Because I told a good friend I would, and because I had nowhere else to bunk, I slept in a cemetary in Waterville. I pulled into at least four motels toward the end of the day, all with no vacancies. And it stormed. Before the first wave I was able to duck into a little pizza place, where I met a nice family who asked all about my trip. They had a son going in to fifth grade who, every time I answered one of his questions, would raise his eyebrows and look at his father in astonishment. They gave me some ideas of places I could check out for tonight, bit none of their suggestions worked out. So I did what I always do when I don't know where I'm going to stay- I kept riding. And eventually I came to Waterville. As I rode up Main Street there I could see the cemetary crowning a hill a block to the left. I knew immediately that's where I would sleep. The rain and thunder
threatened more, but didn't sweep in until I was safely bedded down- next to the Lockwoods and Mr. Chambers.
I have ridden over 2,500 miles, over the Cascades and the Rockies, and I have never climbed hills like there are between Auburn and Cazenovia. I don't know what to say about them really. I went up to 1500 feet, down to 500, up to 1700, down to 500, and up, and down...
There were three distinct hills that blew my mind. Coming down is like freefalling, hands constantly pumping the breaks, and climbing I did at no more than 3 mph. Simply unique territory.
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