To Boston we go.

Donal had warned us that the Airline trail was a bit rough to start with, but that it got better, so stick with it. We stuck to it, but I don’t know how far Donal had taken this trail, because she was good for 15 miles or so, sometimes single track, sometimes a beautiful dirt road, but all through lush New England woods. At around mile 15.5, however, she became a swampy bog of a trail. We slugged through some sketchy squishy bits; I fell in to a mud puddle at one point; Brant’s bike got stuck; it was eventful.

We thanked the trail for the good 15 miles and sought some pavement. We were looking to bike 85 miles that day to make it all the way to Boston. The slow trail put us a little behind schedule, not to mention Brant's two flats, but we plugged along, inching over the many back road hills that take you from Connecticut to Mass. The roads were slow, but beautiful and lonely, winding us past lakes and old cabins.

 Massachusetts’ border was a wall of cars. Our lonely roads turned into backed up two lane highways for Massachusetts’ vacationers and Boston commuters.

As we rode with the stream of traffic next to us, a commuter slowed down to my speed and asked if we were going “cross country,” I nodded and smiled, and he said he did it in the 70’s. Stoked, he caught up to Brant and gave him a honk. Brant took this as a get-out-of-the-road honk and gave him “the wave,” a wave an old cyclist instructed us to give instead of flipping an evil motorist off. This cyclist explained that simply waving would piss motorists off even more than blatant retaliation.

Good thing too, because I was the only one who could distinguish Brant’s pissed off wave, and our innocent motorist (who was trying to be friendly but doesn’t understand that when you honk behind a cyclist that it scares the poop out of them) was waiting for us at the bottom of the hill. He introduced himself as Jeff, and asked if we needed a place to camp for the night and a shower, explaining that he lived just around the other side of the lake. It was almost 5, and we still had 30 miles to go to Boston. So we took him up on the offer.

Jeff had some errands to run, and explained that he would call his wife and warn her that we were coming. We pulled up to the house on the lake and went up the stairs of their deck to meet Tericita.

Tericita was not on the same page as Jeff. She was nice, but it was quite clear that she was not so happy that we were at her doorstep. She escorted us back down the deck stairs and down to the garage, which was the only way she would let us access the shower (not through the house).

Eventually Tericita warmed up a little to us. She let me wash dishes in her kitchen sink. To give her a break, she was raised in Columbia, and due to a variety of unfortunate events she doesn’t trust strangers. (This is how Jeff explained it when he got home later that evening and explained his wife’s unhappy response to our arrival). Nevertheless, it was such an interesting experience, to have been stopped by a stranger and invited to stay at their house and then not be welcome.

But their house was a short trail away from a fantastic ropes-swing, which was worth all of the awkwardness in the world.

 The short ride to Boston was sunny and great. As we followed the bike path that runs along the Charles River, we were blown away by the beautiful boat houses belonging to various local universities; the Boston College boat house being the most aweing.

We arrived in Cambridge and explored some of Harvard’s campus. Once again, we pedaled through another Ivy-League freshman orientation. Listening to the arguments between parents and their freshman daughters and sons never seems to get old. The kid is embarrassed of their parents, but mom just wants to make sure they have the right bedding. Been there.

 There was a gypsy jazz band, Tuba Skinny, playing in a little park. We parked our bikes and listened in the grass. We had nowhere to rush to, so we sat and enjoyed the music and some people watching while we waited for Nick and Daria, our Warm Shower's Hosts, to get off of work. 

 

After the music we wrote at a local café and snooped around a cool community bike shop.

We met Nick at their cute little apartment on the bottom floor of an old house. We had emailed Nick and Daria a few days earlier, explaining that we would like to stay in Cambridge for a day or so that Brant could knock on the doors of a few professors he had been trying to contact over the last two months about trying to work in a lab. Nick responded to Brant’s request, wondering exactly he wanted to ask from these professors, explaining that he is a Biology PhD student at Harvard that works in a lab studying that evolution of e-colai. This will mean more to poop scholars than to me, but all to say is that we contacted the perfect Warm Showers’ host!

Nick was very interested in our gear and our bicycles, and asked many questions about why we picked what we picked. Daria got home with dinner fixings and local beer. They made us delicious and hearty vege chili and we sat around the table learning about each other. 

Daria is also getting her PhD at Harvard in Health Economics. They are both from Tennessee. And they had just finished a bicycle tour around Iceland this summer. After Iceland, Nick toured by himself in Europe and loved it.

Brant and Nick discussed Brant’s water project and ideas for a portable lab that would test coliform contamination. Daria and Nick brainstormed different friends they know who might be able to sneak Brant into a lab.

We enjoyed every minute of their company. So kind, and very intelligent, they were very inspiring. We slept great on their air mattress, and in the morning Brant and I walked to Trader Joe’s for some avocados, bagels, cream cheese, and eggs. Yum. We ate together and shared coffee.

 Daria went to work, and Nick chatted with us while we packed up. We said goodbye, and looked forward to hearing from and seeing them again.

Brant and I pedaled over one the old bridges that take you from Cambridge to Boston. We rode by Boston University to see where Reid would be attending med school next fall. From their we biked along to parkway/greenspace that takes you to the Boston city garden. We found the cute little duck sculptures from the classic children’s book, The Ugly Duckling. Kids were crawling all over the metal ducks; it was quite adorable.

 We ventured over to the Boston Commons and a Boston bike messenger informed us that the Commons has free WiFi. With that, we parked ourselves on a small hill that overlooks Frog Pond, the wading pool in the park. Sitting on our yoga mat, we stretched and wrote blog posts and necessary emails.

 After a few hours, we started to think about biking north to Chelmsford, where Peter Walworth and his wife Betsy live. “Wally” is Brant’s dad’s best friend from college, so he and his wife welcomed us to stay with them for as long as we needed. The ride to Chelmsford is only 25 miles or so and the Minute Man Bicycle Path takes you almost all the way there.

The path made for a great ride. Daria and Nick recommended that we get ice cream at the local ice cream shack at the end of the path. The little ice cream shack was surrounded by green fields and cute farm animals. We particularly enjoyed the ducks and the goat.

 Around 6pm we rolled up to Wally’s house.  It was fun to meet someone who knew Brant’s dad in his youth. Within minutes, Wally was telling us stories of 20-year-old Dave in his thick Massachusetts accent and with big personality.

Betsy got home an hour later. Immediately, you knew why these two started dating, she was all humor and full of personality too.

They took us out to eat at their favorite Italian restaurant down the street, which was delicious. After answering their questions about our trip, they concluded we were a bit crazy. Perhaps.

Betsy had a ladies weekend planned with her sister, so the next morning after informing us to eat anything in the fridge, she left us three to explore Boston. Wally dropped us off near the Boston Harbor. The cobbled streets and old colonial buildings full of revolutionary war history were entirely entertaining. We got a beer at the Green Dragon, supposedly the pub where the early American revolutionaries conspired and inspired each other. Then we walked along the old harbor looking at beautiful boats. Finally we arrived at the old USS Constitution, an old navy boat from the war of 1812. You can tour the boat for free, so we went through security and played on the big old boat still decked with canons.

 Wally picked us up after he finished work and we ordered pizza to share with his sister Sandra, whom he wanted us to meet. Sandra biked over from her house to Wally’s and was thoroughly interested in our trip. She too, had a Wally size personality of her own, and we laughed and got to know each other. It was sweet.

The next morning, Brant and I set out to begin our trek towards Maine. Our first stop was Peter White’s bicycle shop in Hillsborough, New Hampshire. Brant plotted our 55 mile course, and after a long morning, we said goodbye to Wally knowing we would be back in only a couple weeks for our flight, and hit the road in search of more of New England.

Out of the city and into the Woods

We left Christy in a frenzy, preparing for an interview to teach at the Academy of Urban Planning in Brooklyn (which she got!). She has such a patient, yet meticulous personality—one of those people you know will be everyone’s favorite teacher, with the perfect balance of focus, organization, and fun.
We left the other roommates a thank you note on their fridge and made our way, for the last time, over the Manhattan Bridge. The sky was bright and blue. We skirted underneath the bridge, wanting to take the scenic way out of the city, along the edge of the Hudson. Pedaling by the new World Trade Center, we tried to imagine the horror that plagued the city eleven years ago.

From there, we passed by the Chelsea Market, waving the High Line one last goodbye. Just as we thought we were going to make good time for the day, we were tempted by a cup of coffee. Stumptown Coffee Roasters is based in Portland, OR, and is probably Brant and I’s favorite roaster. We both had no idea that they also roasted in Brooklyn, so we took advantage of the surprise and purchased some beans to brew on the road. The shop is located in the lobby of the Ace Hotel in Manhattan—I don’t think a place could be more “Hip.” The lobby is dark and lit with old forties style milky glass lamps. The room is always dotted with beautiful people sitting on leather coaches sipping coffee from Stumptown or red wine from the bar.  

Pedestrians and baristas stopped to talk to us as we sipped the last drips of espresso from our camp mugs. Brant took a short walk around the corner to purchase what we think is the cheapest way to feed yourself in this city, some gyros from a local street vendor.

With our espresso gone, and our bellies full of falafel, we were finally ready to say good-bye to New York City. We loved it through and through. Perhaps it was because we found biking to be so accessible; biking a city slows it down, makes it smaller, more manageable. We kept saying to each other, “Could we live here?” And I think we could; it has so much to offer. You could spend a lifetime in the city and not see all that you could see. In the end though, I believe we would miss having a yard and a garden.

On our way out, we caught the greenway that took us by the little red lighthouse below the George Washington Bridge. It happened to be a day where the lighthouse is open to visitors. So we parked our bikes beneath the big grey bridge and wound our way up the old staircase and walked the balcony of the little lighthouse. After being tourists, we headed north to Yonkers to exchange our tent. We took the Manhattan greenway until we got to the Harlem River, we crossed the Broadway Bridge and made our way to another bike path in the Bronx, The North County Trailway, which would take us all the way to Brewster, NY. 

We stopped at REI in Yonkers and paid $30 for a brand new $330 MSR tent. Brant and I swore our allegiance to the co-op, knowing that they totally saved our butts. And later that night, when we camped in the woods just off the trail, and it thundered and poured all night, we were so thankful to have a tent without holes. 

It rained till 9 in the morning, giving us no reason to wake up and disassemble camp. When we heard the last drips of the storm, we finally greeted the world. Everything was wet and soggy, so we packed everything up, and headed out to look for some coffee and a dry place to sit.  We found a fantastic farmers market in the quaint little town of Pleasantville. We ate fresh bread and coffee and purchased some fruits and veggies for the ride. 

After a late start we made our way to Brewster. The ride was sweet and stress free, and along the way we ran into Lake Mahopac. Wanting to find a beach and take a quick dip, Brant ran into the public library to ask a librarian for some directions. While I waited outside, a mom dropping her daughter off at the library asked me about our trip and invited us to swim at her apartment complex’s private beach. Ok. 

Brant popped out of the library, and we made way to her beach. We ate our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sunbathed on the dock. The water was crystal clear and refreshing, a perfect bath between two days of cycling. We hopped back on our bicycles and found the end of the rail trail. 

With no campgrounds in sight, we stopped a local sheriff to ask where he would recommend camping for the night. He was a great resource and pointed us toward some open fields with woods on the way to the border of Connecticut. He left us with a warning, “Watch your stuff as you go through town, there’s a lot of Guatemalans.” He had seemed so cool up until that point. 

We filled up on water for the night and found a great place to camp near where he had told us to look, just above the town reservoir. We ate our burritos and dodged mosquitos till it was time for bed.

Donal, an old stabbie housemate, moved to Connecticut with his wonderful girlfriend, Michelle, just a year ago. We had contacted Donal about perhaps coming to see them on our way up to Boston. They live in the small town of Mansfield, which is dominated by the University of Connecticut. 

 We confirmed with Donal the next morning that he was home and had the following day off. So, at 10am in the morning we decided that we needed to pedal 92 miles in order to be able to spend time with Donal on his day off. We finished eating breakfast. Brant sat on our stove, burning a hole in his brand new bicycle shorts, and eventually we got on our bicycles. 

It was a good long day of riding. We held lunch off with Cliff bars till we got to a Whole Foods in West Hartford at 5 in the evening. After eating our long awaited meal, we pedaled into the night, navigating dark country roads and many hills. Around 10pm, we arrived at Donal and Michelle’s cabin in the woods—in the middle of Connecticut nowhere. We were so excited to see our old friends that we forgot, for a moment, how tired we all were. 

 We fell asleep and woke up in the morning to find that we were staying at the most adorable little farmhouse. We came downstairs and Donal made beautiful pancakes with fresh blueberries and we shared our Stumptown coffee. After breakfast, Donal took us to the backyard to show off their “bike barn.” Oh man! An old horse stable turned bike palace—Brant and I were in awe. 

Donal offered up his extra mountain bike and took Brant on a good New England ride—full of roots and tree dodging.
I stayed back with Michelle, and while she wrote, I enjoyed the blisses of their two gorgeous porches and did some much-needed yoga. From there, I worked a bit on a blog post. And after that, Michelle took me to meet two farmers, who in 2001 toured SE Asia by bicycle. 

 Their farm was idealic and perfect. As the sun drenched the full and fertile rows of vegetables, chickens in moving pens pecked at plants done with their season. Their happy little girls roamed barefoot in sundresses. They were just setting up their farmstand so we decided to come back for potatoes and tomatoes to make for dinner. 

Michelle then drove me past the local dairy and down to the co-op that her sister manages. Here, I purchased our favorite camp food, which can only be found at select co-ops—instant bean mix. It’s light, it cooks extremely fast, and it’s delicious. The last co-op to have it was all the way back in Laurence, Kansas. So I stocked up on our staple and other yummy foods, and we made our way back to the homestead. 

 Later, Brant, Donal, and I went back to the farm to purchase dinner fixings. Brant and I cooked up a potato stir-fry, and Michelle made caprece salad. We set the table on the front porch and enjoyed a good summer meal outside. As the sun set, we lit citronella candles and enjoyed a bit of local ice cream. Michelle continued to interest me with her research and current projects. So we soaked up the great conversation and eventually we were all ready for bed. 

We spent the next day reading, writing, and looking for tickets to go abroad. Our dear friend Lauren May told us that she had just purchased a ticket to Thailand for the end of September. So we took that as a sign that we too should fly in to Thailand. This would allow us to see a dear friend and would put us in Thailand just in time to attend a permaculture course. The two week Ecovillage Design, Deep Ecology, Community Building & Permaculture Workshop has been something Brant and I have been eyeing for a long while, but we didn’t know where or when we were flying into Asia. With a good priced ticket and something to pedal towards, we decided to go for it. On September 23, at eight in the evening we will begin our 26-hour journey to Thailand, stopping in London, Bahrain, and finally, Bangkok! 

After sitting on our butts in front of a computer for way to long, Michelle took us to one of her favorite swimming holes. We jumped off rocks into the crisp water, and lounged on sunny rocks. 

That night Michelle showed off her culinary skills and made us all sweet potato enchiladas that were delicious. Donal had to be off to work early again the following morning, so he gave Brant and I directions to the Airline Trail that would get us on our way to Boston, and we said our goodbyes and our many many thank you's. It was great to see an old friend in a new happy chapter of life.

Taking a Bite out of the Big Apple

The ferry pulled up to the east side of Manhattan with the skyline swelling until it cast a shadow on us and the boat.  Initially there was trepidation about biking on the city streets having seen the many reckless messenger videos.  Fortunately for us we had come across an interesting App called Bike There that overlays layers on google maps indicating where existing bike infrastructure stands.  We picked a route from the dock of the ferry and embarked, hoping to escape Manhattan before rush hour traffic.

What we found was a pleasant surprise.  There seemed to be an abundance of bike lanes, separated paths and bridge crossings.  Before we knew it we were across the river in Brooklyn pulling up to our friend Christy's house.  Her and Lauren, who had been in a close knit group of friends in college, had a joyous reunion.

With one on watch the whole time, we shuttled our belongings up four flights of stairs and locked our bikes in the back yard.  For a Brooklyn appartment shared by four twenty somethings, the layout was spacious.  The main area being a contiguous kitchen, dining and living room.  We tried to occupy as little space as possible and formed a pile in the corner.

That evening there was a birthday party for one of Christy's housemates, Mike.  Festivities were held on the roof above the bustling streets of Brooklyn and within sight (if you leaned over the edge) of the Empire State Building.  It was a lovely scene with christmas lights winding along the ground between benches, feet and a cooler full of beer.  As we sat and conversed with our new friends we came to realize that the temperature and humidity were much more tolerable on the rooftop than in the under ventilated living room.  With that we decided to urban camp rather than crowd out their couch.

As the sun came up over our rooftop bedroom, which was painted silver to reflect its hot rays, we found ourselves in the epicenter of a sort of adhoc solar oven.  Quickly we rose from our now extremely sweaty mats feeling pretty well rested.  Stumbling down the central stairs we clambered back into the apartment, which now felt pleasant in comparison.  Slowly we came to life with caffeine and food in our bellies and geared up for Summer Streets, where they shut down an entire central viaduct in Manhattan from the Brooklyn Bridge up to central park.

It wasn't till about 11 that we dawned our helmets and mounted our bikes, which would have been fine, except the show ended at noon.  Christy deftly guided us through the Brooklyn streets to the shared bicycle and pedestrian platform that crossed the bridge.  Shared might actually be an overstatement.  The entire platform was about 10 feet wide with 3 feet allotted for bikes, which would be acceptable despite the fact that it was to accommodate two directions of traffic.  Bells were blazing for the duration of the crossing, as aloof tourists sauntered and stood in the already impacted bike-way.  At this point, it became apparent that pedestrians were to be our greatest danger in the city streets.

Safely on the Manhattan side of the bridge we entered a bustling street filled with cyclists, skaters, rollerbladers, and pedestrians.  Cross streets were well regulated by traffic cops and there was finally enough room that the street could be shared by all of its users without significant hazard.  Christy left to make a work appointment and Lauren and I were on our own.  Sauntering northward, we soon realized that the police imposed auto dams were about to be lifted.  Not desiring to drown in a flood of cars on a street with no bike lane we motored towards the nearest safe haven, Central Park.

To our delight we found that Central Park's surface streets are always closed to vehicular traffic except during rush hour traffic, leaving us with an 843 acre playground amongst the great monoliths of Manhattan.    On our ride through the park we encountered many other users enjoying the sunny Sunday afternoon and all of the parks many amenities which include: ponds, forested areas, carriage rides, playing fields, free public swimming pools, bridges, rocky outcroppings and certainly many others that remained unseen by us.

Having circumnavigated the park we headed home, now primarily using the city's free bike map to navigate down Broadway.  This soon put us smack in the middle of Times Square.  For us two country kids the whole scene was a little overwhelming, much more so than the rest of the city.  Streets were now entirely overrun by distracted pedestrians gawking at the many flashing billboards and banner signs.  It had become so thick that we had to walk our bikes for a ways, even in places where we should have been able to ride.

With the chaos of Times behind us we ran into a farmers market at Union Square conveniently located next to a Whole Foods.  Having already been exposed to the extremely high prices of everything in the city I was not even phased, except by the color coded cue that guided shoppers like chattel to the 30 some odd cashier islands.  Thirty pounds heavier we were finally headed off the island for the day.  Remembering our experience on the Brooklyn Bridge we opted for the Manhattan bridge that we took in across the river the day before that has a separated bike-way with no pedestrians.  Once at Christy's we cooked dinner chatted for awhile and retreated to our penthouse campsite.

The following days we spent exploring the different corners of the city by bike.  It seemed as though you could devote a month to this activity and still have a lot to see.  Many coffee shops were visited in this time and a few e-mails and blog posts were drafted, but largely we spent our time creating the stories we document here.

We went South to Rockaway beach one day via Coney Island and enjoyed a small fish taco stand on our way to the southern end of the subway line.  Underground we became disoriented, passed our would-be-stop beneath Christy's doorstep, and when the train finally stopped Lauren got off, but I was not quick enough and I watched her disappear on the platform with the map and phone.  The next stop I bolted across the platform to a train about to leave on the other side, thinking that it would be heading in the other direction--wrong--instead, it hurtled me further away.  Finally I got off. I thought about trying to return from whence I came but realized that I would probably do better on the streets that I was quickly becoming familiar with.  In seconds I oriented myself and made it home in a mere 10 minutes, sometime before Lauren, the separation confusing our host, Christy, at the door.

Other days we visited bike shops including the local bike Co-op called Times Up.  During the visit, where we gave our bikes a once over, and Lauren installed new pedals, it was apparent that the shop was severely lacking skillful mechanics to provide help to their patrons.  Before long I found myself instructing one of the only employees available, who was admittedly under trained, before reinforcements showed up.  Through this experience I began to feel so proud of my alma mater, the SLO Bike Kitchen, which is a wonderfully put together, well managed organization (Thank you Tyler, Leslie, and Dan!).

Another point of interest was a place called the High Line, a defunct elevated freight rail bed in the center of Manhattan.  Thanks to a couple motivated individuals, after many years of dormancy, it was adopted as a city park and filled with architectural walkways, benches, fountains, and blossoming in native plants.  This was a distinctively quiet escape only 20 feet above the bustling streets below; and probably, Lauren's favorite stop in the whole city.

Normally when we woke up we would check the weather.  If it indicated that it might rain we would take down the tent and generally evacuate the roof before we left for the day.  After several days of false alarms we had become lazy.  The day before we intended to leave the city, the forecast showed rain for much of the day, ready to go and feeling lazy we simply threw our rainfly over our belongings and hoped for the best.  After trying to write in a coffee shop with no WiFi or bathroom, we explored an old industrial district in the south west end of Brooklyn, Red Hook, an up and coming neighborhood.  As we started winding our way up the shoreline seeking views of Miss Liberty and the island, it started to rain for the second time that day.  We sought refuge under a sun umbrella at Brooklyn's Pier 1 Park, ordered a hot sandwich and tried to wait it out.

Soon it was apparent that the storm was not going to let up before the umbrella soaked through and we decided that it would be wise to head back to Christy's house and check on our rooftop abode, which by now was most certainty soaked.  By the time that we had reached DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge) the storm had really picked up, and we thought, briefly, about getting a cookie before we realized that the building was airconditioned and we did not want to risk hypothermia.  The onslaught continued, at some points hailing, and the streets began to fill with water.  Poor Lauren was becoming successively more blind as her glasses fogged and her vision was clogged by droplets.

When we reached the front door we were greeted by several tenants peering out the glass front door into the rain hoping that it might let up so that they might walk to work without being saturated.  Now inside we were forming puddles on the tile in the foyer and we tried to figure out where to put our bikes that had been parked outside for the week.  Deciding on the space under the central staircase Lauren rolled her bike in that direction just as I notice the weather begin to turn again.  Winds started to howl and I proclaimed "Lauren its really geting crazy outside."  As she sarcastically replied that "it couldn't possibly be any worse," I bolted out of the front door having seen a green flash across the top part of the front door.

By the time that Lauren came out to see what was going on she found me coming back with a handful of sopping sleeping bag and pillows, behind me another onlooker was holding our tent from blowing further away in the gutter, now river.  We shuttled our belongings into the building with ghastly despair, realizing our terrible oversight for the day.  It was a sad sight,  our mangled home heaped in Christy's shower.

Trying to get over our self pity, it was time to make use of the tennis balls that I picked up in Tribune Kansas and go to the laundromat.  The dryers here were only 1 penny per minute, unfortunately our stuff was also covered in road grime and the super size washers were more like $7, oh well.  Hours later our stuff was clean, dry and fluffed and we were feeling much better, except our rain fly was still ripped and our tent poles still bent.  Knowing that REI sells our tent, despite not having bought it there, we decided to give them a call.

The man on the other line told Lauren that "REI can only refund items purchased at REI," but he had sympathy for our situation and told Lauren, "What you need to do is: when you come, be sure that you say that you purchased it at REI."  Reassured, we planned the trip to the downtown store for the next day and decided to catch a movie to relax for the rest of the evening.  Now bear in mind this was not just any movie, but The Dark Knight Rises, and while in New York City why not see it in IMax.  Thinking that the show was at 9:45 we boarded the subway and ventured into Manhattan.  When we walked up to the front counter and asked for 3 tickets, the attendant frowned and told us that the movie would not be playing due to a broken screen, but we might catch the showing up the street.  Walking again towards Times Square we thought that the new show time was at 10:15, which is getting a little late for our normal sleep schedule.  This time at an automated ticket vendor, it was revealed that the Movie wouldn't show until 11:00 PM.  Having come so far we decided to go for it and went back into the street seeking some coffee for Lauren and candy cheaper than the concession stand.

The movie itself shook us with its incredible volume, explosive action and dramatic base lines, which lasted for 3 hours.  I must say that it was strange watching a film filmed in the city that you are watching it in.  It almost made it seem that we might return to the street to find that it had all come true.  Exhausted we rode the train home and fell asleep, this time on the couch.

Our last day was spent returning our ill-fated tent, which we would have to replace in Yonkers on our way out, and shopping at a local bike shop.  Finally, after weeks of looking I found a suitable replacement for the bike shorts that had stretched, thinned, and turned orange from the sun in our country crossing.  I also found a clear waterproof map sleeve that mounts to my handlebars, which had evaded us for some weeks now.  With some shopping and packing we were finally ready to leave the megalopolis after nearly a week.  We went to bed that night, again on the couch.

We awoke, packed our lives back into 8 bags, and set out to leave the great city.