A River Along Route 30 Coming Out of Lake Eaton in the Adirondacks


I’m four days into my bike tour of the Adirondacks, spending the night in Lake Clear at a private campground with 15 other folks doing the same thing. It feels epic, this trip, climbing up and down these mountains that make Lake Avenue back home feel like Canal Street–flat as a pancake. Up and down, views beyond measure–like this one this morning–the full range of human emotion: euphoria, dread, fear, pain, loneliness, pride, joy–all of it. It feels odd to share this intense experience with these virtual strangers, and I’m so glad they’re here. Four more days, each one a new one, surprisingly little to say about what it feels like to have your breath taken away, in so many ways.

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