To reach the starting point, on Niagara River, I took the Greyhound bus for Buffalo (with connections in Albany and Rochester). The ticket cost me $99 CAN, plus a flat rate of $20 US for my bicycle in a box (except for my panniers and a small packsack, all my camping equipment was stuffed in that box), which was some $50 CAN cheaper than traveling on the Canadian side, through Toronto and Niagara Falls. My main source of information for this trip was Harvey Botzman’s Website (http://www.cyclotour.com). Mr. Botzman kindly emailed me additional information and sent me his guide (Erie Canal Bicyclist & Hiker Tour Guide) with maps and tourist information ($33*). That proved to be a wise investment, because long stretches of the towpaths are in various states of disrepair or are unsuitable for biking, or even missing; in addition, there are large urban areas to cross between the five main cyclable legs, which are (approximately) :

•  the Tonawanda Creek Leg          (Niagara River – Pendleton)  12 miles (20 km)

•  the Lockport Leg                          (Lockport – Palmyra)          100 miles (160 km)

•  the Old Erie Canal Trail               (Syracuse – New London)     40 miles (65 km)

•  the Lock 16 Leg                           (Lock 16 – S. Amsterdam)    34 miles (55 km)

•  the Mohawk River Bicycle Trail   (Schenectady – Waterford)   20 miles (32 km)

The latter, which follows the Mohawk River all the way to the Hudson River, is not the shortest way to Albany.

The whole bicycle trip, some 400 miles (650 km) long, lasted 6½ days.

            The weight of my loaded bicycle was 73 lb – 33 kg (28 lb – 13 kg for the bicycle itself ). Most of the cyclable towpath sections following the canal are covered with well‑packed stone dust, which may be loose on recently refurbished parts. Narrow tires are definitely not recommended.

            I could have traveled westward, starting from Albany and  getting back home by bus from Buffalo or Niagara Falls. Going eastward from Buffalo has some arguable advantages, like having the prevailing wind in the back (not a big deal) or going down the gentle slope (with a negligible total drop of 1000 feet - 300 m), and a huge psychological one: when your are pedaling back home, each additional mile gets you closer. In addition, the eastward route offered the additional option of pedaling all the way back home, from Albany to Montreal, if I felt so inclined (for a description of that leg, see From Montreal to New York in 4½ days).

*          Unless otherwise mentioned, all prices are in US dollars.

 Sunday, August 20  - From Montreal, Qc, to Buffalo, NY

            At 7 a.m., on a gloomy, grey and cold day, I was waiting for the Expedibus depot to open, to check in my boxed bicycle. In most Southern countries, e. g. in Cuba, they will take whole bicycles and place them standing up in the baggage compartment, but North American bus companies have yet to discover how that can be done. Then, I was in for a 13–hour ride through New York State. Checking the map, my mind was mildly boggled by the names of the towns we were passing by: Utica, Medina, Syracuse, Rome, Ilion, Attica, Palmyra, just to name a few – they have a distinct ring of ancient Greece or Rome. As it happened, being the heirs of the Century of Enlightenment, the founding fathers of the United States held the Greek and Latin classics in high esteem. Point in case, the early public buildings built in the neoclassical style in Washington D.C. and New England.

After a short stop at the customs, the ride was eventless, and even boring. In Albany, I made sure that my equipment was following. However, in Syracuse, there were a lot of people waiting in line, because an earlier bus had been cancelled. Finally, it was already dark when we reached the main bus terminal in Buffalo past 9 p.m., more than one hour late. I dragged my cumbersome box and bags to the curb and soon after, I was heading north in a taxi. I had a reservation in a Niagara Boulevard motel close to the starting point, which I had selected with the help of Google Map. As it happened, this time Google failed me : my motel was way up north, some six miles (10 km) from the falls. Worse, the street numbers on Niagara Boulevard change with each new suburb. When the taxi counter got close to $50, I asked the driver to drop me at a Tim Horton nearby; he charged me only $40 for the ride. There, I phoned the motel for information, and the lady told me to ring to wake her up when I got there. As I was opening the box to assemble my bicycle, a man who was coming out of the Tim Horton with his wife offered me a ride to the motel in his minivan. I gladly accepted and soon after, I was assembling my bike in my motel room, to cool off a bit before getting to bed.  My run–down $37.50 room came with the usual tobacco smoke–and–moisture reek of cheap motels; nevertheless, with a wide–opened window, I had a good night’s sleep.

Monday, August 21 - From Buffalo to Albion (70 miles –112 km, 8½ h)

            Getting up at 7:30, I was on my way two hours later, on a cool and sunny day, heading south. I had to ride some 11 miles (18 km) back to reach my starting point, the Tonawanda Creek and Niagara River confluence. I had the extra option of visiting the U.S. side of the Niagara Falls or the Lake Erie shores, but the fact is that, because time and weather are often critical factors, most cyclotourists riding heavily loaded bicycles shun unnecessary detours and tourist attractions when they set out on a trip.

The Tonawanda Bicycle Trail is located on the south shore, in a pleasant riverside park going through decaying railroad and industrial installations, built more than one century ago, when the Erie Canal was the main trade way between the Central States and the Eastern Seaboard. While I was riding westward to reach Mile Zero, a Buffalo woman, which I had met waiting for a green light, joined me for a chat. At 10:15, after a quick stop and a glance at the monumental stone works and the impressive asymmetric lift bridge marking the entrance of the Canal, I headed eastward for Albany.

             Going through suburbia along the Tonawanda Creek on the on-and-off paved trail is nice and easy. It ends just short of Pendleton, where the Canal meets the creek. I then took the quiet side road running along a long straight stretch of the Canal, which looks like a giant country road ditch. I stopped for a sandwich in Lockport, where the Canal meets the Mohawk River. When I asked for cold water, the owner put ice cubes in my bottle. The view on the bridge crossing the giant lock (40 feet -12 m) is worth the stop. Crossing on the north side, I went down one of the very few hills on this trip (you can count them on the fingers of one hand) and found the stone dust trail on the towpath, which runs uninterrupted from there to Palmyra, except in Rochester.

             The well–kept trail was quiet; on my way, I passed some local pedestrians and cyclists, but very few cyclotourists. There were a lot of water birds on the Canal, like the usual mallard ducks, blue herons and Canada geese, and even a few cormorants. Slow down if you run into a herd of geese, because these birds consider that the shore is their property and will reluctantly clear a narrow corridor in front of you, as you move on. You will also see eagles and hawks circling in the sky, and, of course, common passerines like flinches and chickadees, and some hopping hares. The trail crosses small and not so small towns built along the Canal, some tree–lined parks and a lot of bridges, most of them of the cantilever, overpass type, and an occasional lift or swing bridge. The most unusual of them is the big canal bridge near Medina, where the Canal water actually flows on a bridge built over a tumultuous river. I zipped through vast orchards, where they grow the big red apples that became the symbol and logo of New York. They were shipped in sturdy oak casks, some of them overseas. After an 8–hour ride, the nearest campground was at least 15 miles (24 km) away, near Lake Ontario. So, I camped in a quiet spot near the Canal, just before Albion. After a hearty hot meal, I slipped into my sleeping bag as soon as the darkness came and slept very well in the cold night.

Tuesday, August 22 - From Albion to Lyons (76 miles – 122 km, 9 h)

             Back on the towpath by 8 a.m. with the bright sun shining in my face, I rode through endless fields and occasional small towns. The traffic on the Canal was light, with all kinds of pleasure and tourist boats, big or small. Some friendly boaters waved at me. The challenge of the day was getting through Rochester. It looks easy enough on the map: when the trail ends, you head east on the street near the shore until you reach a large park at the confluence of the Mohawk and Genesee Rivers. Then, you move northward and cross the Genesee on a small pedestrian bridge. Landing in the vast park–like campus of the University of Rochester, you go southward to take the Canalway East bike path. There are so many paths there that if you are not careful enough, you may end up in some deserted concrete and iron industrial wasteland on the waterfront, reminiscent of bad post-WW3 movies.

             At points, the Canal can rise fairly high above the landscape because boats just cannot go up or down hills without locks. In some places, it passes over small rivers or brooks flowing northward to Lake Ontario, or even over a dirt road giving access to a farmhouse in one place (I suspect the people there elected a very influent Congressman). I passed by some sport fishermen, but swimmers were nowhere to be seen in the Canal waters, probably due to the poor quality of the algae and sediment–laden water. In the middle of that hot day, I did take a quick dip in the Canal to freshen up, but afterwards, my skin felt tacky. I don’t recommend swimming  in those waters, for any reason. At 3 p.m., the sun disappeared gradually under a thick blanket of clouds, not a bad thing for a fair–skinned rider like me. The 120–mile (192 km) Western leg ended in Palmyra. From there, I fell back on NY 31, a.k.a. BR 5 (Bicycle Road no. 5) on the maps. That large–shouldered road following more or less the Canal is very convenient to cross large towns or to make good time, but the continuous semi–urban scenery soon becomes tedious. That’s where Harvey’s Guide comes in handy: it is often a good idea to take quiet country roads on either side of the river.

             Around 5 p.m., riding on the north side of the Canal, I started looking for a quiet place to stop, but most of the towpath was unsuitable for cycling or had been gobbled up by neighborhood properties. Just ahead of a small bridge leading to Lyons, I took a narrow trail snaking in the middle of the weed–covered towpath, in order to raise camp at some distance from the road. As my equipment was spread out all around, raindrops started to fall. Scrambling like crazy to put up my tent, I got fairly soaked, but it was only a teaser. As I was finishing a hot pasta Newberg dinner, a big and tall guy sporting a full black beard came along, walking his two mean–looking dogs, which ran up to me. My golden rule for loose dog encounters is that if you show a calm, friendly attitude, most dogs will be friendly. The big guy stopped for a chat and told me that someday, he’d like to walk the Canal towpath for a few weeks. He confirmed what the Guide said: up until Syracuse, the towpath was in a sad, derelict state. Unduly delaying the planned restoration works, that county had missed the deadline for a State subsidy.

Wednesday, August 23 - From Lyons to the Green Lakes State Park (88 miles - 143 km, 10½ h)

            In the early morning sun, I packed up my dew–drenched equipment and made good time on Highway 31 (BR 5), on the south side of the river. Just before noon, I stopped for lunch and consumables in a shopping center in Baldwinville, the last town before Syracuse. I had to go through that large urban area to get to the entrance of the Old Erie Canal, on the opposite side, a daunting proposition when you carry a heavy load. Thanks to Harvey’s Guide, I zipped through the suburbs, industrial areas and parks, and soon reached the center of Syracuse without any problem. Getting out of it was something else. When I asked my way for Kinne Road, I was directed to Kinne Street. I got lost in the suburbs and finally stopped for help at a Fire Station. A young fireman was kind enough to draw a detailed map for me. Around 6 p.m., I finally hit the Old Canal entrance, after riding an asphalt stretch of some 90 miles (140 km).

            The Old Erie Canal Trail, now a big ditch of algae–covered stagnant water about 40 miles (65 km) long, is a part of the original narrow, shallow canal. That stretch was decommissioned more than one century ago, after a wider and deeper waterway was dug on the north side of Syracuse. For that reason, the Old Canal area never got developed. Despite a blatant lack of maintenance in some places, the towpath (now a multipurpose trail), running through corn fields, wooded areas and patches of wild flowers, has a lot of charm and offers many nice views.

            As the sun was getting low, I reached the half empty Green Lakes State Park, where I got a nice camp site for $15. I was very glad to have the opportunity to take a hot shower for the first time in three days. Since I was one day ahead of schedule, the next day was intended to be a rest day spent on a nice sandy beach.

Thursday, August 24 - From Green Lakes State Park to Ilion (65 miles - 105 km, 6½ h)

            The following morning, just after I woke up around 6 a.m., a fine cold rain set in, ruining my stay plans. I packed my wet equipment and moved on in the drizzle.

            Unlike what the Guide says, the trail ends abruptly in a deep ruralia place called New London, some 6 or 8 miles (10—12 km) from Rome. I soon gave up looking for the trail in the neighborhood, deterred by vicious dogs trying to break their chain wherever I went. Soon after, I was riding on NY 46/49, the main road. Mind you, not all roads lead to Rome, just that one. Consolation prize: the sun came back just before noon.

            After a quick lunch there, I took quiet Highway 69 to visit the Oriskany battle field. In the small museum, the keeper gave me some interesting details about that battle, a turning point of the Independence War. Coming from Canada, the British made their junction with their Loyalist and Mohawk allies. Their plan was to cut the country in two, isolating the northern States from the rest of the Union. Few people realize that, except for a few regular British troops, most of the combatants on both sides were irregular militiamen, dressed in everyday clothes; belligerents on opposite sides sometimes knew each other, as this was a horrible civil war. In the aftermath of a fierce battle which took hundreds of lives on both sides, the British had to turn back. Demoralized, the Mohawks stayed out of the conflict for the rest of the war.

Later on, I passed through the center of quiet Utica and soon, I was progressing on Highway 5S up in the hills, with a beautiful view of the Mohawk Valley, covered by endless golden fields. Afterwards, I went down to Frankfort and to the Ilion marina, where I found a quiet spot with a picnic table. The Guide was right about marinas: it is possible to camp there for free, as well as using the facilities (which are locked for the night, from 8 p.m. to 8 a.m.) Swarms of hungry mosquitoes appeared after sunset and most of the visitors left, but, with a combination of long clothes and insect repellent, I wasn’t annoyed.

Friday, August 25 - From Ilion to Rotterdam (63 miles - 102 km, 7 h)

            That morning, as I hit the 5S around 7:30 a.m., no joy: once again, a fine drizzle started to fall. Riding in the rain is not bad as long as you don’t get soaked. Somewhere before Fort Plain, there are some hills to climb, and when I got on top, the fog denied me the pleasure of a view on the valley. Going down a 600-foot (185 m) drop, I broke my all-time absolute speed record on a fully–charged bicycle, some 35 mph (57 km/h), and I was braking.

            Soon after, following Harvey’s Guide, I turned on River Road and intercepted a very bad stretch of the southern trail, a muddy dirt road dotted with potholes, whose condition improved near Lock 16. Farther down, there was a road construction crew at work on the trail. Past the Nelliston Bridge, I was riding on a decent gravel trail. Built on a decommissioned railroad, that stretch alternately follows the river or snakes through woods, fields and small towns, like pretty Fultonville. There was not much to see on that cold and cloudy day, but I was glad to ride on a quiet, flat trail. I thought naively I would be riding a magic carpet all the way to the Hudson River.

Following the former railroad right-of-way, I rode into the industrial core of a middle-sized town. Nothing seemed to have changed much since the sixties, as a good part of the industrial buildings had been closed for years; it felt like visiting a ghost town. I left the trail in what looked like the center of that deserted town, to find out the name of that strange place. By then, a weak sun was shining through a hazy sky. The streets were empty. Hearing high-pitched voices around a corner, I followed those voices and stopped by three portly blond women, apparently a mother and her two daughters. After the usual greetings, I asked for the name of the town. The three of them spoke up simultaneously, but slightly out of phase with each other, creating a confusing echo–like rumor. I asked again and got the very same result. Slightly dumbfounded, I asked them to spell it out. They kindly obliged, still out of phase: “AAA–mmm–sss–ttt–eee–rrr–ddd–aaa–mmm”. I thanked the ladies profusely and went back to the trail, which ended abruptly a little farther. Then, I was back on the 5S, passing through a dust–covered area, in the heart of which roared a pack of monster heavy–duty diesel trucks, moving in and out of the grounds of a huge cement plant.

Soon after, I started looking for a quiet place near the river, but all the shore plots were private properties. Just before Rotterdam, I found a multipurpose path, obviously another decommissioned railroad, passing through wetlands. I put up my tent in a quiet spot there, near a pond used as a staging area by a herd of geese. As the sun went down, a fine rain started to fall. My ‘quiet spot’ proved to be a very bad choice. Soon after, a train stopped some two hundred yards from the tent for almost one hour, engine idling. Worse: all night long, roaring trains hurtled by every thirty minutes or so. Most of the railroads that eventually forced the Canal out of business, half a century ago, were built in the Mohawk River Valley. When you travel there, you soon get used to the low–pitched rumble of the diesel engines, that no so zen “buddah–buddah–buddah”. If they are not too close and/or if you are very tired, you may get some sleep after a while. I read most of that night before finally falling into a deep torpor around 4 a.m. 

Saturday, August 26 - From Rotterdam to Albany (41 miles - 66 km, 4½ h)

            Awakening at 6 a.m. on yet another cold, and rainy morning,I packed my wet things like a regular zombie. I had just one thing in mind, leaving that sorry place as fast as I could – riding is the best way I know to warm up. Soon after, passing through sleepy Schenectady, I started looking for the much vaunted Mohawk River Bicycle Trail. Having misread the guide, I crossed a bridge leading to the north shore of the Mohawk River. Realizing that the snippets of trails there were all dead ends, I went back and tried the south shore road. Soon I found a decent, paved trail, but most of the time, it passed through deep suburbia, instead of following the river. There was not much to see on that grey, soggy day. In Niskayuna, I left the trail and headed directly for Albany, on NY 7.

            On the last stretch, I was faced with a dilemma: the Greyhound bus terminal in downtown Albany didn’t sell bicycle boxes - unlike the Amtrak train station in Troy, across the Hudson River. Which way should I go? As I was about to cross the Interstate 787 bridge, a “No bicycles” sign made me reconsider. Instead, I headed south, on the main road following the Hudson River. About 3 miles (5 km) from Albany, fixing a flat tire set me back some 45 minutes. Just before noon, I was going down Broadway Street, the main drag, passing through a corridor of closed shops and stores in a run–down Black neighborhood. I stopped at a gas station to put more air in my tire and ask for directions. When I finally reached the bus terminal, some Black taxi drivers asked me where I was coming from. They wanted to know who was that weird guy dressed like Lance Armstrong, riding a bike as loaded as a Gold Rush mule. I got the compliments I was fishing for when I told them that I had pedaled all the way from Buffalo to Albany in six days. They kindly offered to keep an eye on my bicycle while I was going inside to buy my bus ticket.

            My guardian angel, which I prayed a lot as I headed for the terminal, probably has some good connections, because a small miracle happened there. When I asked where I could buy a bicycle box, the attendant offered me one for free: a cyclist just had discarded one and they were about to trash it. Elated, I bought a ticket for the 2:40 p.m. bus for Montreal, and started disassembling my bicycle. I had made it.

Two days later, the same bus got out of the road; the driver and two passengers were killed.

             Traveling across the Mohawk River Valley, through the former industrial heart of the USA, is an eye–opener. The center of medium–sized towns show blatant signs of industrial decay; obviously, most of the shops and factories there closed down because they could not match the prices of cheap Asian goods.

The Canal itself bears the marks of various technological advances. For instance, the beautiful Old Canal works are made of cut stone, instead of plain, dull concrete like the new parts. That transition did not come about easily , as the ancient trade of stone cutting was well established. But then again, when money talks, the rest of us may just walk – or, if lucky, hitch a ride – on the roaring highway of Progress. 

Still, everywhere I went, even in large cities, people were very kind. On my personal travel scale, I would give a high mark to Upstaters for being cool and friendly.

             This travel report is, at best, a sketchy outlook; the fact that the lousy weather kept me moving all the time didn’t help. All in all, despite the almost total absence of campgrounds in the Mohawk River Valley, I enjoyed the adventure part of that trip. Get Harvey’s Guide, unless you want to ride on BR 5 all the way. In which case, you might as well ride in any semi–rural area of North America.