Training Day - May 2026
Cycle the Hudson Valley bike tour is coming up in August, so Serge and I headed out for a training ride on the Auburn and Lehigh Valley Trails. The plan was to ride from Farmington to the Creekside Inn in Rush, have a cheeseburger and a beer, and ride back.
Sunny. Blue sky. Temperatures in the sixties.
The Auburn and Lehigh Valley Trails follow former railroad corridors that once connected towns, factories, and farms across western New York. Near the road crossings and trailheads we passed a few families, runners, cyclists, and the occasional horseback rider. A mile or two later they would disappear. For long stretches we had the trail to ourselves. The route passed through woods, wetlands, and long green tunnels of trees. In some places the canopy closed completely over the trail, turning the light green and dropping the temperature several degrees. Most of the time all we could hear was gravel under our tires and birds in the trees. We saw squirrels, hawks, and a badger disappearing into the brush. A small snake darted across the trail in front of my bike and I swerved to avoid it. Roads and houses were never very far away, yet they rarely felt close.
At one trailhead, an old display described the Lehigh Valley Railroad and the Black Diamond route that once ran through the area. The railroad appeared again and again along the trail—in rusted steel, stone foundations, and bridges that still span the rivers more than a century later.
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Not long after we started, Serge's trike developed a problem. The chain kept jumping off whenever he shifted into the smallest rear gear. A few times the drivetrain locked up completely and we stopped beside the trail and wrestled the chain back into place. Eventually he gave up on that gear altogether. This limited his speed to less than 10 MPH. Sometimes we rode side by side and talked. Sometimes I rode ahead, stopped to take a photograph, and waited.
The yellow trike would eventually appear between the trees.
One of the longest bridges crossed the river beside an abandoned railroad trestle. The steelwork was covered in rust and shadows. Below, the river moved slowly through the trees. A short distance away, water spilled over a low dam into white foam.
By the time we reached Creekside Inn, my bike computer showed about eighteen miles. I ordered a bacon cheeseburger and a Corona. Serge had a quesadilla.We ordered a second round and stayed for a while. We were the only cyclists. Most of the customers wore black leather jackets covered in patches. Several had long gray hair and wallet chains hanging from their jeans. A row of motorcycles filled much of the parking lot.
Creekside wasn't entirely new to me. Twenty-five years ago, one of my managers worked behind the bar on weekends. By day she was a senior technology executive at one of the largest banks in the country. Tailored suits. Executive meetings. Corporate presentations. On Saturday nights she traded all of it for jeans, boots, and a shift behind the bar. Her husband was part of the motorcycle crowd that gathered there. A few of us from work would occasionally show up. There was something faintly illicit about seeing a senior bank executive behind the bar serving beers to bikers.
Sitting there with my cheeseburger and second Corona, I looked her up on LinkedIn for the first time in years. She is still with the same company, still a senior IT manager. I noticed she has a different last name now.
A little while later we climbed back onto the bikes and headed east. The ride home took longer. Without access to his smallest gear, the gradual grades required more work. By early evening, every place where body met bicycle was starting to complain. I rode ahead. Stopped for photographs. Waited. The yellow trike would eventually come around the corner.
The last miles passed through more woods, more bridges, and more reminders of the railroad that once ran through this corridor.
By the time we reached the trailhead, my bike computer read 38 miles and 1,328 feet of climbing. The yellow trike rolled into the parking lot right behind me.
