Miles to date: 3,260.7
After a pleasant sleep in the Asian room at the Tudor House Bed & Breakfast in Port Colborne, I made coffee and we started to pack up. Normally we would be in a rush to hit the road, but we were awaiting the breakfast that Judith was preparing for our 8:00am sitting. I’m not one to take photos of my food, let alone meal videos, but this was one to remember. We felt like we were in some sort of turn of the 20th century scene at our palatial manor while our cook and staff treated us like royalty. Geeto said he felt he should retire to the drawing room afterwards with his paper and pipe.
While we were awaiting our breakfast in the sitting room, I thumbed through the “Pocketbook of Affirmation”; maybe it was just what I needed to get over my “thrill has gone away” attitude that has been a creeping malaise these past few days. “Be careful how you are talking to yourself because you are listening.” Sounded like some timely advice. I remember a similar feeling as I was in the closing stages of my Mississippi River adventure; but I also remember the thrill of completing that journey; so I have that still to look forward to when we touch our front wheels in the Atlantic Ocean. I’ll continue talking to myself with more thankfulness and wonder.
It was a pleasant 20-mile ride from Port Colborne to the Peace Bridge crossing the Niagara River to Buffalo. We moved quickly (14-16 MPH) as we were sheltered on the rail trail that took us that whole distance, and we knew we had a short day of riding (30 miles total). Also, I think Geeto was mostly concerned about getting in front of a television for the Buffalo Bills 1:00 kickoff. He grew up in Buffalo and our final destination was his sister Katie’s house where we were to watch the game.
The ride was fun and a nice blend of relaxing and hard work. As usual, we didn’t talk much, but we did have a brief conversation about road kill. We saw what we believe was a dead opossum today; it was definitely an opossum, and it was either dead or a master trickster with its intestines lying out on the pavement. We’ve seen dead skunks, birds, deer, cats, coyotes, raccoons, squirrels of every color, frogs, turtles, snakes, one bat and a headless fish… there’s not a day’s ride that doesn’t find some form of animal carnage. It’s a sad reminder of the transience of life on earth.
We met a few people along the way today who were very much alive! Tom and Judy were from the area; we passed them as they were biking, then they caught up to chat with us as we stopped to water the willows along the path. We saw them later after we hit an unexpected dead end and backtracked. As was everyone we met in Ontario, they were friendly, encouraging and enthusiastic when talking about our journey. We also stopped at Fort Erie to chat with a few of the soldiers stationed there. They were gracious with their time to educate us about the fort, and we had some jovial banter about historic invasions that occurred in this area when the US was trying to become a nation. It was good fun and our spirits were high as we approached the Peace Bridge to return to our native land with wonderful memories of the Ontario people.
As we got close to the Peace Bridge, it was as if Ontario didn’t want us to leave. We followed signs for the bike and pedestrian entrance only to find ourselves in the truck lane. A polite Canadian with a Chicago Bears thermos directed us back through a gate with instructions to turn left; this led to a grassy slope between two buildings that looked like a trail for herding sheep. We then tried to follow the Ride with GPS directions which seemed to take us back towards Ontario. Thankfully, a couple riding bikes wearing Bills jerseys rode past and told us to follow them to the US; if not for those Bills fans we may have been late for kickoff (or maybe out there still).
After we found our way to the Bills Nation entrance, we were greeted by an unsurprisingly gruff US customs officer. There he was with his immigration face, with an accusatory tone, “Why were you in Canada?!” Geeto, “We’re crossing the continent on bicycles and we came from a friend’s house in Detroit; this was the shortest route.” Customs response, “Camera!” Not, “please look into the camera…” No interest in our journey. No hint of welcome home. Certainly no recommendations for local restaurants that we got on our Canadian entry! When I handed over my passport next, we exchanged no words. He took my document, I looked at his camera, he kept his grim demeanor while looking at the computer screen, and I just smiled stupidly. I thought my history as a serial Pepperami smuggler from travels to England may cause some difficulty in my re-entry, but after a moment he simply handed back my passport and told us rather curtly, “Exit out the gate.”
Geeto’s sister Katie was a gracious host for our arrival on the bikes. After a shower we cheered the Bills to victory (though they seemed to try hard to lose); we ate Buffalo style pizza and wings. And Geeto’s niece and nephew made me look silly in my 3rd time playing pinochle. We then locked the bikes away for a long separation as we grabbed a few belongings to take on our flight back to Chicago tomorrow. We’re returning home for Lecy’s daughter’s wedding, and this is where we’ll introduce a one week hiatus to our journey.
After the game, Katie took us to their Aunt Margie’s house for a visit, then on to Uncle Tommy and Mary Ellen’s where we’re staying tonight. At both of these visits there was news about various members of this prolific Irish family. Geeto’s dad was one of nine (I think) children, all of whom had children. I’m not sure if Geeto even knows how many cousins he has. Then, there’s the complication that they all grew up in the same neighborhood, and neighborhood kids are often referenced the same as family (Rick Balon included, who rode with us to Pinckney MI). I followed along as best I could, but all of the Reilly clan seems to have kissed the Blarney Stone, so the waterfall of names and lineage quickly becomes difficult to discern. But I was entertained hearing tales both old and new, about characters who I don’t know but could picture; and it was insightful seeing the kinds of people that helped form my good friend. I also learned that Geeto’s grandfather earned money to pay his college tuition as a card shark on Great Lakes gambling boats; card-playing prowess runs long and deep in the Reilly family; and Geeto is the self-proclaimed best card player I know.
When we return to our bike travels on October 7, we’ll travel from Geeto’s sister’s house northeast to start our journey along the Erie Canal. This will be a 76 mile day after a prolonged break… hopefully we’re physically and mentally up to the task at the start of this final leg to Rhode Island. Day 47: Buffalo to Rockport
For the Pedaling Pilgrims! Spotify playlist, I’m sorry David Jones, but I won’t be adding B.B. King’s Thrill Is Gone. I need to be careful what I say to myself because I’m listening; there’s still plenty of thrill left!
Instead, as an ode to our US immigration man, who looked as if he didn’t know if he can let me in… We felt more nervous approaching re-entry to the US than we were crossing into Canada; this just seemed all wrong. As Geeto said afterwards, it doesn’t cost anything extra to be kind. Immigration Man
Also, as we rode around in circles trying to find our way onto the Peace Bridge crossing… I had this song in my head. Must of Got Lost
And lastly, as an ode to Katie’s dog Ruby who tried her best to help me in pinochle (who said dogs and me don’t care for one another?). Okay, this one is a little bit of a stretch to include in this themed playlist, but I enjoy this version of the song, and Ruby was a cute dog. Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town
I’m not sure when or how much I’ll blog in my time away. I can’t see going 8 days without offering a few musings, but there won’t be any miles ridden for a while. We have nearly 600 miles to go in 9 days when we return, then that will be the end.
In the meantime, I’ve got a few ailments to mend. 3,200 miles of biking has taken a few minor tolls on various muscles. But, I’m doing better than our mascot Polly who now resembles some of the roadkill we’ve witnessed.
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