The Magical Donut Shop

Perhaps I go too far in calling a donut shop magical, but when you take a 1970s laundromat, complete with its usual sounds of clothing churning about in washing machines, or thumping away in dryers, and you tuck a little donut shop in the front, where a woman makes fresh donuts all day long and puts on the topping of your choice, well that is pretty wonderful. Some would say sublime.

I had read about this little gem of a place, and could not wait to arrive in Tupper Lake to discover it. I turned onto the main street, and there it was, right on the corner.

But I am getting ahead of myself. As short as the day was, it did take me four hours of riding to cover 80 km, thanks to almost 1000 meters of climbing. When I started out this morning, it felt like -1 degrees, so I bundled up with arm and leg warmers, anorak, toque and gloves. I was toasty warm on the descents, but not sweating on the climbs.

The clouds were hanging low over the nearby mountains when I began, but by the time I reached Long Lake, there was a little blue sky and sun shining through. As with many of the Finger Lakes, much of the shoreline is privately owned, so it was a challenge at times to find spots to take photos, but where there’s a woman there’s a way, and I found a laneway down to the edge of Long Lake.

Having cooled off while stopping, I pedalled feverishly up the next few climbs trying to shake off the chill. When I reached the outskirts of Tupper Lake, I was greeted with 4 miles of newly paved road with a wide, wide shoulder, allowing me to ride with abandon.

The next thing I knew I was downtown, my day of riding complete, with the rest of the day to putter and explore the town.

Well of course I lingered at the laundromat, which was nice and warm, and which offered a wonderful opportunity to people watch. The nun who arrived in her habit and running shoes was clearly a regular as Tina,  the donut shop owner, (yes I learned her name upon reading a great piece by NPR) greeted her warmly.

I learned that Tina has been making donuts for 34 years and her dad, who was there as well, owns the laundromat. In between her rolling quarters, we talked donuts and cycling, and then more customers arrived, so I departed and headed for the library. It was lovely with its view of the lake and high ceilings, and the librarian was very welcoming, asking if I needed any help.

I spent a few hours reading and people watching, especially when a grandmother my age brought in her two charges, and they ran about getting clues for some kind of treasure hunt. They then got to choose a prize from the treasure chest which the librarian opened on the large table I was sitting at. The grandson was quite cherubic, while his younger sister, all of three, was a little pixie who had endless questions for her grandmother. The grandmother realized only after the small chest had been opened what she had gotten herself into, as her precocious granddaughter picked up one prize after the next, asking what is this, what is this?  Grandma finally gave pixie a ten second window in which to choose a treasure, and she chose what her brother had chosen, a small plastic top that she tried to spin on the table. Turns out the old fashioned toys still have appeal, even when they are made out of cheap plastic.

With her new toy and her dolls grasped in her arms, she marched out the door, and I packed up my belongings to head to the Park motel. Well it sure isn’t The Lorca, but it is neat and tidy, with towels and shower products laid out on the bed for me.

Tomorrow I will head for Watertown, which will be a beefier ride of 150 km, so I will say my adieus and make myself a salad with all of the things I got at the farmer’s market right next to the motel.

Today was short on riding, but long on much needed conservation. I am grateful for my pumpkin spice glazed donut, but even moreso for the words exchanged throughout the day.

Finally, the Adirondacks

While I was eager to ride around the Finger Lakes, I was most excited to cycle through the Adirondacks, as I haven’t been here since the Lake Placid Ironman in 2008. As my mom, Nancy, and Sarah can attest, it rained all day, making for a challenging 180 km on the bike. I still remember clutching my brakes on the long descents while other cyclists roared past. How did I ever swim 3.8 km before the ride, and run a marathon after it???

Today was entirely different. To begin with, there was no rain, despite some menacing clouds, and at no point was I racing. Anything but. It was a very relaxed day, and though I climbed 1200 meters, there were no hills over 8% grade. I just puttered along, knowing I was not in a rush to arrive at the motel.

Lest I make it sound too easy, I did have to start by navigating from the south of Amsterdam through the city, before getting on Route 30 North. I took the pedestrian bridge over the Mohawk River, then had to push my bike up three flights of stairs to reach the overpass for the freeway as the elevator was out of service. The upside was that both the pedestrian bridge and overpass offered great viewpoints.

I then rode on back streets and sidewalks to avoid the commuters who seemed desperate to get to work, or at least to join the cue for Dunkin Donuts. Once I got beyond the roar of traffic, I relaxed, feeling grateful for the great road with a generous shoulder, and for the many rivers and lakes along the route.

When I reached the town of Speculator, I stopped to buy groceries since there would be nothing close to the motel I had booked. I went to the Mountain Market, which was doing a steady business at the lunch counter, and I ordered a sub. When it was ready, instead of calling out my name, the young man spelled it out. I laughed out loud, then took the sub for R.O.B.I.N. and packed it in my knapsack for later.

The clouds got a little darker, but it never rained. I arrived to the most charming motel, I have ever stayed at, called The Lorca. From the pinewood floors to the comfy duvets and cheerful blankets, the room is warm and inviting. The lighting is golden not cold and sterile, and the touches around the place make it feel so cozy. I really recommend it, if you are ever in the area. It is named after the poet, Frederico Garcia Lorca, and there is a copy of Joan Didion’s Play It as It Lays, and a collection of Walt Whitman’s poetry in the room. It is owned by a group of friends who bought the mid century motel and transformed it into a meditative space where the focus is on nature, meaning no tvs in the rooms. I will be reading some of Didion’s exacting insights on the moral decay of the US, rather than witnessing it myself on Fox News.

Tomorrow I have a brief 80-90 km ride to Tupper Lake, where I plan to spend the day hanging out in the donut shop/laundromat, and perhaps the library. I fear it will be too chilly for the beach. In fact there may be frost this evening.

For now, I will bid you adieu and will go and make myself a cup of hot chocolate.

PS here is my effort to capture Indian Lake from the dock at the marina.

Harder Than It Sounds?

A friend emailed me after reading yesterday’s blog (thanks Ann), suggesting that I made the ride sound so easy; her observation made me think about how we shape our experiences, and how they appear to others. Even if we are trying to be as honest as possible, we need to select certain details over others, lest we bore the reader, and ourselves, with the minutiae.

As I have said in past posts, were I to sit down and write the blog in a middle of a ride, which I don’t have the patience to do, I might sound much more grumbly.

I might talk about the lower back pain I get on really long climbs, or the searing pain I get in my neck and shoulders if I don’t stop to stretch properly throughout the day. If I really felt like sharing, I might tell you about the chafing I get when I don’t put on enough chamois cream.

I definitely have my moments of discomfort, and at the end of many days, I feel prickly and weary, but then the late afternoon  sun bathes the world in a golden light, as it did today, and I feel good again.

I also have moments of irritation when I veer off course, as I did several times today, especially in Rome, not the nicest town, when I got myself all turned around.

These are all minor setbacks, though, and they pass, which is something I have learned through my long rides, marathons, and even Ironmans. What is vital is not to become hyper focused on the discomfort. When I am on a trip like this, where I have booked every night, I don’t spend energy debating whether to continue or to stop. One of the nicest compliments I received was from my friend, Jody, who said I will always keep going until I get where I need to go. That sort of dogged determination seems to serve me well.

Today I was doing battle with a bit of a headwind. There were stretches where I could really feel it pushing at me, and I braced against it, but then the wind would lessen, and I would lean into those moments and enjoy them.

I am no Pollyanna, enjoying every single moment and smiling relentlessly, which, I fear, might make me look slightly unhinged, but I do try to be present and to redirect my energies when they veer towards lamenting the imperfections of any given moment. And if I really need to shift my attitude, I will make myself list ten things for which I am grateful. I usually don’t get beyond the fact that I am incredibly privileged to be able to make these trips before my mood lightens considerably.

All of this is to say that these trips may not be as easy as they sound, but they are as magical as they sound.

To finish, today’s highlight was meeting another cyclist, Ken, with whom I had an awesome chat. He was friendly and generous, and he lifted my spirits and made me look forward to the rest of the day of cycling, so thanks Ken.

Oh, yes, here are some photos from today’s ride, along the Erie Canal Trail.