Day 1: Roland and I had planned on this weekend to qualify for the 2008, first annual Ride The Lobster, a momentous, international, 800K unicycle race which will run the length of the province of Nova Scotia, Canada. The qualifying ride is a complicated formula of two hard days of riding. The formula figures in elevation and conditions, but boils down to two days in a row of rides on the order of 45-50 miles each day. Since the winter weather in the Northeast US is rather volatile, and in fact, this year gave us the wettest February on record, we’d been impatiently waiting for a two-day period when we were both free and the conditions were at least somewhat bearable. On the Friday evening before the weekend, we got another few inches of snow, so I called Roland Saturday morning, wimpily suggesting we wait a couple more weeks. Roland, not known for being reasonable, said "No way, dude." He wasn’t letting me off the hook, despite the day’s meteorological promises of increasing winds and even more snow squalls. Roland drove over to our house in Delmar, New York and we packed up to leave. Because of my hemming and hawing, and various other delays, we started a bit later than was prudent, but on March 1st, 2008, at 11:50 AM, we began our quest to qualify for this upcoming, epic event. I had planned a 60+ mile route through Albany, Rensselaer, and Columbia counties. Conveniently, we arranged a lunch break at the house of some good friends (good enough to feed and water us despite our filth and polypropylene-magnified odors), who live just past our loop’s halfway point. Our first five or so miles took us north though the city of Albany, New York, replete with potholes and other pavement blemishes, and plenty of narrow, traffic-clogged streets. Combining those hazards with liberally strewn snow and ice gave us a nerve-wracking start to our ride. We made our way east, spinning down the hills of Albany, to a quick photo-op in the capital buildings of the Empire State Plaza. Next we turned onto the narrow pedestrian ramp which climbs up steeply to the Route 20 bridge, a dizzying height above the Hudson River. Still fresh, we cranked up to the top, flew across the deserted catwalk, and bombed down the other side’s ramp, gleefully ignoring the "Bicyclists must walk bikes" sign. The stiff climb up this bridge would prove more difficult many hours later on our return. A few quick streets through Rensselaer put us heading south on Route 9J, the road we were to follow for many miles, with wide shoulders and light traffic. Fortunately the plows had cleared most of last night’s snow, and we were left with wet roads with only the occasional pile to roll through. The north end of 9J is fairly flat, running along near the river’s edge, nearly at water-level, with just the train-tracks in between. Here we saw some red-tailed hawks, a king-fisher, various species of ducks, and a few 80-mph Amtrak trains. We were able to ride side-by-side chatting on the ample shoulder, and the time and miles passed quickly, taking us through a modest town with the pretentious name of Castleton-on-Hudson. Shortly after that, we passed a modest road coming in from the east with the unpronounceable name of Muitzeskill Road, and I pointed out to Roland that that would be on our return route.

As we continued south, the shoulder of 9J became narrow and rather beaten-up, but the traffic was still fairly light and we were able ride mostly on the business side of the yellow line. We passed under a gigantic set of bridges, the first carrying the New York State Thruway’s eastern spur, the next a rail-bridge, and then the road began to get more challenging. Though remaining fairly close to the river, we now started alternately climbing and descending the great bluffs lining the eastern side of the Hudson Valley. This gave us some incredible, sweeping vistas from along the ridge-tops, but now we were feeling the ride in our muscles, and the shortish, 125mm cranks on our 36" wheeled unicycles were reminding us that the easy part of our ride was over. Of course, each time we descended, we realized that meant another climb, since our friends, the Kirbys, have a house on top of these hills, and not the lower level. We followed the relentless undulations of Route 9J and finally arrived at its southern terminus on the busier Route 9, our approximate half-way point. We turned back north, toward the Kirbys’ house, and, eventually, home. The high-speed traffic on Route 9 chased us up into the town of Stuvesant, where I’d planned a clever route to get us off the busy road, and onto Frisbee Lane. Roland and I know each other from playing a sport called Ultimate Frisbee, so this seemed appropriate. Unfortunately, I didn’t know the subsequent turns well enough, and we soon found ourselves back on the hectic main road of Route 9. I knew my way through the town of Kinderhook to the Kirbys’ house from here, but it added a couple miles of riding to our day. Ah well, "that which does not kill us...", and all that. We finally rolled into the Kirbys’ driveway, dirty, hungry, and tired, with a bit over 36 miles showing on my Garmin GPS. Barb and Tom, and their son, Jack, popped out the door and uncovered some Gatorade bottles they’d thoughtfully buried in the snow, anticipating our arrival. Barb then served us some hot veggie burgers and we sat, stinking up their dining room, eating ravenously and pouring Gatorade into our thirsty bodies. Next, we called our respective spouses to let them know we’d gotten at least this far. As I spoke to my wife, Rose, on the phone, I looked outside to see that the weatherman’s predictions of snow and wind were coming true. Complaining to her about the swirling whiteout outside the window, I received her warm and sympathetic reply "Suck it up!" She’s a woman who runs mountain races and 24-hour relays in the rain, so I just laughed, knowing that attitude is why I married her. We filled our camelbaks, changed into dry shirts and socks, re-donned our sweaty, mud-spattered jackets and packs, thanked our friends profusely, and headed out into the snow and now biting wind.

Turning north into the teeth of the storm, we fought our way up the highway for a couple miles before turning back toward the town of Kinderhook. As we climbed a short, but steep, hill into the small town, I mentioned to Roland this would be one our last uphills until we reached the river. "Of course", I added, "we’ll probably be fighting a stiff headwind the whole way." I was right. We followed County Route 21 out of Kinderhook, a lovely, meandering, rural road with almost no cars and a sheer pleasure to cycle. In the summer. Right now, though, it was conspicuously wintery, and the headwind dramatically slowed our pace, chilled our toes, and made us add mittens over our light gloves. While this road doesn’t have many ups or downs, it proved to be the most draining part of our ride, (so far), as we wrestled though the bluster and cold. Having biked this road many times, albeit in the distant past, I knew, as we headed north, we’d cross into Rensselaer county, and eventually drop down the hill toward the river, once again regaining the familiar Route 9J. As we wound past farm after farm, around bend after bend, I began to doubt my own sanity, fearing we’d found our way onto some endless, upwind road into the Twilight Zone. We could be reduced to calling for help. "Honey, please come get us, we’re somewhere north of Kinderhook, and the wind just won’t stop blowing." Of course, that would likely get me another "Suck it up", so maybe we should just keep pedaling instead. We crossed an intersection I recognized and I thought we’d descend to the river presently, but I’ll be darned if that road hasn’t gotten longer in the last ten years. Eventually, however, we reached the long downhill and returned to the Hudson River, turning north on Route 9J. There were still many miles to ride and the sun, when we could see it, was now flirting with the horizon. Also, our progress wasn’t as speedy as we would have liked; did I mention it was windy? After grinding north into the gathering dusk, we passed Castleton again and began to make out the familiar shapes of Albany’s skyline. To my surprise, from somewhere deep down, Roland found the energy to speed up. I wasn’t worried. We both knew the way home, but I did wonder how, after 50 miles, he managed to accelerate. At the same time, I found no shame in not pushing harder, and just tried to maintain a steady beat on the pedals, like some insanely repetitive song. As I watched his rear blinker dwindle out of sight, perhaps a mile ahead of me, I had to admit something that was now glaringly obvious. It was night. After a few more miles struggling with the north wind, near the northern end of Route 9J, I saw Roland hunkering down on the lee side of a trash bin. I stopped and asked if he was OK. He said he’d sped up to give himself a long-as-possible, off-the-seat break until I caught up. We both dug into our packs and got out our headlamps for the last several miles in the dark. Then, after a few tries each, (it’s much harder when you’re tired), we remounted our unicycles and pedaled to the Route 20 bridge back to Albany. The narrow pedestrian ramp, climbing steeply up the bridge, proved almost insurmountable in the dark, in our current state of fatigue. Our arms were flailing and our wheels zig-zagging crazily as we fought our way to the top. It was ugly, but we both made it without dismounting, barely. The walkway on top was shockingly exposed to the wind whipping down the river and bore little or no resemblance to the ride we took across earlier in the day. Never have I had such trouble riding a straight sidewalk. We did get across and down into Albany, but now we had a big hill to climb through the city to get back on the pothole infested streets that would take us home. There are many parallel ways up the big slope, but we had to pick one. When we did turn uphill we realized that the roads' surfaces, just wet earlier in the day, were now glazed and icy. Fabulous. Now we had to seek out the bumpier pavement to avoid slipping on the ice. About halfway up the grade, we both came off our cycles at the same street corner. We simply could not remount on the slippery uphill, so we pushed our cycles onto a cross-hill street before struggling back on and finishing the climb. We bumped and jolted our way out of Albany and into Delmar again. About a mile from home, Roland informed that the phone in my pack was ringing. "It’s Rose", I said, "but there’s no way I’m stopping to answer it. I’ll never remount." After one more climb, we pedaled the last stretch and got to my house, with 62.83 miles showing on the GPS. We’d talked about getting a "metric century", or 100 kilometers, and by gosh, we did it! Good thing, too, because Roland would have made me do laps around my neighborhood if we were short. Rose, tough-love and all, handed us each a beer and my kids, Monya and Denali, were all smiles and congratulations. We were both spent to the point that we couldn’t stop shivering, even sitting next to the broiling woodstove. Whew! We were done. Until tomorrow.

Day 1 Stats:
Mileage: 62.83 miles, 101.12 kilometers
Elevation Change: 2854 feet, 869.9 meters
Objective Rating: 215 points
Subjective Rating Adjustments: 30km strong winds, 20km night riding, 20km extreme cold
Subjective Rating: 311 points, with a Next Day Carryover of 65.25 points