September 10, 2006

Erin's birthday. Yesterday I learned to eat and drink. Headwinds slowed me to a crawl, and I didn't pass a store between Risser's and Liverpool. I ran out of water, and about ten miles from Liverpool I stopped next to a lawn at a corner that sloped down to the road, parked the bike and lay down on the grass for a rest. I had closed my eyes, and was regaining some strength, when a woman's voice said, "Would you mind if I took your picture?"

She was a lady in her seventies, dressed in work clothes. She had been painting the back of her house. She said she had often seen cyle-tourists come by, but I was the first to have a nap on her lawn. She took a few photos, and said she would mail copies to Erin, and filled up my water bottles. That was a big help, but the SW headwinds that had been building all day were now about 12 knots, and I quit my ride at Lane's Motel.

Today I left the motel at 7:30, got lost, got straightened out and on the right road at 8:00 (I even asked directions, of another guy on a bike, a local, who also had a milk crate on the rear rack. His face was scarred as though by fire, he had a slight speech impediment, and there was some tacit status exchange between us.) I rode steadily on the 103, swearing to stop at least for water by noon. I charged up with 3/4 liter of Powerade and 3 granola bars at the Irving station in Sable River (which I frequented 16 years ago, when I worked at Allendale Electronics in Lockeport) at 11:30. I got to Shelburne at 1:15 - and the Islands Provincial Park is closed for the season. The bastards. I"m here anyway. Stealth camping. Found a place hardly visible to the many people walking their dogs. Just cooked my supper on the paint can stove.

The last two mornings have been all that I could have hoped for. Cool weather, but still warm enough for shorts and a T shirt. Cloudy, but not raining, and the sun coming out at noon. I rode yesterday through rural communities where the only signs of urban sprawl are paved roads and closed country stores. Old cape style houses, freshly restored and painted, many owned by the descendants of those who built them, if names on mailboxes are an indicator of that. I think I was greeted by everyone who wasn't in a car - and many of those gave me a wave as they passed me by.