I don’t know who’s more perplexed: me or the deer? It’s dawn on the Fourth of July and I’m lugging my 14-foot inflatable SUP and three dry bags across River Street in Troy, New York, burping bacon from the breakfast buffet. Downtown is drizzly and deserted, just me and the ungulate locking eyes across a hotel parking lot, two fish out of water.
Within minutes, I’m launching onto the Hudson River, an early start to catch the ebb that’ll ease my passage along this 153-mile estuary to the Atlantic. Also, with the temperature and humidity rising, to beat the heat. My usual hack for cooling off—two swims an hour, repeat—isn’t recommended today on this stretch of river. Too much rain for the sewage system. “Watch out for floaters,” a local had advised.
I’m celebrating America’s birthday nearly three weeks into a clockwise 1,200-mile circumnavigation from Ottawa, where I live, back home via Montreal, New York City, Buffalo, and Toronto. Distraught about apocalyptic climate change and toxic tech bros, on the cusp of 50 and uninspired by office work, I sought deliverance by dipping a…
