No more rain but trees dropping water in the morning. I have spent a good 15 hours in the tent, and only had a gulp of water for breakfast. I decide to treat myself to a grand meal, and set off.

The Blue Ridge road, which at the Bulet bike shop said was all downhill, begins with a steep climb followed by several more. At last, I reach a long downhill to I-87. But no restaurants.

Hiway 9 is full of dead resorts – perhaps done in when the freeway was built. Then 74 goes on and on without a place to eat. I see I’ll have to go all the way to Ticonderoga. It’s after noon when I eat a large mediocre sandwich and get cash for the ferry. I poke around Fort Ticonderoga, the lines of battle, the woods, the fort itself. Built by French, it was the site of many battles in the late 18th century, starting in 1759 when the Marquis de Montcahn withstood an attach from a far superior British force. How strange to fight and die in these quiet woods. The fort was after taken by the British, then Americans, Brits again, and finally abandoned.

I take the ferry to VT, and get a taste of the dairy and apple-filled countryside going through Shoreham and Brigport. I miss the turn to Julie’s because the sign says Snake Mountain Road. She must not like the snake, she just calls it Mountain Road.

I still arrive before anyone is home. Filthy and sweaty, I throw my offensive clothing in the washer and myself in the shower. Julie & Anneke come home to a clean, smiling Dylan.