Swanky to suffragettes: Day 3

We leave upscale Bushnells’s Basin on a cool and bright morning. The sun is glistening in the sky reflecting off the canal while mallards swim in the water and nest on the shore. We are well aware, however, that this idyllic start will become a hot and sweaty slog in the late afternoon as we near Seneca Falls, 57 miles away.

Affluence abounds in this area with well manicured and large homes, horse paddocks and a crewing club hugging the shore of the canal. Unlike the prior parts of the canal we have travelled, this part is more serpentine in form reminding me of oxbows in some of the rivers I have canoed in New England.

Moving away from these suburban settings more and more animals and wildflowers come into view. A red-tailed hawk circles overhead. Ducks and geese ply their way through the canal. A murder of crows rest on a nearby tree. Sparrows line up on adjacent power lines. Bunnies and woodchucks cross the trail. Nature is filling in spaces.

The heat has yet to hit as we push through a tunnel of trees. At certain moments I would swear that the scent of seawater is about, but I know that cannot be the case. 

After a slight rest, we pedal between the canal and a swampy area that holds high-tension power lines. Though some would consider this a weedy wasteland, it is filled with life. The wetter sections are filled with cattails while the drier ones are chock full of wildflowers including black eye susans, milkweed, thistle, chicory and camomile. A few chokeberry bushes are sporting caterpillar tents and birds are flying low, looking for a winged meal. It is nearly silent with the dominant noise coming from our tires rolling over the crushed stone dust trail.

We soon arrive at a lock and rest under the shade of a northern white cedar filled with berries. Fortune and luck smiles on us as we see the lock in action (see separate post).

We cross the canal, the first of many times, and lose the comfort of the shade as the trail is next to the highway. We soon catch up with the boats that were liberated by the locks moments ago as they are traveling slower than our 12 mph pace.

Back in a forest, shade become more welcome and critical to our comfort as the temperature rises. Swampy areas are more common and the air is thick with insects; frogs croak out their song in the background. The canal is hard to see behind the trees adjacent to the canal, many of which are black cherries that are dropping their fruits on the trail. The humidity has increased and the pedaling has become more labored. 

Stopping in Newark for a final water break before lunch, two sailboats with masts down are moored. An unusual pair of craft to find in a canal. Down the canal a mile or two, a large dry dock and repair area awaits for customers.

After a filling lunch in Lyons, the sky is thick with heat. I can practically taste the blacktop in my mouth as the sun is high in the sky and the tar on the road looks as if it is melting. A mother picks raspberries with her son and I need to dodge crabapples on he road.

Video: Riding next to the old Erie Canal

Turning onto another section of an the trail, we are far away from the current working canal but adjacent to the original one. This version is much narrower than the one accommodating large barges and sailboats. It is filled, however, with ample life. Turtles sun themselves on toppled tree trunks. Monarch butterflies feed on nectar. Dragonflies buzz my face in an aerial dogfight having no winner. Fish jump, looking for a meal. 

Leaving the forest and canal on an alternate path taking us to Seneca Falls, we find ourselves in farm country with hillsides filled with more crops than cattle. The undulating landscape has high and low plantings that are exploding with the season. The roads have become straighter than before and the heat is unrelenting. Though the dominant crops appear to be corn, soybeans and grain grasses, one farmer’s fields are planted with tens of thousands of sunflowers spaced so closely to one another that the budding out flower heads will jockey with each other for space once they get larger. 

The heat stops us again. Time to hydrate.

The heat, humidity and rotting manure creates a perfume that few could appreciate. And then we smell the tale tale sign of a skunk in distress. 

A horse drawn hay wagon driven by a white-bearded man wearing a wide brimmed straw hat, light blue shirt and dark blue pants turns to our left. I wonder how he copes with the heat given how profusely we are sweating wearing more skimpy attire. Later two young girls wearing black bonnets driving a pair of work horses coyly smile our way, waving as they pass us by.

It’s hot. Time for another water break. 

The next few hours are uncomfortably hot. The beauty of the sceneries be they a deer leaping through a soybean field, the smell of freshly cut hay, the undulating tapestry of corn fields and the worn patina of a grain silo are lost on us. We are hot and tired and want to find our evening’s resting spot.

And eventually we do. It is absolutely lovely and more than makes up for the last few hours on the road.