Well, it's over.
At least the rowing is over. But this novice adventurer's appetite for the tedious chronicling of his experience is, I'd say, about half finished. I have some thank-yous to administer, some stories to get down, and, as Rickie Ricardo might say, "some 'splainin' to do."
On Sunday at noon I rowed out of Lock 2 in Waterford into the stream of the mighty Hudson. While I'd like to tell you that my first plucky impulse was to wave to the assembled crowd and turn downstream towards Baltimore, my posterior had another more strident idea: get out of the boat…now. So, I did.
The crowd, as it turns out, was largely oblivious to my journey's end, having assembled for the celebration of Waterford's Canal Day: reggae music, a farmer's market, crafts and wares, and a dozen steam-powered craft which were giving rides- a particularly poignant activity given the $5 diesel I'd been hearing about from fellow boaters for the past two weeks, While there were some TV and news crews milling about, I don't think I made the press; I was out for the count by 9 PM and if there was coverage, I missed it. But Matt, Kate, the Doc and Jan, Mark, and Jack were there to greet me with oatmeal cookies, egg salad sandwiches, and a quart of chocolate milk. I ask you, what more could anyone want? At least Fox wasn't there, as they were in Baltimore in '06, asking me to reenact my arrival. When it's over, it's over. And it was over. Kate's thoughtful and timely gift said it best: a pound of Epsom Salts.
So…the stats? Fourteen days to the day, including three full days cavorting about the Finger Lakes and making friends by shore and vine. 367 miles, including said detour to Cayuga Lake. Two nights in hotels, eleven in my tent or under a tarp. Longest day, 50 miles…shortest day, 15. Two days of rain, primarily a blessed tailwind most of the way, one thrilling 22 mile "open water" crossing (Oneida Lake), 36 locks (32 down, four up, for a net fall of 572 feet), and lots and lots of fluids. The scales this morning told me that eight pounds had melted away or have been converted to matter more dense…but sadly, the mirror suggests that this "melting" was but a veritable trickle down the glacier. I should have kept rowing. I count eleven gnarly calluses which will fade quickly, a nasty friction chafe on the top of my left hand where the oars overlapped, and layers of sunburned skin that will soon join their callused brethren. Oh…and some money raised for the fine families and boys at Boys' Latin, but I'll have an update on that stat tomorrow.
As I anticipated, in its physical demands, this row was not the relative epic of the '06 Troy-Baltimore sojourn. Except for Cayuga and Oneida lakes, I was within easy hailing distance of shore the entire time. There were no tides, no appreciable currents, no denizens of the deep. While there were some straight stretches of five miles and more than a few panoramic views, this was a row affording an intimate connection with beautiful country.
What truly distinguished this row from '06 was, for want of a better word, its "sociability." A lot of people live and work along the canal, and more than a few wanted to talk, tell stories, or ask me about my trip. I often relied on the kindness of strangers and more than descriptions of my toil at the oars, these folks will be the topics of the next few blogs.
It's nice to be home. Thanks, Kathy and Peg, for sustaining the blog - and me - for so many days. I should perhaps let Kathy's pictures replace the thousands of words I may be tempted to write in the coming days, but how can I coach my students to keep their writing sharp if I myself rely on Kathy's fab pix to give 2 U on the DL?
See what I'm up against?
More tomorrow?
Hugs,
Al
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