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A Perfect Moment on the Erie Canal Trail
Sep. 7th, 2015 01:38 pmAbout twenty-one miles into my ride out, I almost decided to turn around. The trail consists of a series of two-to-three mile stretches broken by largely indistinct road crossings. At this particular crossing, an unsigned discontinuity meant that, for the first time, I had to look around for the trail's continuation on the other side. After finding it across some railroad tracks, I rode a slow circle at the trailhead and assessed my condition. I decided I'd ride on to just one more road crossing.
Instead, another mile and a half brought me to the sleepy village of Canastota. I rode in along a main street, still lining the bank of the remnant Erie Canal. Seemingly nothing was open at 9:30 on Labor Day in this town of four thousand people, but I persisted in trying cross streets until I found a gas station where I could buy a sports drink.
I rode over to the shadier south side of the canal bank, parked my bike, and got out my tupperware container full of lasagna. I was lost in thoughts of century-gone shipping traffic on the canal when I was approached. A brown and black striped tomcat gave me a friendly head-butt after padding quietly up to me along the edge of the embankment. The scritches I gave him in return helped him decide to continue his acquaintance with me; he crossed behind me and took up a comfortable lounge against the wheel of my bike.
As I rubbed his tummy, I looked west back along the canal. The morning sun bounced off the water with a sprightly brilliance. An unexpected breeze arose, cooling me off as it shook a surprising number of brown leaves down from the trees I was resting under. As the falling leaves made ripples in the canal, I was struck by how immanent the change of seasons really is. So many small things fit together like puzzle pieces to create a perfect moment.
It was fleeting, as all such moments are. I finished my lunch. The breeze dropped away. The tomcat noticed someone walking their dogs a few blocks away and decided he had business elsewhere to attend to. But it was also one of those moments that I think will live in my memories for a long time. There was no individual part that makes it so special, but the whole is somehow vastly greater than the sum of its parts.
My lunch companion in Canastota
Instead, another mile and a half brought me to the sleepy village of Canastota. I rode in along a main street, still lining the bank of the remnant Erie Canal. Seemingly nothing was open at 9:30 on Labor Day in this town of four thousand people, but I persisted in trying cross streets until I found a gas station where I could buy a sports drink.
I rode over to the shadier south side of the canal bank, parked my bike, and got out my tupperware container full of lasagna. I was lost in thoughts of century-gone shipping traffic on the canal when I was approached. A brown and black striped tomcat gave me a friendly head-butt after padding quietly up to me along the edge of the embankment. The scritches I gave him in return helped him decide to continue his acquaintance with me; he crossed behind me and took up a comfortable lounge against the wheel of my bike.
As I rubbed his tummy, I looked west back along the canal. The morning sun bounced off the water with a sprightly brilliance. An unexpected breeze arose, cooling me off as it shook a surprising number of brown leaves down from the trees I was resting under. As the falling leaves made ripples in the canal, I was struck by how immanent the change of seasons really is. So many small things fit together like puzzle pieces to create a perfect moment.
It was fleeting, as all such moments are. I finished my lunch. The breeze dropped away. The tomcat noticed someone walking their dogs a few blocks away and decided he had business elsewhere to attend to. But it was also one of those moments that I think will live in my memories for a long time. There was no individual part that makes it so special, but the whole is somehow vastly greater than the sum of its parts.
My lunch companion in Canastota
