Warning: The following may have been influenced by artificial “intelligence”
Day Nine of our ten-day pilgrimage across New York, otherwise known as Ride the Erie. We’re just one dude in a wheelchair and two grown ass men, one more grown, the other more of an ass. And we’re just out here diggin’ tons of nature and taking in a whole lotta miles of love. We intended to get an early start today because we wanted to bank some extra miles and make tomorrow a little easier on my increasingly pissed-off body. We weren’t as early as we would have liked, but that’s okay man, because sometimes you have to surrender to the universe.
The first few miles were mostly paved, with some rough bridge transitions and a couple of railroad crossings that appeared to have been constructed by people who deeply dislike wheelchairs. Around mile five, we encountered about a quarter-mile of pavement that was absolutely gnarly. Here’s the thing about trail surfaces man, everybody thinks pavement is automatically easier. Not so, my friends. Give me a beautiful bed of crushed limestone fines and I am one happy hippie. Give me compact dirt and I’m groovy. Even grass can have a little cosmic give to it, man. But pavement with giant tree roots buckling underneath? That shit is basically a concrete xylophone for my skeleton. Every bump sends a little percussion solo through my body. And here’s where my inner plant nerd gets conflicted. Because I LOVE trees. Trees are magnificent carbon-sequestering, oxygen-producing, shade-making, bird-housing, fungal-networking organisms. But when their roots start turning the trail into a lunar landscape, I’m like, “Brother tree, I love you. But could you maybe chill the fuck out?” By mile seven, we finally got off the pavement and onto the dirt. Ahhhhhhh, earth.
The trail was much quieter than yesterday, and most of the people we saw before 1:00 p.m. were wearing Buffalo Bills gear. So apparently the local ecosystem today consisted of hardwood forest, black walnuts, and football fans. Around mile ten we passed some enormous old mansions and another flood-control gate. Then we entered the Black Walnut Zone. Holy mother of Juglans nigra. Black walnuts were everywhere. Now, I love black walnut trees. They’re fascinating plants. They produce juglone, they influence surrounding vegetation, they provide food for wildlife, and their nuts are basically little botanical survival capsules. But when thousands of those little bastards are lying underneath your wheelchair tires, the spiritual relationship gets complicated. The tree is groovy, the nut is not.
My wheelchair is also beginning to sound like a Grateful Dead percussion section. After more than three hundren miles of mixed trail surface, there are rattles coming from places that definitely shouldn’t be rattling. I’m pretty sure one of the chair’s bolts has achieved enlightenment and is now vibrating at a higher frequency. I’ve also had several sudden shutdowns with Error Code 7, which I believe is related to overload protection, but it could mean a variety of things. The chair has been running at the same speed all week, so I’m suspicious of the increasingly dusty conditions. Maybe the dust is clogging something. Maybe the chair is tired. Maybe the chair has simply realized that we’re on day nine and is questioning its life choices. Honestly, I understand.
People always ask how I can go these kinds of distances every day. The secret is a custom lithium battery we built that should give me more than eighty miles of range. From a chemistry standpoint, lithium is pretty bitchin’. Unlike lead-acid batteries, which gradually lose voltage as they discharge, lithium batteries can maintain much more consistent power output until they’re nearly empty. But getting one of these things onto an airplane? That’s where the universe stops being groovy. Airline regulations make large lithium batteries incredibly difficult to transport unless they meet very specific requirements. So, basically, I can ride nearly 400 miles through New York in a wheelchair, but getting the damn battery on an airplane is where civilization draws the line.
Mother Nature provided plenty of groovy distractions today. We saw an osprey, pied-billed grebes, cormorants, muskrats, a green snake, and multiple eastern milk snakes. Then, five miles beyond Albion, the universe handed us a gift. A bald eagle flew low over the trail and landed in a tree practically right beside us. I mean… come on. That’s some serious fucking magic, bro.
I was so excited about the birds and snakes and shit I totally forgot to tell you about when we rolled into Albion. Before we even got into town, the town started welcoming us like we were returning astronauts. Signs. Balloons. More signs. Then a police car held back invisible traffic and Debbie Thies, the leader of the Albion Ian’s Ride fan club, and Tim McMurray, the mayor, were there with even more balloons. I did a little interview with local media while everyone ate ice cream. Ice cream after thirty five miles? That’s not dessert. That’s frozen recovery goodness, man.
We kept rolling past Albion because we wanted to steal some miles from tomorrow. And this is where the Erie Canal gets really freaking beautiful. Sometimes the canal bends through a hardwood forest. Sometimes it opens beside a field. Sometimes the sky turns impossibly blue and the clouds arrange themselves like somebody upstairs is doing landscape photography. And as someone who is slightly obsessed with plants and animals, I find myself looking around thinking, holy shit, this entire place is alive. Trees pumping carbon around. Fungi trading nutrients underground. Birds hunting insects. Fish moving through the canal. Plants competing for sunlight. Decomposers turning dead stuff back into soil. It’s one gigantic, interconnected chemical reaction. Nature is basically the world’s biggest hippie chemistry lab. Hella bitchin’ stuff.
And then there is the greatest scientific controversy of the entire trip, New York apples vs. Washington apples. Our New York friends insist their apples are better. I have examined the evidence. I have considered their position. I have contemplated the universe. And I have concluded Washington apples are totally superior. Sorry, New York. But the science is settled.
We finally stopped just shy of forty five miles. And then came the ceremonial part. At the finish, we dipped our tires into the Erie Canal. After nine days and hundreds of miles, there was something pretty damn cool about literally touching the canal we’d been following all this way.
Then we were treated to dinner and a beer at a local pizza place. It was actually the first day of the ride that didn’t end at a brewery. But fear not, my friends. We still managed to get some beer in our bellies. Thank you, Debbie, for welcoming us so warmly to Albion and treating us to dinner. That kind of hospitality is what makes a long journey feel like a community adventure instead of just a really long argument between my body, my wheelchair, and gravity.
Day Nine: Rochester → Albion → beyond. Almost forty five miles. Snakes. Birds. Muskrats. Walnuts. One glorious eagle. A rattling wheelchair. A canal baptism. And one hell of a lot of groovy vibes. One day to go. Approximately nine thousand reasons to love this weird, beautiful planet. Mother Nature keeps putting on one hell of a show as this hippie and team continue to roll on through it.
Final note: This is the first and last time we’ll have the help of AI, but we were amused.
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