The next day began way too early in the afternoon. As if we hadn't worked hard enough the day before, we started this day's ride with a side trip. It was a trip up the side of a hill. With our bikes fully loaded with gear and muscles stiffer than a new pair of leather boots, we strained against gravity as the road wound snakelike up to the edge of a cliff overseeing Taughannock Falls. The view was worth the effort and twice as beautiful as expected since we were seeing double.

Taughannock Falls poured over a cliff into an ancient bowl of rock. One of its bragging rites is that the falls are taller than Niagra Falls. It's other, more important bragging rite, is it's lack of hotels restaurants casinos and gift shops.

After the dual wheeled mountain climb to see some of New York's natural beauty, the ride back down and past our starting point was almost euphoric. The ride downhill through the winding park road felt like the fun half of a rollercoaster. Hands in the air, screaming in terror, Dave passed me at a good clip. His deft use of a tree branch as an alternate braking device was quite clever. In a later discussion, I suggested he add shin guards to his standard collection of safety gear.

Eventually the road leveled out and turned back into a mild rollecoaster formation. This section of the ride is highly suggested to anyone wanting a great interval training workout. Once up an incline, the following downhill ride offered one physical and two spiritual gifts. While the body recovered from the exertion, the mind and legs were screaming "Oh, my God! Oh my God!" The other spiritual catharsis was that on the floor of every valley was a stream. Looking into the forest, each stream had waterfalls from the spring melt.

At a roadside café, we restored our energy with a delicate brunch of burgers and beer. The next leg of our ride took us through the town of Ithaca on the Southern end of Cayuga Lake. Ithaca lies in a valley. Every road out of town is uphill. The hill we took was only more than five miles to the top but at least it was the longest hill that we could have taken. As I rode next to Joe the top of the hill came into sight. As we approached we realized it was an illusion. Looking at the slope of a hill from a lower area, lesser inclines appear flat, flat places appear to be the top. Luckily this mean spirit of ironic mirage only fooled us to the point of tears. Then the cruel grip of fate momentarily loosened its grasp offering the not only the true crest of the hill, but a tavern as well. The beer was cold enough to drink and came in convenient bottles. Then the cruel grip of fate once again tightened its grasp. Checking the map, we realized that somewhere along the way, we passed the last two wineries and never knew it.

Toasting our misfortune with a beer, we returned to our bikes undaunted. There was no way we were going back, besides there was another tavern up the road that served beer on tap. Prepared for a long trek, we arrived at the tavern in less than ten minutes. Not waiting for the "third strike" Ken was no longer allowed to read the map.
It seemed the hardest part of the ride was over. Our bodies were toned instruments of physical fitness, our minds as sharp as baseball bats. The Guinness was smooth; the cigar smoke replenished our pollution-starved lungs. We got back on our bikes and headed uphill.

That evening as the sun set, we rolled into the campground. The campground was clearly marked on Ken's map. Despite our best efforts, this turned out to be strike three. There was a state campground within a thirty-mile radius of where he marked the map. However the entrance sign read: "Day Use Only." Joe's quick insight revealed that since it was night, everyone was gone, so who would know? That turned out to be one of the quietest, most peaceful nights I've ever experienced at a public campground.

Next Page

Previous Page

Bike Home-Day 1-Day 2-Day 3-Map Page