Day 86 Brockport to Rochester
On
Saturday morning all of the cyclists broke camp, half headed east and half
headed west. I peddled east towards
Rochester and on a day which was unseasonably cool. I am grateful that I have avoided much of the
horrible weather which has plagued many in the country. There are small towns containing pubs looking
out over the canal. Between the towns
are several wooded areas in which you can observe deer and rabbits peering from
among the trees.
I spent Saturday night with Coleridge Gill in
Rochester. Coleridge is a retired banker
whose great passions are cross country skiing, bicycling, and canoeing. He worked in the bank for 30 years to pay the
bills and to enable to participate in his real vocation. He boasted that if you are over 40 have
learned to ski in Rochester; you have taken lessons from him. He spoke with great fondness of his cross
country ski trips in Quebec, Austria, and Switzerland. He recounted the 100 km marathon two day ski trip
from Lachute, Quebec to Ottawa. To get
credit for completion, the pack carrying your gear must weigh at least 15
kilograms. Upon rising in the morning,
your pack is weighed again and if it underweight rocks are added to make up the
difference. He described the campsite located at the midpoint where you strip
off your sweaty clothes, climb into a sleeping bag, and arise before dawn to
complete the trip in sub-zero temperatures.
He recounted his bicycle trips deep into the bush in Saguenay-Lac St.
Jean region of Quebec. He has also
canoed deep into the waterways of Algonquin Park in Northern Ontario.
He shared
his frustration over his current physical limitations, but continues to derive
inspiration from the places he has been able to visit by human means of locomotion. After he grilled some hamburgers for us to
have for dinner, he drove me around the city.
Rochester is a beautiful city with many gracious homes which serve as a
reminder of a day when many captains of industry made the city their own. The mansions have largely been remodeled into
apartments, but still evoke a sense of grandeur.
We visited
the house of Susan B. Anthony and the neighboring park which featured a statue
of her and Frederick Douglas having a conversation on a park bench (very much
like the statue of John Lennon sitting on a park bench in Havana-inviting
passersby to stop and have a conversation).
In the
morning I went to the local Lutheran Church which warmly welcomed and me and
invited me to a lunch they were serving.
I declined telling them that I had to get to Lyons that evening.
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