Vermont Tour (Day 7: The Adirondacks)

The day started out auspiciously enough—clear skies, temps in the high sixties, and a three-mile (mostly) down hill ride from our hotel to the ferry. Looked like a good day to drop a packet of Pat off the stern of the Champlain during our one-hour crossing to Port Kent, New York. It would, however, prove to be a rather taxing day, even for Pat. 

Unlike the Vermont side of Lake Champlain, where the Green Mountains descend gracefully to the rather broad plains of the valley, the Adirondacks end smack dab at the lake. The Adirondack train line takes up most of the flat real estate near the shore, allowing the road very few chances to ramble along the flat spots. So, whenever the road heads inland, which it does with regularity, hills ensue. And these aren't just wee, sweet affairs; they're often at extreme grades, and a few of them are fairly long. Another continuing challenge is the unseasonably hot and humid weather. When I attended school at Middlebury College in the 80s, the temperature seldom made it into the 80s. Today it topped 95, with humidity to boot. Throw in the hills, and 45 miles  in the saddle was sufficient.

Our ferry started out life as the City of Hampton when it was commissioned in 1930 in Baltimore, Maryland (above). It served the city of Hampton, Virginia, until 1957, with the opening of several bridges and tunnels rendered the old ferries obsolete. Towed to Lake Champlain in 1957, the boat was renamed Champlain, and now serves the Burlington-Port Kent route, alongside the Adirondack and the Valcour. 

The Adirondack, the Champlain's sister ferry, built in 1913 to ply the river between downtown Jacksonville, Florida South Jacksonville, Florida, until a bridge was built in 1921. She wended her way to Lake Champlain in 1954.

Might be a bit too much boat for this use.

We had three other bikers join us for the crossing.

The Adirondacks await us.

While Dean checked his email, I took a packet of Pat to deposit off the stern (with the head wind, I didn't want him to end up like Donny in The Big Lebowski). After I did so, I looked down and discovered there were actually passengers in the open-air lower deck. No one ever thinks, partly cloudy with a chance of ash.

Port Kent, New York.

We are smiling because we didn't know we would immediately begin a climb out of the port.

A fellow biker, sans bags, a talkative guy who teaches special education in Burlington public schools. He had some interesting observations about the depressed economy in northern Vermont as compared with southern Vermont, and also the Midwest (his girl friend recently moved to Madison, ostensibly for higher wages. I have another theory.).

Lake Champlain 600 feet below. This I know because I just climbed 600 feet to get there.

"Did I leave the gas on? No, I'm on vacation."

One of the hills that proved too much for Dean. He lacks the extreme low grandpa gear I have, so this day was a bit much at times.

Great lunch spot. We had caprese paninis, ice cream, and lattes.

Lots of these wonderful stacked stone walls on this route. Many of the towns along the way were established in the mid-late 1700s.

Looking west.

Our city campground in Port Henry. We met half a dozen bike tourists from Madison, Wisconsin (background) who invited us to share their pasta dinner; we in turn shared some of our beer, which, for the life of me, I can't remember.

A forty seven mile day, when one adds in the mileage from our hotel to the ferry. The elevation scale looks about right.