I had a great camp spot – woke up comfy and rested, then slept in for a bit.

Spent the whole morning checking out the falls. I’d imagine a daredevil in a barrel at each point on the river as I approached them. Then, the actual falls – they are truly grand. I ate breakfast overlooking them while it rained a while. The rain discouraged me from taking any tourist rides, but I looked down at the falls and rapids below, fascinated from each point along the river. When it started to really pour I stopped for another coffee.

The trip back across the border was just as crazy as the last one. I rode straight across the huge expanse of road and customs booths, looked around in the duty free shop, and started across the bridge. Traffic was heavy and the walkway was blocked off, only accessible from the other side of the road via a walkway bridge. So I turned around, crossed the huge road again, and went over the bridge on the walkway. The sings on the U.S. side made no sense, so I just kept riding. I had to navigate a mousetrap in the wrong direction to reach the road I wanted. I can’t believe no one gave me a second look through all of this!

A wrong turn put me on 104 for a stretch, where I found a wallet – empty but for a few cards. This was outside Lewiston. I dropped it at the police station in Gusport.

It rained on and off all day. I sat out another downpour in Lockport, where I ate an awesome calzone. The food and accents leave no doubt I’m in New York. I start my 90-mile stretch along the Erie Canal.

The trail is crushed limestone, not as nice as pavement but perfectly level. I make good time, putting some juice into it.

I break down and buy cigarettes. It’s a pattern in my battles with desire – I fight through the worst of it and then let my guard down when it would be easy not to. Shit.

I camp by the trail when it gets dark.