I rode my Unicycle from NYC to Canada | 700-Mile Solo Camping Adventure (Day 7) скачать в хорошем качестве

I rode my Unicycle from NYC to Canada | 700-Mile Solo Camping Adventure (Day 7)

DAY 7 of my 8-day SOLO-CAMPING trip from NEW YORK CITY to CANADA 🇨🇦 via the Empire State Trail! Day 7 began just outside Microtel, where the Empire State Trail picked up exactly where I left it the night before. Loose gravel returned immediately, threading through forest and canal edge. Colorful mailboxes lined the path, and by 10:30 a.m. Wayneport was already behind me. I left later than planned. For once, I didn’t mind. Outside the hotel, I met Jim—a trucker with a handlebar mustache. He studied the wheel, asked where I was coming from, and nodded when I said Manhattan, as if that answer confirmed something he already knew. He raised a family of adventurers. His sons had crossed continents, climbed Kilimanjaro, and reached Everest Base Camp. Before we parted, he asked for a photo—“I like a picture with a story to tell!” Fairport appeared with a sign that fit it immediately: Jewel of the Erie Canal. The canal ran straight through town, lined with boats and storefronts that felt anchored to another century. Cobblestones hugged the water. Mansions rose on one side, businesses on the other. Passing under the Parker Street overpass felt like entering a port city suspended in time. A tunnel split the town vertically, followed by stairs with a built-in ramp—only the second staircase I’d seen on the entire trail. A charging station nearby held rows of outlets mounted openly, to be used for all travelers. Fairport had earned its name. Past town, the canal quieted again. A couple paddled by in a canoe with a black lab perched calmly at the bow. The scene felt whole. At Great Embankment Park, a piece of history rose beside the water—the enormous earthwork nearly a mile long allowed this section of the Erie Canal to be built without locks and elevation drop. A red-and-green riverboat floated past, and I followed alongside. Humidity thickened and clouds gathered. An iron overpass loomed next to a REI under construction nearby—the perfect waypoint for future travelers. The canal drifted out of sight as the trail climbed onto old steel truss bridges, rusted and monumental, their forms sculptural. One bridge lacked railings entirely, grass growing through its deck. Another revealed rebar and open gaps down to the water below. Falling here would have ended everything. Rochester announced itself with an obelisk engraved with trail medallions—official and ceremonial. The city unfolded through water crossings and more truss bridges, each worn and indifferent to modern safety standards. Rain brushed the pavement lightly, then passed. Beyond the city, the gravel turned muddy, puddles swallowing entire stretches of trail. Balance became a precarious negotiation. Spencerport followed, with 17 lift bridges engineered to rise just enough for boats to pass. I ate lunch beneath a tree, then crossed back over the canal. A homeowner—Nancy—offered free water from a yellow container packed with ice. It was a life safer in the unforgiving heat As I passed Ogden, “Larger Than Life” by Backstreet Boys popped up in my playlist. I put it on repeat as my speed inadvertently crept higher than it probably should have. Brockport arrived with a new pedestrian bridge—serpentine, elegant, and iconic, with its curve softening the climb. The design by SHoP Architects felt intentional, proud. Somewhere in that stretch, I crossed 600 miles. Dirt replaced pavement again, and my annoyance with loose gravel softened into appreciation. The variation made riding exhilarating! The Erie Canal floated fifty feet above Medina Falls and the Oak Orchard River, the two bodies of water crossing without touching. In town, I charged at a Burger King, talked with the staff, and listened to encouragement that felt earned. Sunset found me back on the trail. Crimson light washed across the canal. Seven sunsets now. Every. One. Memorable. I hastented my pace as darkness crept in fast. Gnats thickened the air, and breathing became labored. The 9 p.m. campground deadline hovered just ahead. At 8:18 p.m., the margin was thin. Niagara County Camping Resort appeared in the dusk. The check-in clerk waited, just as promised. She walked me to a cyclist-only site, complete with individual power and water. I set the tent, listened to the campground settle, and let the distance sink in. Eighty-nine miles down. Thirty-five to go to the Canadian border. At 3 A.M. rain woke me, tapping steadily against the tent. The fabric held and I went back to sleep. Tuesday, August 12, 2025 Macedon to Lockport, NY 89 miles Watch next → Day 8 (coming soon)