oh, hello mountains

Took a short day, just 45 miles. But I did my first real climbing since the stretch between Louisiana and Hannibal, MO. The trail disappeared on me again, so I had to duck over to NY Bike Route 5 and climb a couple of smallish mountains or very, very big hills to get from Mohawk to Fort Plain. Is there really a technical difference between hills and mountains? If so, what is it? I’ve been up close and personal with both, and the boundaries are pretty blurry from where I’m examining them.

In any case, it was kind of a nice change of pace and my body was ready for it this time. Now I’m camped at Lock 15, with a big, abandoned steel bridge spanning the river, rusting nearby. It doesn’t connect to either shore. It just floats there, on it’s pedestals–a grand monument to the Rust Belt–yawning over the river that once brought prosperity.

Tomorrow’s a bigger day: 70 miles into Waterford, north of Albany. Then, Massachusetts. New Yorkers speak fondly of “Mass,” like it’s their gifted little brother. I’m eager to see what the fuss is about.


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