In case you're worried that I'm lost somewhere in a southwestern canyon and you're about to send out a search party, I should let you know, you're looking in the wrong direction. For the last week or so I've been exploring the northeast. I've been traveling with a biker gang. Not motorcyclists, but a group of about 500 bicyclists traveling over 400 miles from Buffalo to Albany, New York along the Erie Canal.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am not a biker. I own a bike, but it's been sitting neglected in my basement for several years. It's more of a clothes rack than a mode of transportation. I like to drive, walk and hike. Biking...not so much.
My sister, Kay, likes to bike. Every year she finds a multi-day, cross-country trip to join. This year she was tired of setting up a tent after a long day of biking, so she recruited me to be her personal "sag" driver. I transported her luggage and bike, drove her to and from the ride, and provided a cozy place to sleep at night. In exchange, I participated in all the fun tour activities, met a lot of interesting people, had plenty of time to take pictures and learn about early American history, and of course, had a chance to enjoy my sister's fine company.
