No Route, Half Gravel, All Adventure

I left home intending to ride about forty to fifty miles. I had no particular route in mind. Maybe around the lake. Maybe down to Naples and back.

I headed down East Lake Road, rode along the lake and then the lakefront dropped to cliffs and I remembered how hilly the old East Lake road is.

At the top of the hill I stopped to rest and drink and take in the views of the lake at the bottom of the long hill.

By the time I reached Vine Valley, I was ready for a break. I stopped at the little general store, bought a soda, and sat by the beach.

While I was there, I ran into BJ, an old colleague from the wine company. She was there with Adam's mom. Adam lives down the road from me. We talked for a while.

She told me what had happened at the wine company. The tariffs had created a lot of problems. The owners had broken the company apart and sold off the pieces. I knew there had been major layoffs in the IT department about a year ago, because I had taken some networking calls from old colleagurs, but I had not heard the whole story.

BJ is retired now and spends winters in Florida and summers here on the lake. We exchanged numbers. After a while the ladies climbed into her golf cart and headed home.

I stayed by the beach for a few more minutes and then got back on the bike. I was still heading toward Naples, but I decided to try some gravel roads and back roads instead of staying on familiar roads.

After Vine Valley, the pavement narrowed and grew rough. Then I reached a sign.

South of Naples I turned onto a Seasonal Limited Use Highway.

The pavement ended.

The gravel began. From that point on there were no houses, no mailboxes, no power lines, and no street lights. The only signs I passed marked nature preserves, wildlife areas, and conservation land. The gravel roads were steep and deeply rutted from runoff from the spring storms. Branches and small limbs were scattered across the road from recent storms.

Much of this area is part of a network of protected forests surrounding Nundawao, or Great Hill, above the south end of Canandaigua Lake. The preserve borders thousands of acres of protected wildlife habitat.

Occasionally the woods opened long enough to reveal a farm. Then the trees closed in again. One gravel road led to another. Some climbed steeply along the hillsides. Others dropped into narrow valleys before climbing again.

I passed deer standing at the edge of fields and along the tree line. Some ran. Some simply watched as I rode by. For the next several miles I saw more deer than houses.

I did not always know exactly where I was, but eventually the road carried me out of the forest and back toward Route 245. When I got to Naples I stopped at Inspire Moore Winery, which sits next to Roots Café. The woman working there would not let me pay for my ginger ale. Sitting on the Patio next to Roots, the food smelled too good to ignore. I called Serge and asked if he wanted to come down for dinner. He did.

By the time we finished eating, it was around 7:30. I had a burger, my go-to order after a long ride. Serge offered to put my bike in his truck and drive me home, , but it was the longest day of the year and I figured I would have daylight til 9pm, so I decided to finish the ride.

I headed north on Route 245. Normally I avoid that road because the speed limit is 55 mph, but on a Sunday evening there were very few cars. The shoulder was wide. When I reached Rushville, I turned onto quieter roads for the last few miles home in the dusky light.

I saw four more deer before I reached my driveway. Each stopped perfectly still and watched as I rode past.

I got home a few minutes before 9:00 p.m., just as it was starting to get dark. Forty-six miles. No route. Half gravel. All adventure.