. She was so cool, and I hope to be her when I keep not growing up. We exchanged some stories and intel from the road and then parted ways.

In a town called Inlet I stopped for a sit break. Andrew, knowing I love loon calls, had asked if I heard any at Nicks Lake, but sadly I hadn’t. That was remedied in Inlet.

I passed through Blue Mountain Lake and Long Lake. So much water! 💙

I had originally intended to camp near Long Lake, but the riding was beautiful and I had a short day, so I decided to go 15 miles or so more to Newcomb, where there was another NYS campground at Harris Lake.

A strange thing happened while I was riding. As I was about to head out from a break, a solo female passed by headed in my direction. I let a minute or two pass, figuring either she’d get ahead and lose me or, assuming I caught up, I could just pass her. I did catch up. She was riding a pink bike too! I rode with her to chat for a couple of minutes; she turned out to be with a group of 14 but was, as she put it, “the slowest gazelle in the herd.” They were all staying at the place near Long Lake. (Can you guess when I made my final call on going the extra 15 miles?) I dug talking with her, and now the weird part: after a few minutes, I was like “well, I’m going to head on,” and we said our goodbyes, and I pulled ahead and was gone. I would never have thought I’d be the one taking my leave at will, at the pleasure of my legs and lungs, even with the slowest gazelle. I am the slowest gazelle! But apparently not right now. It was a glowing sort of feeling.

On my last sit break I was texting with Andrew, and he was all “You’ve done your big climb for the day! Oh whoops, no you haven’t.” This map section doesn’t bother with an elevation profile, so I didn’t even know there was a big climb in the cards, lol. But it turned out maybe I had already done it or maybe it wasn’t so bad, because I never did figure out where it was. Today was that kind of day ❤️

I crossed the Hudson River! Much farther downstate, I run along that river when I visit my mom, and it felt like a thread (a river?) of connection. Also it was gorgeous, and the day had turned from overcast to gloriously cool and sunny as I neared the campground. It was that kind of day, like I said.

I descended from Newcomb toward the lake and the campground, dismissing for the moment thoughts of the climb back out in the morning. My site was quiet and wooded and a bit above the camp road, so I could see the lake but was in a less open spot. Dreamy.

I took care of my set-up business then found a sit spot by the lake.

Later the moon rose over the lake, and it was so beautiful it made me catch my breath. I tried for photos, but we all know about shooting the moon on a phone, so I won’t tarnish the experience with a lame and pathetic shot.

I climbed into my tent with a full heart, looking forward to a cozy night; I even took the risk of keeping the fly up on both tent doors to enjoy the view of the lake and the chilly night air. That kind of day.