The first day was clear, cool, and – unfortunately for me – windy! Once I returned the rented car and got an Uber back to the hostel where I was staying, I got my gear loaded onto the bike as quickly as I could. I wanted the adventure to start!
Douglas, my plush traveling companion, at the check-in at Hostel Buffalo-Niagara
If you’re going to be a completest, you’re going to need to go thru what is currently a depressed section of Buffalo. In Philly, road kill is raccoons, groundhogs, or squirrels; I saw a dead rat in the road between the hostel and the beginning of the trail. The trail starts on sidewalks, winding through parks; then it switches to a protected bike lane along a busy street. I was moving cautiously as the pathway jinked along gravel in a few places, feeling the (over)loaded back end of the step-thru bike woggle. Riding into a 20 mph headwind, I made my way through the city to my first sight of the Niagara River.
The Niagara River, with a lighthouse just visible on the Canadian side
The route passed under the Peace Bridge, giving me a view of Canada in the distance.
The Peace Bridge, as seen from the American side.
Douglas and I stopped to admire the view.
Riding north and then east, following the trail, the path went from city bike lanes to suburban parkland. And I do mean park: there were ballfields, and gazebos with bathrooms and water fountains, and hiking trails as I went along. Somewhere between Tonawanda and Lockport, a parade crossed the route! Seems that the local fire company ordinarily had a summer parade, but it had been pre-empted the past two years because of COVID. This year, they made up for lost time with a bigger, splashier, happier parade than their usual.
Bagpipers at the Fireman's Parade. Their music, heard before I could see them, was my first hint that there was a parade up ahead.
Long-serving volunteer gets pride of place in the parade.
But I had a case of the first day jitters: I had made hostel reservations in Medina, my goal for the day was to get to Medina, and I kept a dogged focus on making the miles. Sure, it would have been lovely to spend more than a few minutes at a local celebration; yeah, I could have had a fine lunch at one of the canal-side restaurants; yep, there were opportunities to leisurely dawdle my way eastward. Instead, I pedaled onward, with one eye on my odometer and the other on my battery indicator.
This was not the most enjoyable way to start a trip, and it was my own darn fault.
The bike felt sluggish and I felt grumpy. I was preoccupied with mental math: the newer battery cut out a little after 32 miles. What should have been a fine day’s riding felt like a slog. I spent the ride east of Lockport wondering how I could bail out on what, at that point, seemed like an ill-conceived scheme. So when I saw a deer in the middle of the trail, I didn’t smile. A canal-side pair of vultures felt like an omen. And every few miles there would be another collection of geese I’d need to negotiate with to make my way onward.
When I got to Medina, it look me a while to get squared away at the hostel. Seems the folks who run the place had texted me the code to get into the building during the day, but I never got the text. I needed to go back through old emails on my phone to get the phone number to call to leave a message; shortly after that, I got a phone call back letting me know how to get in.
I was the only person in the hostel that night, and given my mood when I got off the bike, it may have been just as well. But dinner and a glass of local wine at an Irish pub in town did wonders for my mood, and a good night’s rest worked further magic. By the time I got to sleep, the ride seemed more like an adventure and less like a horrid mistake.