Ithaca, NY --> Binghamton, NY --> Callicoon, NY --> West Point, NY

JULY 9, 2016

7 July was my 34th birthday and we enjoyed a slower paced start to the day-ever more so than our usual mornings. Our first celebration was at Collegetown Bagels (CTB, as the Cornell kids say) with our friends Thibaud and Sandy. After a round of California Sunrise bagel sandwiches and an hour of great conversations with old friends, we pedaled back up Cascadilla Gorge one last time to Laura and Yvonne's.

Yvonne helped us print off some maps (first time we'd had physical maps since MT), we shared one more set of heartfelt goodbyes, and we set sail for a shorter 50-mile ride to Binghamton. Kate and I had been dreading the ride between Ithaca and West Point perhaps more than any other part of the journey. Aside from the climbing, we would also be contending with many small winding shade-covered roads, narrow shoulders, and heavier East Coast traffic. We were confident of our climbing abilities, just wanted to stay safe.

Although dark-ish clouds occasionally masked the sun, the ride to Binghamton was a dry one. The highlight was hitting our favorite local biking route on the way out of town: Brooktondale Rd along Six Mile Creek, stopping at Brooktondale Market for lunch, and then White Church Rd south. It was more lovely than we remembered. Much like the time we spent with our friends, it was another reminder of how special a place Ithaca was for us at a time we needed it most-a long reintegration after deployment number two.

Once in Binghamton we appropriately celebrated my 34th lap around the solar system with beers and lots of food at the Galaxy Brewing Company. We then settled in for the night at the Grand Royal, a massive old hotel that a century ago served as city hall. The next day we decided to follow NY Bike Rt 17 to the best of our abilities, thinking that at least drivers along these narrow mountain roads will be more used to seeing cyclists.

We were greeted early on with an incredibly steep climb out of the Susquehanna River Valley and found an extremely windy road, lots of trees blocking the light, and virtually no shoulder. This was just the scenario we were afraid of and it turned out to be for good reason. Just a couple miles in, two consecutive cars on the same blind curve forced us off the road. With no shoulder that meant plunging our tires off into gravel and debris. After the second incident we dusted ourselves off, inspected the tires, and pulled out our bright yellow reflective rain jackets, which were brutal to wear in the 95 degree and humid day. We sweated a little more up the rest of the day, but at least we were visible.

The first fuel stop was an old saw mill town called Deposit. While conducting the usual Gatorade chugging, a young man approached us. We were clearly the most exciting part of his day. He was on a lunch break from the mill and spent the majority of it talking to us, while his coworkers ate their burgers and puffed at cigarettes. Kate thinks his name was Darren.

The last cross country cyclist Darren had met-at the same gas station-was stranded with a broken chain. Darren had graciously saved the day with his chain tool and sent the guy on his way. He was such an inquisitive, bright person and we encouraged him to pursue his own cross country bike trip as we climbed back on the bikes and rolled out of town.

Cycling across the country on a tight timeline, without much planning, or a heavy bundle of maps would not have been possible without Google Maps. Every morning we were able to pull up turn-by-turn directions already optimized to limit traffic and elevation gain. However, on occasion the Google algorithms put us on country roads not intended for 700x25mm tires. The recommended route out of Deposit was one of these. We soon found ourselves on the Pennsylvania side of the South Branch Delaware River on a gravel road. Several miles in the gravel turned to dirt. We had actually not traversed a single dirt road along the ride, but as long as the rain held off, we actually preferred it to the gravel.

We eventually crossed back into NY at Hancock and resumed the seeming infinite loop of climbing and descending. As we reached the peak of our final mountain, the afternoon storms finally caught up to us. When the valley to our right started to disappear under the gray haze of a downpour we sought out cover. Almost right away we came upon a very colonial looking old church near a place called "French Woods Camp."

As the rain started to gush down we started to think that the church had been a gift from the creator. Right about then a gentleman who lived next door stormed over through the rain to reprimand us for trespassing and demanded to know what we were up to. The church was apparently now private property. We apologized and assured him that we were on our way out anyway. But after he left we checked the radar and decided to stay for a while longer until the next storm cell passed.

After over an hour in this old dusty church that was oddly still decorated for Christmas, the rain started to lift and we decided to get back on the road. As soon as we started pedaling the rain picked back up. Eventually we were riding in the same sort of downpour we initially were trying to avoid. Kate packed up her hearing aid and we settled in for a rainy slog off the mountain. Oftentimes mountains create their own bad weather, so we had a hunch that as we descended, conditions would improve. By the time we rolled into Callicoon, our destination, the sun had indeed come back. We were soaked to the bone as we coasted into town, but happy as always to have safely finished the day's ride.

We spent the night in the historic "Western Hotel" that reminded us of the many sleepy rail road towns we stopped in throughout the West. Our inkeeper was actually celebrating his first night of managing the hotel. Turns out the business had changed owners earlier in the day. It made for an interesting visit.

Following a "rustic" night's rest, we meandered across the street for breakfast at Lander's River Cafe. As we enjoyed our oatmeal, eggs, and toast (what had become our standard breakfast somewhere in Nebraska) heavy rain once again started to descend upon the area. The radar did not look promising either. It seemed like yesterday's mountains were still causing all the trouble. So eventually we packed up our to-go ham, egg, and cheese sandwiches and hit the road. The temperature had dropped about 20 degrees, so when combined with the drizzling rain we found a perfect opportunity to wear the new yellow "Wheels Up" jerseys that had been mailed to meet us in Ithaca. I definitely procrastinated on ordering these, but it turns out they would have been too hot everywhere save for maybe the ride out of Seattle. We certainly appreciated their warmth that morning.

The clouds were thick, temperature cool, and air was filled with mist for the entire day. At this point only 80 miles and several thousand feet of climbing was between us an West Point-the trips intermediate destination.

Climbing out of Rock Hill, NY we started to get alarmingly close to the clouds. In the helicopter world inadvertently "punching in" to the clouds is among the things one hopes to avoid. We has similar hopes while riding up these narrow and windy, mountain roads. Sure enough before long we were pedaling in the bicycle equivalent of instrument meteorological conditions. We pulled out all of our reflective gear, turned on the lights, and paid super-close attention to what we could see of the cars coming up behind us. We knew this was the highest point in the ride so we just needed to get down the mountain as quickly and safely as possible.

Soon we were descending and the fog started to melt away. Almost as if they were congratulating us on the feat, the good people of Wurtsboro welcomed us into their town for the annual summer festival. We were happy to hop off the bikes and mingle among the community as we walked through the shops, vendors, and food stands. The break was good, beacuse our climb out of Wurtsboro was perhaps the steepest of the day. Luckily we saw a milk shake opportunity at the next town. We were now within striking distance of West Point on bellies full of milky, sugary fuel.

Once we rounded Stewart Airport and turned south toward Cornwall, I called up my old West Point roommate (and Afghanistan bunkmate.. technically bed mate? but that's another story). Adam was now teaching cadets English and literature as a military professor at West Point. But he decided to put the red fountain pen down (actually he uses blue so that the cadets don't feel so bad-"the corps has!"), hop on his bike, and join us for the ride into the academy.

Much like every other rendezvous, it was strange to sudden meet someone from your life on the road. Adam joined us for the seemingly appropriate overcast ride along the Hudson via Hwy-218. The wake of the dark river chopped at the rock wall below us and the clouds blended in to the granite as we approached the academy. Getting to West Point in time had been the unstated goal of the journey. The cold, forbidding scene was a nice reminder of all the many challenges we'd overcome to get there. As we cruised down from Washington Gate it was amazing to note all of the relics from my cadet days and how they were now connected to this cross-country bike ride.

Once we arrived at "the Plain"-a vast green field that sits in front of Washington Hall and the cadet barracks-the USMA class of 2020 was assembling for evening instruction. They had barely been at West Point a week. It was incredible seeing them only a few days into a journey that I had begun 15 years prior. Adam tried to convince me to go do "the Rocket" with them (see update from West Point, NE), but I didn't feel the need to draw attention to ourselves. But maybe I should have done it. Oh well, next time. :-)

Adam and his wife Karen were amazing hosts. There were a lot of logistics behind enabling my Google orientation in NYC to happen. Aside from the usual housing and food requirements imposed upon our previous hosts, we also needed a place to store the bikes for four days (their garage), we needed a place for me to shave my scraggly beard (their bathroom) and we needed a lift to Garrison to catch our train. All of which they happily provided. The following day Kate and I stared across the Hudson on a train platform that we had previously only know as a means to visit each other during weekend escapes. Although the "start date" at Google was a sore subject throughout the ride, we did love that we were beginning the next phase from West Point while on our amazing bike ride, together. The fact that I was actually going to be working at Google was also pretty damn amazing.

Three days of metabolizing delicious Google food, sleeping in a posh hotel, and not pedaling a single mile felt like luxury. The day orientation ended Kate and I packed up, shipped my work clothes in the mail back to Cambridge (my HBS sectionmate, Jens, had graciously carreid my suitcase from Boston back in May and stored it in his NY apartment all summer). We then loaded up on food and took a late afternoon train back north to West Point. Adam, amazing friend that he is, was standing by to pick us up at Garrison for the drive back over to West Point.