I rode my Unicycle from NYC to Canada | 700-Mile Solo Camping Adventure (Day 4)

I rode my Unicycle from NYC to Canada | 700-Mile Solo Camping Adventure (Day 4)

DAY 4 of my 8-day SOLO-CAMPING trip from NEW YORK CITY to CANADA 🇨🇦 via the Empire State Trail!

Day 4 began at La Quinta Inn, just west of Albany. I ate a full hotel breakfast—boiled eggs, omelet, sausage, potatoes, and coffee—and felt the difference immediately. Camping forced a constant trade-off between supplies, weight, battery, distance, rest, and time. Modern convenience, in contrast, eliminated the need to ration. I decided to find a hotel every third day going forward.

I rolled out around 10 a.m. and passed through Green Island, where the streets felt unusually quiet for a Saturday. I reached a fork in the road a few miles north—the trail split between the Champlain Valley route toward Montreal and our Erie Canal route toward Buffalo.

Past Alexander Street, the Empire State Trail narrowed into a wooded bike path and shed the city almost instantly. This stretch doubled as green infrastructure—an engineered forest designed to absorb rainfall, slow runoff, and protect the capital district’s water system. The trail moved through this sponge of vegetation and retention basins that quietly prevented floods.

West of Albany, the Hudson peeled away and the Mohawk River took over. The Mohawk–Hudson Bike-Hike Trail followed the waterway, marking the start of the New York State Canalway Trail. Colonie slid by on the left—19 miles west of Albany, 338 miles east of Buffalo.

Lock 7 pulled me off the main trail. I arrived just in time to watch it operate. Boats entered from upstream, gates closed, water drained, and the chamber dropped them 27 feet. The lock gates groaned open with a deep metallic grind that sounded ancient and alive.

Schenectady followed—founded in 1661, its name derived from a Mohawk word meaning pine bush. Birdhouses appeared along the canal, simpler than those further south but frequent enough to feel deliberate. Lock 8 stood out for its movable gate—the only dam on the canal where steel plates rise and fall to control water height.

At Kiwanis Park, the old aqueduct cut cleanly across the landscape. Once used to carry the canal over existing rivers, it now served as a visible scar of hand-cut labor and early engineering ambition. Beyond it, the Erie Canal finally ran beside the trail—wide, slow, and glassy. In places, algae thickened the surface until the water looked like pasture.

Past the Amsterdam Trailhead, the pavement turned rough. Roots buckled the asphalt. Schoharie Creek crossed beneath twin bridges—one for cars, one for bikes—cleanly separating traffic. Cell service vanished after the bridge. For nearly thirty miles between the bridge and Fultonville, the trail flattened into a straight corridor of trees. For the first time on this trip, boredom set in. I put my headphones in, and the music revitalized the ride.

Outside Fultonville, I passed a concrete railroad mileage marker stamped NY-187—a surviving New York Central reference point marking distance along the former rail line.

Canajoharie came next, named for a former Mohawk settlement. The town square felt cinematic—low buildings circling a wide intersection, a clock overlooking the street, the kind of place where a duel would’ve made sense a century ago.

Near Lock 16, the canal signs shifted colors—orange and magenta, blue and yellow, brown and white. Planned or not, the uniqueness of each stood out. The sun lowered and the canal quieted. This was the Erie Canal—built from 1817 to 1825, stretching 363 miles from Albany to Buffalo, cutting a six-week overland journey down to days and reshaping American trade.

Lock 17 rose ahead with the highest lift on the canal—40.5 feet. Concrete walls towered overhead. Steel gates weighing up to 100 tons moved on electric motors. The scale felt industrial and unapologetic.

As night fell, I arrived in Little Falls. The EV charger refused access without vehicle registration, but two standard outlets nearby saved the stop. I charged everything, bought dinner from across the street, and waited for the charge cycle to complete.

Just before midnight, I reached Frankfort Marina and Heelpath Brewing. The campground was the best yet—lit paths, bathrooms, power stations, and camp grounds built for cyclists. The brewery felt like a lodge. Josh, the owner, pointed me to a quiet patch behind the building between the marina and the fence. Without provocation, he offered me water, two beers he brewed himself, and food. Josh used to ride the trail. Now older, he supports the people who still do.

I set up the tent behind the brewery and fell asleep around midnight, ending Day 4 on the Erie Canal with four days still ahead.

Saturday, August 9, 2025
Albany to Frankfort, NY
98 miles

Watch next → Day 5 (coming soon)