Day 43: Rest Day

Niagara Falls. The Un-authorative review.

I didn't think I was going to want to do "any of that touristy shit" (to quote Beth) when I arrived at Niagara Falls. I thought a quick glance and a few photos would satisfy any initial curiosity about the tumbling water, but as we coasted down the hill of the tacky tourist mecca that leads to the falls, I quickly discovered that I was going to need a closer look.

I had planned to use today's final rest day of the tour to ... rest. Instead, I set my alarm for 7am so that I could handle personal business on my laptop before venturing out early. And I wasn't the only cyclist with plans to head back over to Canada for the day.

I bought the Niagara Falls Adventure Pass, "four top attractions at one low price", and walked around with a large, doppy plastic badge holder and lanyard around my neck that screamed, I've been had!

I was pleased with the Journey Behind the Falls, an opportunity to walk under the gushing water and "feel the thunder". And I enjoyed the ride on the Maid of the Mist that allows guests to "explore the roar".

However, Niagara's Fury was moderately entertaining and incredibly disappointing. In the "4D" theater, which was primitive in comparison to attractions at Disney World or Universal Studios, they bump you around, drench you and subject you to loud noise and bright lights, but the educational value barely surpassed that of a third grade level. Unfortunately, I ran out of time and energy for the White Water Walk, which I later heard is far more authentically and naturally scenic.

I had hopes that Niagara's Fury would provide a little more substance than the poorly produced and absurdly theatrical Legends of Niagara Falls, the 3D/4D feature on which Beth and I wasted $10 the night before. The best part of sitting in that theater was the photo we took just before the lights went down.

I was also disappointed by the tasteless urban planning surrounding Niagara Falls, on both sides of the border. If I wanted to gamble in a Mini Vegas, I would go to Reno. If I wanted to enter a wax museum or see two-headed animals, I'd visit Times Square. And what the hell is Shamu doing between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario?

In my opinion, there should have been stricter commercial zoning. No structures above tree level. More refined regulations regarding building design. The Grand Canyon and Yellowstone National Park have been able to generate revenue while maintaining the general dignity of their natural habitat.

But Niagara Falls, one of the most awe-inspiring, nature wonders of the world has been over-processed into a dry, tourist trap of corny architecture and crude marketing. The community that exists takes so much away from the natural splendor of the falls, and - as it is now - I have no desire to return here in the way that I might wish to revisit the Grand Tetons or Mount Rushmore.

Make no mistake, however. If you block out the architectural profanity around you and look over the edge, the falls are spectacular.

Day 42: Brantford, Ontario (Canada) to Niagara Falls, NY

Today's Mileage: 72
Average Speed: 13.5 mph
Max Speed: 36.2 mph
Moving Time: 5:15
Blog & Ride Details

Just as the "lasts" of this tour are passing by one by one, a personally sensitive time of year looms. Each year, as August 3rd approaches, I become consciously aware of a particular last. The last month, last week, last day, last night. Even though I feel stronger as each year passes, the thoughts are always the same. This year, the thoughts are preceded by seven. Seven years ago right now, Rickey was still here.

I feel his presence everyday. I don't hold onto his presence because I believe that he is actually around, but because I'm afraid that I'll forget what he feels like if I don't. In some ways, the spirit of his presence is here because I keep it alive. The part of me that aches to embrace the impossible wants to believe otherwise, but the part of me that clings to logic reminds me that - seven years later - I am still vainly searching for some sort of connection with him because I hate how much further away my memories of him feel as time moves on.

It's like when my mom - a devout Catholic - found me a few days after Rickey's funeral, sitting at my brother's computer in their Asheville home, crying and googling psychics who claim to communicate with the dead.

"Oh, Katie," she said softly as she touched my shoulder, "I know you want to believe in things like that right now, but they are taking advantage of people who are hurting like you are."

I knew she was right, but it made me angry that she said that. I wanted someone to tell me that he wasn't gone forever. That there was still some way to reach out, to communicate, to right our wrongs, to say all the things I should have said. Do the things I should have done.

In that way, the spirit of memory is a double-edged sword. It can be maddening to realize all the things Rickey will never know. And to re-realize them over and over again. And to know that the presence of him that I feel is one that I create in my mind; it's not an authentic, tangible comfort that will ever materialize. Sometimes I'm not sure if that makes me feel more lost.

I don't know how to articulate this thought so that the words match the feeling ...

... I hate the idea of believing that he knows how I feel, that he can see all that has happened through some sort of cosmic eye, that I'll one day see him again and be able to relieve all of my emotional burdens by talking to him. I hate believing those things because the likely reality is that he doesn't know how I feel, he can't see all that has happened since he died, and I will never see him again.

In the present, it hurts even more to imagine spending my entire life hoping for something that I believe, in the back of my mind, probably isn't real. It might not be unlike the mentality of someone who is serving a life prison sentence. They have to cut off the worldly desires that they'll never again be able to see or enjoy outside of the prison walls in order to cope with the moment. And I can't let myself wish daily for absolution that will never come. I'll never hear Rickey say that he forgives me.

So I have to focus on forgiving myself.

I tried to focus on taking photos of the scenery between Brantford and Niagara Falls, but the project provided little distraction from memories that tend to consume me once the flood gates are opened. Even as the morning hum of the crickets scored the sunrise, I couldn't make the sounds of nature drown my thoughts.

I rode alone in the early part of the ride until Toronto Mark and Joe appeared on my left and began talking to me about hermaphrodites. They're comic relief was perfectly - albeit inadvertently - timed.

And as The Swiss Train glided by, proudly donning their Swiss jerseys in honor of their national holiday, Daniel was pedaling with one hand on the handlebars and the other over his heart, singing his country's anthem. I couldn't help but laugh.

Later, it was Sandy, Andrew and New Jersey Mark, who unknowingly added much-needed entertainment value to my day. Andrew is a library of Shakespearean tales and has mastered the art of great storytelling. He tells a story a day during laid-back segments of the route. And during a chocolate milk stop at a gas station, we discussed the differences in American and Canadian products.

Notably, there are the cars ...

... the candies ...

... and the product design.

Pringles markets a variety of snacks in Canada that we don't have in the United States, but Trojan has kept it basic.
Sensual O must be a Canadian thing though.

Sanitation appears to be more willfully enforced ...

Ellen's quest for world domination graced the Canadian dairy cow population ...

... and Niagara Falls.

And, most personally fulfilling of all, I entered my current home state.

But in the back of my mind, my private thoughts were always just below the surface.

It seemed ironic - or timely - later this evening when Joe said something that was more poignant to me than he may have realized. We were watching the fireworks over Niagara Falls, sparsely chatting with other cyclists about sore, aging joints and muscles, and Joe said, "Enjoy being 30, Katie. It all goes by too fast. It's ok to look forward to something, but don't ever say that you wish it was Friday or next weekend or next summer."

I guess I had never specifically thought about it in that way before, but as the fireworks exploded over the river, splashing our darkened faces with momentary flashes of luminous colors, I realized that I had stopped doing that seven years ago.

More images from Brantford to Niagara Falls:

Click here to view my entire photo album of Day 42 [TBA].

The Ride Leader's Official Report:
Niagara Falls, Day 42
Across America North:
Niagara Falls photos

Day 41: London, Ontario, to Brantford, Ontario (Canada)

Today's Mileage: 66

Average Speed: 15.0 mph

Max Speed: 29.7 mph

Moving Time: 4:31

Blog & Ride Details

Will the real Canadian please stand up?

Can you spot the real one?

Tonight is our last night in Canada.

The "lasts" are starting to come in full force. We've begun our last ten days. The last rest day is coming up on Monday, along with our last week, followed by our last weekend. Yesterday, we crossed our last 1000-mile mark.

I couldn't bear to crop this photo of us at 3000 miles - it might be the last time that Leo's finger partially covers my iPhone's photo lens.

This picture was actually taken closer to mile 3010, but it didn't stop us from celebrating once we realized it. We were so busy goofing around along the route, we forgot to pay attention to our odometers. It makes me wonder what our last laugh on this tour will be about.

We had a good laugh in London outside of the the Ambiance Adult Entertainment XXX Massage parlor, which was just steps from the front door of our hotel. Upon arrival yesterday afternoon, Beth and Chuck Kim entered to inquire a bit further about their services. The receptionist went into detail with an upbeat and friendly tone: "Well, we have a single's massage or we can do a couple's for the two of you, and you both can get off. You are allowed to touch the massage therapist, and - if you want - we can schedule you with two girls."

Somewhere in the above description of services, Beth was unable to hold back her laughter, which included her customary snort. After explaining that they were on a cross-country cycling tour and looking for sports massages, the receptionist said, "Oh no, honey, we don't have what you need here. We specialize in sensual, erotic massages."

Kim suggested that they walk out of the building smoking cigarettes.

According to the native Canadians on our tour, these massage parlors are not atypical for their nation. While such practices are largely illegal in the United States, further Google research revealed that "Canada, depending on province, allows certain forms of prostitution and erotic massage. One can find any number of 'massage parlors' licensed or unlicensed in Canada. The unlicensed parlors, as they typically do not employ licensed therapists, offer specifically erotic massage [read more]."

Our group could not make enough jokes about the massages last night. Daniel asked if there was a discount for men over 50, Kim said it probably costs more, and Beth added, "Yea, because it takes longer."

The gags and puns continued well through the evening and into this morning, when Andrew and Beth posed outside of the parlor before we pedaled out of London and into quaint Canadian backroads.

I have a feeling that the London sensual massage parlor jokes are going to follow us all the way to New Hampshire. They made it to Brantford. Beth arranged to give Kim a quick yoga lesson this evening, and he showed up at our door in a towel (over his shorts, of course) - a segue between earlier jokes that had been made about erotic massages and yoga. Beth erupted in a screeching fit of laughter that sent her sprawling to the floor.

Meanwhile, Helen and Alex coincidentally arrived at the same time for a magic show that Gary had scheduled to put on in our room. At the sight of Kim in a towel, Helen asked, "Is this the magic show?"

The laughs. That is what I'm going to miss the most about this tour and this group. I wish I could have written down all of our arbitrary discussions and ridiculous antics. Today alone, there was an impromptu cherry pit spitting contest during a stop at a farmer's market, which was judged in categories of distance and accuracy; we reunited Shrek and the donkey at the fence of an old pasture; we played another round of Teresa's song game in the shuttle from dinner.

And I can't think of one dinner that didn't involve giggling hysterics, like the gastric bypass/Big Mac conversation with Beth, Daniel and Bruno or any number of the hilariously absurd things Andrew can say at any given moment - all made twice as funny by his British accent. I had to establish a no-talking clause on intense climbs to keep Andrew from saying anything that could possibly make me fall off my bicycle. Even at tonight's restaurant, Andrew and Beth created a dessert ranking system that began with an innocent 1-10 scale and evolved into a remake of Meg Ryan's "I'll have what she's having" scene in When Harry Met Sally.

There is so much that this blog doesn't tell about the people who made this journey with me. Even the scope of the things I've seen and felt have been recorded in comparatively minuscule amounts. I don't know that I've ever made so many rich memories within a 50-day time period. So many that I have to strain to try to remember them all.

I suppose this might be how it feels near the end of a life. That bittersweet sensation. Knowing there was just no way to capture it all.

More images from London to Brantford:

Click here to view my entire photo album from Day 41 [TBA].

The Ride Leader's Official Report:

Brantford, Day 41

Across America North:

Brantford photos