I wake early, surprised at my eagerness to get back on the trail. I meet the group at the first rest stop at Schoharie Crossing Historic Site. A trading post was located here during colonial times, along with the remains of a large aqueduct along the original canal. Within minutes, I see my tent mate. She appears as pleased to see me as I am to see her. She is ready to get riding and leaves while I check out the aqueduct. I ride with no one by my side, but do not feel alone. Our common goal is nearing and there is a palpable connection to my fellow riders.
The trail into Amsterdam runs along the opposite side of the river than the route taken on my previous trip here. We continue on to the next town–Rotterdam Junction-and the Fireman’s Auxiliary is having a fund raiser barbecue. Burgers, hot dogs and all the fixings are available for a dollar or two. The day is sunny with moderate temperature and a cool breeze. An inexpensive lunch on picnic tables fits the bill perfectly. Jovial conversation flows like the nearby waters that we have followed for seven days. Reservations about fitting in have receded from my thoughts, and I easily join in the chatter.
The historic Mabee’s Farm, also the site for the Schenectady Historical Society Museum, is a few miles further down the road. The farm’s Dutch-style Stone House was first built in 1670 and believed to be a fur trading post. It was owned by the Mabee family until 1999. It is one of the oldest homes in New York State and the oldest in the Mohawk Valley. I explore the grounds briefly, but am eager to move on to the Lions Park in Scotia, where tonight’s tent city will be waiting. On the way, I stop at a friend’s house nearby. A familiar smiling face is a welcome greeting as I pull in on my bike. We share some lemonade, a few words and a hug before I return to the pack. She snaps a picture of me in my full biking gear. A much longer story awaits our next visit.
I stop briefly at the park before continuing a few more miles to my home. I drive back later and meet another friend for the “gala” dinner and a “No Talent” talent show. Then there will be the traditional awards ceremony for accomplishments like: the most bones broken, the most crashes, the most flat tires, the youngest cyclist, and the oldest cyclist. I fill my friend’s ear with tales of the trip as we sit, eat, talk and enjoy the show. It is comforting to be with someone I know well.
The show ends, but the party is obviously going to continue. I am content to return home and savor the place I have perhaps not fully appreciated in the past.