38.5 mi / 10.0 mph / 2270 ft. climbing
Home: Bear Spring Mountain State Park

The thermometer inside the tent said 70 degrees when we woke up, but outside it was revealed to be a much-more-reasonable 52. There must have been something about no wind and gathered humidity (the inside of the rainfly was soaked, as was the grass everywhere) that created an insulating layer.

We haven’t quite yet made it to black bear country, but when checked in yesterday at the office, the clerk gave a required warned about raccoons being an issue (as did a flyer posted at the bathroom). That meant there weren’t any bear boxes (which are often more-useful as “raccoon boxes”) where we could store our food, so we instead just consolidated food stuff into panniers that we kept close under the rainfly, and then kept the bikes close to the tent so that I’d know if there was any snooping going on. Well, there were deer (one went galloping through the field so close to me at near-dark last night that I could feel him through the ground), a pack of coyotes celebrating a kill, and a strange calling bird, but thankfully, zero sightings and evidence of raccoons.

But the wet tent and wet grass (which clumped and got tracked everywhere) made for a relatively-slow morning, and Rett, hoping for just one “get to camp and have time/energy to explore” evening, was fuming that we weren’t able to get rolling any earlier. Thus it did not help that I discovered a flat tire on my bike when I pushed out of our campsite. Ugh!

Once reinflated, we climbed a bit to get out of the park, and then cashed in a nice 8-mile downhill bringing us to the West Branch of the Delaware River. We got onto NY-10, climbed 200 feet up to the top of a dam, and then were granted a rare 20+ mile stretch of (relative!) flatness, most of it along the Cannonsville Reservoir.

There were barely any cars, and it was a gorgeous ride. This “direct” route we’re taking from Skaneateles to the New York City area isn’t on any published bike-touring route, and seems to be relatively-unexplored, but the combination of scenery, low-traffic (and respectful drivers), and state parks really make it a world-class area for bike touring. If (and this is a big if!) you don’t mind hills.

If you do mind the hills, and have a mini-submarine, you could drop it in this reservoir and flow with zero effort all the way to Manhattan, despite starting more than 100 crow-flies miles away (and closer to the shore of Lake Ontario past Syracuse, than to NYC). Because it’s unbelievably part of the New York City water supply!

Today there was only a single town on our entire route, 33 miles into our day. Luckily Walton at least has a proper grocery store, and not only that, a McDonald’s! When I mentioned that to Rett, that rare opportunity drew us, for better or worse, to push on far past our normal lunchtime (sustaining ourselves on M&Ms) until we got to Walton.

As nice as smooth, wide, shouldered NY-10 was, some mild but steady headwinds (and maybe lack-of-calories) were causing us to drag as we got closer, so we elected to cross to the local road on the opposite bank of the river for the last five miles. Despite the surface being a sort of compacted-gravel chipseal, it was totally the right call, largely because the narrower, tree-lined road gave us more wind-protection than open NY-10 corridor. And there were just more interesting things to be distracted by, to help those last miles tick down faster.

It was a bit surprising that there was actually more traffic on the local road than the highway, but when we reached Walton we realized that they were likely all going to the traffic/parking nightmare that was the Delaware County Fair firing up for the day. We zipped past the fairgrounds as fast as we could, and finally were rewarded with our fast-comfort-food at McDonald’s. While eating inside, suddenly the windows got wet, as an unexpected rain cloud came through. Conveniently, we’d parked the bikes under awnings, and we now have somehow avoided getting wet since we left Skaneateles, despite there being rain on three of those four days.

Up until this point, our elevation profile had been mostly downhill or flat (though of course with plenty of small up-and-downs when winding up the river). But this region refuses to allow us days with under 2000 feet of climbing, so it remembered at the last minute to insert a giant 1000-foot spike to climb in our last five miles to camp. It rose at a steady 7% grade, with a shoulder so cracked and potholed that it was nearly like a mountain-bike trail. Except without the no-traffic benefits of a mountain-bike trail. Rett busted out the first 600 feet without a break, then another 250, and a final 150-foot push brought us to the top and our turnoff to Bear Mountain Springs. The power of the McDonald’s ice cream sundae did some amazing work!

While I was setting up our campsite and Rett was in the shower, there was a sudden and unexpected crack of thunder. Cell coverage was iffy so I couldn’t get help from the radar, and just raced to get rain covers on our panniers, and half-ass the rainfly onto the tent before the skies opened.

As good as New York State Parks are, they have an unusually-complex and pointless check-in process, where they require you to go into the office, and then ask you a whole bunch of questions (“do you have any pets with you?”) despite the fact that you already answered these questions online with your reservation, and maybe even answered them in a “pre-arrival questionnaire” that they email a few days prior to your booking (after submitting it to no benefit at the first park, we stopped bothering). Then you need to sign like 5 things, and they give you 2 or 3 of those things to take with you (which we never need to show anyone). At this park, the office had been closed, so we just went straight to our site.

Thus it was kind of awesome and amazing that it was a young 20-year-old kid who had more cut-the-pointless-bullshit wisdom than any of the more-experienced women at the previous parks. He drove by in his golf cart, recognized that we were on bikes, and just asked for our names so that we wouldn’t have to come back to the office. It was then just after the crack of thunder that he returned with the forms, ran down to the picnic table, let me sign the minimum amount of stuff, skipped all the pointless questions that he knew the answers to, and let me get back to business. Thank you young sir!

Rett hid out in the shower until the rain mostly stopped, but then the trees that I had pitched the tent under kept it “raining” for at least another hour. She stayed inside chopping veggies, while I managed the outdoor cooking at the table that was just at the edge of the drip-zone. Rain is never fun for us, so I figured that Rett’s mood would have tumbled even further down the hill from where it had been this morning, so I was really glad that she remained surprisingly cheery under the challenging conditions.

When I went to fill water, I spoke with a motorcyclist whose site the spigot encroached on. He warned that the water wasn’t good for drinking, pointing to the “No Dish Washing” sign. I think I suppressed my laugh, and then explained that no, the water is totally fine, they just don’t want people making a mess around the water spigots. It was a nice reminder of how much more camping experience we have than most people, even if it frequently doesn’t feel like it. He also confirmed that the rain was total surprise, and he’d caught four spells today before arriving here! I tried to ignore the fact that he had come from New York City this morning, an area that we wouldn’t reach for at least four more days.