FLCC
Home Page

The Long Haul

Andrejs Ozolins

It was the morning of July 6, a Saturday, that Robert Hill and I piled our bikes into the Ozolins minivan and headed out for Tour 96. There had been a lot of planning and talking and anticipation of a long tour by FLCC members. But when it came down to it, only Robert and I were lucky enough to actually detach ourselves from daily life and make a break for it.

That day we drove to my brother-in-law’s house on the eastern edge of the Adirondacks, near Ticonderoga at the foot of Lake Champlain. There we packed up the bikes, reconnoitered a bit, and put off the final decision of where to go til morning.

The general shape of the route we wanted the trip to take was to touch the Adirondacks, cross to Vermont at Burlington, circle through the northeastern corner of Vermont, and then head down to southern Vermont. At some point I would leave Robert in order to end my tour at one week. Robert would continue and visit his kin in Brattleborough.

In the morning we decided that in order not to leave the Adirondacks too soon, we would circle the High Peaks region before heading for Vermont. We headed west toward Long Lake. Since we hadn’t been on loaded bikes for a long time, we didn’t really know how far we would be able to go the first day, but campgrounds at Long Lake certainly seemed attainable. We went west on NY 74 to US 9; north to North Hudson on 9; west on Boreas Road to NY 28N to Long Lake.

 Boreas Road gave us our first workout of the trip. Soon after leaving US 9, it begins a long ascent to the higher Adirondack elevations. Spinning my heavy load slowly against gravity, it seemed pretty improbable that we would ever get to the top, much less Long Lake or Burlington. But, of course, this is one of the great things of cycling — that eventually the frenzied brain is obliged to relax and let the legs take care of things.

We got to Newcomb on 28N for lunch at a scenic High Peaks observation point. Checking the maps, our progress was really pretty good. After making some fresh coffee and eating some of our enormous stock of provisions, we continued on our way and arrived in Long Lake in the early afternoon. There seemed no particular reason to stay there, so we set out for Tupper Lake — which, we were told, was the next camping place on the route.

By the time we found our way to the campgrounds, it was evening. We had come 86 miles on our first day. We pitched our little tents, shared a couple of cold ones with a local camper, and settled to sleep. Well, it was not to be. Around midnight there set in one of the most ferocious storms with high winds, pelting rain, lightning and thunder.

 I had a tiny new tent which survived relatively well; considering the storm, the few spots of dampness were a minimal penalty. But Robert’s tent had definitely not passed the Adirondack Test. We had to spend a couple of hours in the morning rigging clothes drying lines and running around picking up things that blew off the line and putting them back on. Fortunately, it was a great drying wind and there was no sign of more rain.

We now knew that we would be able to camp only if we could be sure there would be no rain. Our next night was not a problem because we were going stop at the summer place of an old friend of mine in Keene. After that, we would have to see.

From Tupper Lake we turned back east along the northern edge of the High Peaks. The stretch from Tupper Lake to Lake Placid is probably the least attractive bit of the Adirondacks. The landscape is given over to tourism and the roads to cars. We stopped for lunch in Lake Placid at a delicatessen but were glad to leave the bustle that is the region’s chief source of income.

 The 17 miles of NY 73 from Lake Placid to Keene, on the other hand, is a great gift to cyclists. Not only does the road pass through beautiful vistas and along the shore of a magnificent mountain lake, but for about the last 10 miles, it’s all downhill! In Keene, we paused with a cold beer in the shade of a picturesque Vermont inn, muttering all variants of "This is living."

My friend Paul came to pick us up in his car. His house is near the top of Hurricane Mountain and, as good as I felt about riding, I was glad not to have to prove it with that climb.

The third day began with another gift. We were headed toward the ferry to Burlington, and the road follows the rather gently flowing Ausable River. That is, the route was once more mainly down hill. We had a look over some fences at what is visible of the Ausable Chasm without paying for admission and arrived at the ferry just in time to get on board for an hour’s rest. In Burlington we had to work at getting out of the traffic of town, but for a long distance the roads had no shoulders and dangerous-feeling traffic.

We headed north along US 2, then along some smaller roads and eventually to VT 104 which looked like it would begin to take us east toward the part of the state we wanted to explore a bit. It was getting on in the afternoon around Fairfax when some of the black clouds we had been watching nervously crossed our path for about 20 minutes of very hard rain and lightning. We took shelter in a little shopping plaza, but so much rain was blowing into the covered walkway that we crowded into a money machine booth for a bit.

 In view of the tent situation, we figured it was a good idea to start looking for a place to stay the night. What we eventually found was the Smuggler’s Notch Inn in Jeffersonville. It was pretty expensive, but the revolting AAA-approved motel nearby cost just as much so we felt downright virtuous in throwing our financial weight toward the quaint bit of old style hospitality.

 Turns out the folks who run the place had been cyclists until the inn devoured all their time and attention — had done the Boston-Montreal ride a couple of times, even. So they had a good place for our bikes and good advice on where to ride next. They even declared it to be "All you can eat pasta night" at the Inn (it was supposed to be next day) for us so we could get properly nourished for our work.

 From Jeffersonville we looped around in a general northeasterly direction through wonderfully stereotypical landscapes. On one very long climb we actually began overtaking cyclists who turned out to be on one of the fully supported commercial tours. But most of the way ours were the only bikes and there were pleasantly few cars. By evening we were at Orleans and got a room in the fading Hotel Orleans. We were allowed to bring our bikes into the cellar next to the coal furnace.

The next day, our fifth of riding, we decided to part ways. Robert still had lots of time to explore the area. But I felt I had to get back home where my family was coping with our complicated affairs without me for long enough. We headed first to Lake Willoughby, a place that had been written up as an interesting ride in Bicycling. The article didn’t even approach doing justice to this place. It is an incredibly beautiful lake with mountains coming from all sides down to the water. A superb paved road goes down the eastern shore of the lake, and we were told that a terrific mountain bike trail follows the ridge on the western side.

 South of the lake in West Burke I continued south on my own. I had stared at the maps for a bit and figured that it was just barely possible that I could get to Ticonderoga in two days. I could follow US 5 south to White Rive Junction; the road parallels the interstate so it shouldn’t have too much traffic. Then I would head west on US 4 through Rutland — a road that quickly crosses the Green Mountains.

 So, I put my head down and pedaled. This had once been a main road so it was wide with good shoulders, and since it follows the river valley there are very few hills worth mentioning. I stopped a few times just to stretch a bit; once to eat an enormous pile of french fries.

 It was getting late in the afternoon when I got to Norwich and my thoughts were turning toward a place to stay when I encountered a group of mountain bikers. I asked them where there might be a place to stay, whether camping or otherwise. They offered to help me find a place so I rode over to Hanover (on the New Hampshire side of the river) with them. By that time I had done my century for the day and the steep climb from the bridge up to the Dartmouth campus was definitely a chore. After checking vacancies by phone, I got piled into a van and taken to a campground near Lebanon where they had a special rate as well as special campsites for cyclists.

 In the morning I set off on US 4 west from Lebanon. This was definitely the weak link in my trip. No matter how far out of the way it is, any route must be preferable to this one. Route 4 is unbroken high speed traffic with poor shoulders if any. The long downhill between Killington and Rutland is the scariest bit of riding I’ve ever done. But from Rutland west the route is once again doubled by an interstate and becomes pleasantly peaceful.

 I kept munching PowerBars and pedaling, taking VT 30 north to VT 73 which goes to the ferry to NY State. When I got to the ferry, it left right away and I was in Ticonderoga by around 7:00 pm. I called my in-laws to ask for a ride to their place, and pretty soon was in their house, shocked to realize I had no more pedaling to do. That last day was about 97 miles — close enough to back-to-back centuries, I say.

 I don’t much recommend those last two days as a model of touring by bicycle. I didn’t stop to get the flavor of much other than french fries. On the other hand, though, it wasn’t the mindless toil that folks sometimes seem to think such a ride would be. In spite of the haste, I did meet a bunch of folks, though briefly. And my mind is still full of sights and smells and reactions to the experience. Certainly I learned something about cycling and about my capabilities that the relaxed ride couldn’t have revealed. So, it was good.

As I headed back to Ithaca along the interstates, the drizzle changed to rain and then to downpour as (so it turned out) the edge of a hurricane enveloped the whole northeast. Robert, I learned later, was fighting the wind and rain in Vermont for several days. He doesn’t speak of it fondly.

So, maybe that's more than you wanted to know about the long tour of 96. But if the idea at all intrigues you, let's do a bigger one for 97.