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rebeccmeisterOne of the things that scrottie and I have been wanting to do is getting out to see more of the region and do some camping. Since it has been a while since the last time we did any bike camping, I tried to set up a flexible itinerary. In the long term I like the idea of attempting a full bike touring trip up to Montreal, but for right now the trains aren't running so we wouldn't have a great way to get back. Instead, I thought it might be a good idea to set sail towards the north just to learn more of the terrain and remind ourselves of what it's like to go bike camping.
Poking around on the internet in search of potential camping destinations, I noted that it looked like there were a range of options in the Shelving Rock region of the Lake George Wild Forest. Sold! Along with that, I noted that it's possible to camp out at Lock 5 along the Champlain Canalway trail. Lock 5 is a mere 40 miles from home, while Shelving Rock is closer to 80 miles. If we weren't feeling so ambitious, we could stop at 40 miles, I figured. Always good to have a fallback plan.
I used a combination of the Empire State Trailway maps and the Oogley to piece together a route, making a brief mental note that the route would be pretty darned flat up until the last quarter or so.
And so it was that we did our best to try and remember what kinds of things a person might want or need when out bike camping, loaded up our bikes, and set sail.
The first 20 miles were downright pleasant, mostly on familiar bike paths, then onto some less-familiar but equally pleasant bike paths, all part of the Empire State Trail network. After about 2 hours, we started to get a bit hungry, so we did the usual and found a convenience store in Mechanicville for some snacks.
The next leg of our journey, from Mechanicville to Stillwater, was much less pleasant. In my head, I declared to myself, "Less like the Empire State Trail, more like the Empire State Shitty Shoulder." The northbound shoulder was cracked and uneven, with cars whizzing past far too close at high speeds, and frequent steep dropoffs.
Thankfully, past Stillwater the road improved again, and we were on a smooth, wide shoulder. Not as great as a fully separated path, but so much better than that terrible section we'd just endured. Soon enough we reached Schuylerville, and found a nice shady spot at the Schuyler House Country Estate for a picnic lunch and water bottle refill.
Trundling onward, we very soon reached Lock 5 and Hudson Crossing Park. It looked like a lovely spot, but we were still feeling fresh and the day was still young, so we figured we'd push onward.
One of a number of former train bridge crossings we got to enjoy:
After another pleasant stretch where we saw signs for yard eggs for sale, we eventually found ourselves at Fort Edward / Hudson Falls. By that time, it was midafternoon and I was definitely starting to feel the effects of the forecasted 90-degree heat. Thankfully, the people of Hudson Falls seem to be like many of the New Yorkers we've observed elsewhere: strong believers in ice cream. We stopped at an ice cream shop and then took a break in the shade in the neighboring Feeder Canal Park:
It felt ever so slightly like hanging out near one of the canals in Phoenix, except with a lot more trees, shade, and grass. Perfectly nice.
At that point, I declared that if my memory served me, this might be the last stretch of civilization we'd experience on our way out towards Lake George, so we found another convenience store to buy a bit more junk food for the next leg of the journey, to go along with all of the burritos, fruit, and jars of pickled things we were already carrying with us.
As it turned out, I was right. Past Hudson Falls, we soon left the urban areas behind, and started to experience some of the climbing. And this is where things started to get interesting. Some of the uphills were steep enough that S couldn't quite power up them on his singlespeed Salsa, so we had some moments of fairly slow going, between walking the hills and trying to get heart rates back down. It's times like that when I am really grateful to not need to be in any particular hurry to get anywhere, so we could just take things as they came.
If you look at the route map, you might also notice a rather important detail that cropped up at this point that happened to escape me when planning out the ride: as we got up closer to the Lake George Wild Forest, the roads turned from pavement to dirt.
In the grand scheme of things, those dirt roads were as nice as dirt roads could get: flat, without too much loose stuff, washboards, or potholes. In the short term, S and I both started having some flashbacks to some of the Arizona rides of the past, where one has to chew the air as cars whiz past. I also tend to get overly nervous and tense when riding on gravel because I don't like the feeling of my bike slipping around on loose surfaces. These things aren't the end of the world, they're just slightly less pleasant than they could be.
And then the real fun started. Again, if you scrutinize the route map and elevation profile closely, you might notice that the last 5 miles of this route feature some steep, screaming downhills.
Sometimes (and depending on the person), steep, screaming downhills can be super fun.
Other times, when one is on a fully-loaded touring bike, and the roads are dirt, steep, screaming downhills can be a bit much. Thankfully the worst sections were at least paved instead of gravel. At one point when I pulled over to take a break, I realized I was smelling burning rubber. Then I realized that the burning rubber smell was coming from ME. When I reached down to touch my rear wheel's rim, it was hot and I started to grow afraid of the longer-term consequences of so many steep descents. On the Salsa, S, meanwhile, only had a single disc brake, and I later learned that he'd already worn off half the brake pad prior to starting the steep descents. Dodgy.
To top it all off, by this point I was finally reaching the conclusion that we were unlikely to find any sources of drinking water whatsoever in this forest. There were porta-johns here and there, but no spigots. And we continued to be passed by a surprising number of cars of the sort that reminded S of biking around in Texas.
Eventually, after passing a series of parking lots and areas thick with signs warning us to only park in the parking lots, nowhere else, we reached a gate at the end of the road, marked "Private" with even more warning signs everywhere. Surveying the GPS, I declared that it looked like Lake George was but a short hike away, so we decided to set out for the water along a trail from one of the parking lots.
I suggested we lock up the bikes for the hike out to the water, but S pointed out that it might be less hassle to just bring them with us.
Dear reader, the terrain did not become flatter when we transitioned from roadway to hiking trail. If anything, sections were more steep. But we'd committed to bringing the bikes, so we made it work. Then as we continued to hike along, we started to hear some very loud engine revving noises traveling through the forest, clashing with my mental image of a serene forest and lake hike. When we finally reached the edge of the water, we learned why.
(surreptitious photo so as to not disturb revelers)
The thing I hadn't fully taken into account is, if people go to a place such as south Lake George to go boating, naturally, they must boat off to...somewhere. Apparently one of the popular 'somewhere's is a cove at the base of the hiking trails we had just traveled down. Go figure. Almost every possible swimming access point was full of drunk throngs of people playing loud White People music and holding noisy, drunken conversations. Picking our way around, we eventually found a tiny spot where we could at least take a brief dip in the water just to rinse off.
Between that experience and an assessment of the remaining level of water in our water bottles we had to figure it was in our best interest to start making our way back towards home. Time to push the fully loaded bikes back up the hills. When we reached a fork in the trail, S got to wondering whether an alternate route might spare us at least a little of the hill-climbing on the dirt roads, so we took the fork and pushed on. A side benefit of that decision was getting to actually see Shelving Rock Falls. The falls offered at least something of a mental palate cleanse after what we'd seen down at the lake.
My photos don't do full justice to the falls, because by that point I was tired and uninterested in attempting to find photogenic angles.
S still managing to look pleased with our adventures:
The return trail provided much entertainment in the form of downed trees that the fully-loaded bikes had to be hucked over, slid sideways under, or taken around the long way. Also the occasional boulder field. That said, we only had to do a full unload and bike carry once, towards the very end of the trail, and the alternate route did spare us some road-riding/pushing.
By the time we got back to the road, it was around 7 pm. Absent any better ideas, we continued our slow crawl out of the Wild Forest, which included several long walks pushing our bikes back up the extremely steep hills. I couldn't help thinking to myself, "This isn't quite what I was expecting for this ride" while pushing Frodo up the hill with all my remaining upper body strength.
But eventually we got back to a point where we could actually ride again. As we came flying back down from the highest point, still traversing gravel roads, trying to go easy on the brakes to avoid more smoking rims, in my mind I found myself saying "Jesus take the wheel" so many times that I'm sure Jesus was rolling his eyes at me.
We briefly considered trying to camp somewhere near a parking lot at the edge of the Wild Forest, but by that point the biting insects were plaguing us and I can't say I was feeling much affection for anything having anything to do with Lake George. So we did what we knew how to do from all the years of randonneuring, and just kept going. I thought I'd seen some campgrounds not too far ahead, and also remembered passing a scout camp, where I figured we might be able to finally refill our water bottles.
The scout camp at least had what we needed, so on we went, rehydrating as much as we could. As the day's light faded, we went over to check out a place marked with tent signs near Lake Hadlock, only to find that it must be some sort of private RV park. Not exactly tent camping country. Pushing on, we next tried scoping out the Moose Hillock Camping Resort. S says that provided one of his favorite memories of the ride: as we rode into the Camping Resort, we encountered a four-lane giant RV check-in parking area that looked as wide as a car ferry terminal. Rounding a bend, we observed an enormous water park, complete with colorful lights and booming sound effects. The place looked absolutely wonderful for families with small children, but not at all like a great sleeping spot for two exhausted bike tourists.
At that point, the only actual real camping spot we were most certain about was back at Lock 5. Onward.
To be continued.
scrottie and I have been wanting to do is getting out to see more of the region and do some camping. Since it has been a while since the last time we did any bike camping, I tried to set up a flexible itinerary. In the long term I like the idea of attempting a full bike touring trip up to Montreal, but for right now the trains aren't running so we wouldn't have a great way to get back. Instead, I thought it might be a good idea to set sail towards the north just to learn more of the terrain and remind ourselves of what it's like to go bike camping.Poking around on the internet in search of potential camping destinations, I noted that it looked like there were a range of options in the Shelving Rock region of the Lake George Wild Forest. Sold! Along with that, I noted that it's possible to camp out at Lock 5 along the Champlain Canalway trail. Lock 5 is a mere 40 miles from home, while Shelving Rock is closer to 80 miles. If we weren't feeling so ambitious, we could stop at 40 miles, I figured. Always good to have a fallback plan.
I used a combination of the Empire State Trailway maps and the Oogley to piece together a route, making a brief mental note that the route would be pretty darned flat up until the last quarter or so.
And so it was that we did our best to try and remember what kinds of things a person might want or need when out bike camping, loaded up our bikes, and set sail.
The first 20 miles were downright pleasant, mostly on familiar bike paths, then onto some less-familiar but equally pleasant bike paths, all part of the Empire State Trail network. After about 2 hours, we started to get a bit hungry, so we did the usual and found a convenience store in Mechanicville for some snacks.
The next leg of our journey, from Mechanicville to Stillwater, was much less pleasant. In my head, I declared to myself, "Less like the Empire State Trail, more like the Empire State Shitty Shoulder." The northbound shoulder was cracked and uneven, with cars whizzing past far too close at high speeds, and frequent steep dropoffs.
Thankfully, past Stillwater the road improved again, and we were on a smooth, wide shoulder. Not as great as a fully separated path, but so much better than that terrible section we'd just endured. Soon enough we reached Schuylerville, and found a nice shady spot at the Schuyler House Country Estate for a picnic lunch and water bottle refill.
Trundling onward, we very soon reached Lock 5 and Hudson Crossing Park. It looked like a lovely spot, but we were still feeling fresh and the day was still young, so we figured we'd push onward.
One of a number of former train bridge crossings we got to enjoy:
After another pleasant stretch where we saw signs for yard eggs for sale, we eventually found ourselves at Fort Edward / Hudson Falls. By that time, it was midafternoon and I was definitely starting to feel the effects of the forecasted 90-degree heat. Thankfully, the people of Hudson Falls seem to be like many of the New Yorkers we've observed elsewhere: strong believers in ice cream. We stopped at an ice cream shop and then took a break in the shade in the neighboring Feeder Canal Park:
It felt ever so slightly like hanging out near one of the canals in Phoenix, except with a lot more trees, shade, and grass. Perfectly nice.
At that point, I declared that if my memory served me, this might be the last stretch of civilization we'd experience on our way out towards Lake George, so we found another convenience store to buy a bit more junk food for the next leg of the journey, to go along with all of the burritos, fruit, and jars of pickled things we were already carrying with us.
As it turned out, I was right. Past Hudson Falls, we soon left the urban areas behind, and started to experience some of the climbing. And this is where things started to get interesting. Some of the uphills were steep enough that S couldn't quite power up them on his singlespeed Salsa, so we had some moments of fairly slow going, between walking the hills and trying to get heart rates back down. It's times like that when I am really grateful to not need to be in any particular hurry to get anywhere, so we could just take things as they came.
If you look at the route map, you might also notice a rather important detail that cropped up at this point that happened to escape me when planning out the ride: as we got up closer to the Lake George Wild Forest, the roads turned from pavement to dirt.
In the grand scheme of things, those dirt roads were as nice as dirt roads could get: flat, without too much loose stuff, washboards, or potholes. In the short term, S and I both started having some flashbacks to some of the Arizona rides of the past, where one has to chew the air as cars whiz past. I also tend to get overly nervous and tense when riding on gravel because I don't like the feeling of my bike slipping around on loose surfaces. These things aren't the end of the world, they're just slightly less pleasant than they could be.
And then the real fun started. Again, if you scrutinize the route map and elevation profile closely, you might notice that the last 5 miles of this route feature some steep, screaming downhills.
Sometimes (and depending on the person), steep, screaming downhills can be super fun.
Other times, when one is on a fully-loaded touring bike, and the roads are dirt, steep, screaming downhills can be a bit much. Thankfully the worst sections were at least paved instead of gravel. At one point when I pulled over to take a break, I realized I was smelling burning rubber. Then I realized that the burning rubber smell was coming from ME. When I reached down to touch my rear wheel's rim, it was hot and I started to grow afraid of the longer-term consequences of so many steep descents. On the Salsa, S, meanwhile, only had a single disc brake, and I later learned that he'd already worn off half the brake pad prior to starting the steep descents. Dodgy.
To top it all off, by this point I was finally reaching the conclusion that we were unlikely to find any sources of drinking water whatsoever in this forest. There were porta-johns here and there, but no spigots. And we continued to be passed by a surprising number of cars of the sort that reminded S of biking around in Texas.
Eventually, after passing a series of parking lots and areas thick with signs warning us to only park in the parking lots, nowhere else, we reached a gate at the end of the road, marked "Private" with even more warning signs everywhere. Surveying the GPS, I declared that it looked like Lake George was but a short hike away, so we decided to set out for the water along a trail from one of the parking lots.
I suggested we lock up the bikes for the hike out to the water, but S pointed out that it might be less hassle to just bring them with us.
Dear reader, the terrain did not become flatter when we transitioned from roadway to hiking trail. If anything, sections were more steep. But we'd committed to bringing the bikes, so we made it work. Then as we continued to hike along, we started to hear some very loud engine revving noises traveling through the forest, clashing with my mental image of a serene forest and lake hike. When we finally reached the edge of the water, we learned why.
(surreptitious photo so as to not disturb revelers)
The thing I hadn't fully taken into account is, if people go to a place such as south Lake George to go boating, naturally, they must boat off to...somewhere. Apparently one of the popular 'somewhere's is a cove at the base of the hiking trails we had just traveled down. Go figure. Almost every possible swimming access point was full of drunk throngs of people playing loud White People music and holding noisy, drunken conversations. Picking our way around, we eventually found a tiny spot where we could at least take a brief dip in the water just to rinse off.
Between that experience and an assessment of the remaining level of water in our water bottles we had to figure it was in our best interest to start making our way back towards home. Time to push the fully loaded bikes back up the hills. When we reached a fork in the trail, S got to wondering whether an alternate route might spare us at least a little of the hill-climbing on the dirt roads, so we took the fork and pushed on. A side benefit of that decision was getting to actually see Shelving Rock Falls. The falls offered at least something of a mental palate cleanse after what we'd seen down at the lake.
My photos don't do full justice to the falls, because by that point I was tired and uninterested in attempting to find photogenic angles.
S still managing to look pleased with our adventures:
The return trail provided much entertainment in the form of downed trees that the fully-loaded bikes had to be hucked over, slid sideways under, or taken around the long way. Also the occasional boulder field. That said, we only had to do a full unload and bike carry once, towards the very end of the trail, and the alternate route did spare us some road-riding/pushing.
By the time we got back to the road, it was around 7 pm. Absent any better ideas, we continued our slow crawl out of the Wild Forest, which included several long walks pushing our bikes back up the extremely steep hills. I couldn't help thinking to myself, "This isn't quite what I was expecting for this ride" while pushing Frodo up the hill with all my remaining upper body strength.
But eventually we got back to a point where we could actually ride again. As we came flying back down from the highest point, still traversing gravel roads, trying to go easy on the brakes to avoid more smoking rims, in my mind I found myself saying "Jesus take the wheel" so many times that I'm sure Jesus was rolling his eyes at me.
We briefly considered trying to camp somewhere near a parking lot at the edge of the Wild Forest, but by that point the biting insects were plaguing us and I can't say I was feeling much affection for anything having anything to do with Lake George. So we did what we knew how to do from all the years of randonneuring, and just kept going. I thought I'd seen some campgrounds not too far ahead, and also remembered passing a scout camp, where I figured we might be able to finally refill our water bottles.
The scout camp at least had what we needed, so on we went, rehydrating as much as we could. As the day's light faded, we went over to check out a place marked with tent signs near Lake Hadlock, only to find that it must be some sort of private RV park. Not exactly tent camping country. Pushing on, we next tried scoping out the Moose Hillock Camping Resort. S says that provided one of his favorite memories of the ride: as we rode into the Camping Resort, we encountered a four-lane giant RV check-in parking area that looked as wide as a car ferry terminal. Rounding a bend, we observed an enormous water park, complete with colorful lights and booming sound effects. The place looked absolutely wonderful for families with small children, but not at all like a great sleeping spot for two exhausted bike tourists.
At that point, the only actual real camping spot we were most certain about was back at Lock 5. Onward.
To be continued.
