Three Degrees of Separation

Three unique commencements attended in 2025, in various locations in the world, are listed in order, as follows:

Dr. Laura Anne Hilger
January 15^th, 2025
University of Bath, United Kingdom
Doctorate in Social Policy Research and Methods
Thesis: Mind the Gap: Social Policymaking in the UK in Theory and Practice

Ms. Maria Fernanda Rojas Ramirez
May 15^th, 2025
Pontificia Universidad Catolica de Chile, Santiago
Magister en Trabajo Social (Master of Social Work – With High Distinction)
Thesis:  Experience of Being Affected by a Peer's Suicide: Social Networks, Social Support and Community Resilience in University Students

 

Dr. Ryan Peter Hilger
December 19^th, 2025
Colorado State University, Fort Collins
Doctorate in Engineering Systems Management
Thesis: An Algorithmic Semantic Analysis of Cyber Security and Resilience Guidance Against Interdisciplinary Understanding of Resilience Concepts Across Time and Scale

______________________________________________________________

Now that I have advertised the nature of this blog post, some proud elaboration is necessary.  The details:

January 15, 2025: Laura Hilger

I departed from my Study Abroad trip with my students from Costa Rica a few days early to catch a long flight to London with little down time, and took the train with my wife Becky and our daughter to Bath a few hours west of London.  A charming, medieval town south of the Cotswolds, Becky and I had been here before, as the center of the city, just outside the Abbey, is the official termination of the Cotswold Way national trail.  It is home to ancient Roman-era natural baths, surrounded by hills and nestled along the River Avon.  The Abbey has been a site of worship since 675 AD and, over the centuries of its transformation, has been elevated to cathedral status.  Bath Abby was closed under Henry VIII in 1539 and left to decay. It was given to the City of Bath as a parish church, and in 1573, Queen Elizabeth I granted permission for the city to raise money to restore the abbey, which was completed in 1620.  Largely intact today with several additions and remodels over the intervening period, the structure is impressive.

And here we were, standing outside the Abbey, awaiting entry to witness Laura’s commencement:

 

Magnificent doors to pass through

Indeed, this was a mesmerizing experience for me.  I have been a platform guest at the University of Minnesota commencement, which we host every Spring, where there always seems to be a measure of pomp and circumstance to a commencement event.  But, while similar in format, it was wholly different in majestic effect to sit several rows from the front of the makeshift stage, centered in the Abbey, and well positioned to see the parade of graduates.  With the natural redundancy of the parade, one could easily be distracted by the sheer beauty and grace of the Abbey, to wonder what all has happened herein, and upon whose tombs we were sitting.

The Abbey is splendid in its Gothic form

But then the announcer called out Laura Anne Hilger, and we witnessed her march, receive her doctoral hood, and be officiated by none other than Prince Edward, the Duke of Edinburgh, and the Chancellor of the University.  As one of the last students to walk, and with a rather lengthy name on her degree, Prince Edward was caught having to ask the announcer to restate the degree so he could properly repeat it in front of Laura – a moment of humor for all.  And moments later, it was all over, having moved outside onto the square. 

Prince Edward (R) conferring her degree

We wandered the streets and byways with Laura up to campus, in all her regalia, to meet with her advisers.  It had a strange mix of Hogwarts and hiking, crossing fields, walking narrow alleys, and arriving at the more modern university campus high up on the surrounding hillside, overlooking the abbey. 

In a way, the walk was a metaphor for her journey of learning, culminating at a high pinnacle with a view of the path travelled.  The end of an academic journey, but not the end of learning.

May 15, 2025:  Fernanda Rojas

Fernanda is my (informal) goddaughter from Costa Rica, whom I have known since 2017 when she first joined our Study Abroad team in San Ramon, serving as a helper, interpreter, and guide for all the students.   (See posts  Making a Difference and especially about her story in Semicolon;)  Nearly four years ago, after receiving her social work license, she was employed by an organization that assists LGBTIQ immigrants.  She was laid off quite suddenly and without much reason, except that it was likely due to budget cuts.  Interested in education, she began researching higher learning options and applied for a scholarship at Pontificia Universidad Catolica de Chile, and waited.

Then, she began working at a boy’s home that required a social worker by their license, but in a role the (male) managers deemed unnecessary except as a dormitory mom.  We had many phone calls at that time, sharing the stress of the situation, living remotely alone within a toxic work environment, yet personally successful in establishing meaningful relationships with the adolescent boys.  What we expected could happen, did - she was released.  A call to share the news is one I shall not forget, for we decided now was the best time to take the leap to graduate school and continue to pursue her research and study of social work focused on suicide.  And I would support her by closing the financial gap not covered by the scholarship, and including "rice and beans."

Arriving in Santiago, I immediately embarked on a journey with my nephew Colin to Easter Island, a trip of a lifetime opportune in its timing, coincident with Fernanda’s graduation (and a whole other story - see Postscript below).  Returning after a few days, Fernanda and I toured the city, a place I had not visited since Colin was married many years ago.  We walked.  We talked, mostly about the future, the next steps, her pursuit of her doctorate, and her relationship with Aldo, her sweetheart.  You could call it fatherly stuff.

This is NOT Aldo!  
Touring in Valparaiso

Timed to arrive on campus coincident to and meet Fernanda, I did not immediately recognize her in the crowd, having been "dolled up" a bit and without glasses for the ceremony (for which she teased me!).  I was dispatched to the entrance of the auditorium a bit early, found a seat along the side aisle about a third of the way from the front, not knowing if this was the best perch.  I was soon discovered by Fernanda’s landlord, who sat next to me. Again, like our commencements, the platform guests arrive, followed by all the students, graduate and undergraduate, from the school of social work. So naturally, I was watching for Fernanda, and close to the end of the line we spotted each other as she descended the aisle and took her seat, but a few away from mine in the row opposite, across the aisle.  Such good fortune as we could share happy glances. 

I could not understand the speeches, but perhaps an occasional word here or there, but I had a good sense of this pomp and circumstance.  I was well positioned to see Fernanda as she lined up to file onto the stage, the second-to-last student to cross.  

First walk across the stage: receiving her diploma

I was filming her procession and, like all the other students, waiting with the camera rolling for her to come back up my aisle to her seat.  But she did not come!  The last students came by, and then nothing.  Peering to the front, she was hustled to a seat in the front row, where I lost a clear view of her.

As I pondered the situation, the leader of the school continued to speak,  which I did not understand, but I decided this must be a moment and a connection to the mystery.  With her landlord giving me some translation but also not knowing what was coming, she was soon called up to the stage to hearty applause, having been awarded the top thesis in her class!

Second walk across the stage:
Top Thesis Award plus flowers!

I was so proud!  Beaming, I was overcome by my own emotion and pride, knowing how much this education, all education, has meant to her, and I am proud to have helped her along the way.  

At the reception afterward - both pride and wine!

And now, she chases her PhD at the University of Chile in Santiago while serving as a keynote or panelist at professional conferences, being asked to author a book chapter, conducting many workshops (including for my study abroad students), and participating in other professional and research-based engagements typically afforded to those with many more years of experience.  Specializing in training about suicide awareness, I know that she will save many people and must be supported.

December 19^th, 2025: Ryan Hilger

Ryan tends to be a person of few words but abundant thoughts and a clear path forward.  A career officer serving as a Commander in the Navy, he is an Engineering Duty Officer and lives with his family in the Washington, DC area. His wife, Heather, is working toward her Master's Degree in counseling, while minding our two grandchildren, Charlotte (almost 13) and Henry (10).  Upon a recent visit to their home for Thanksgiving, it became clear to me that this family is focused on education. Still, I wonder how they manage multiple degree pursuits, the challenges of homeschooling both children with their, shall we say, constantly changing personalities!

And so it was that we met at Denver International Airport a few weeks ago, a matter of minutes apart on separate flights, and with a rented car, headed north toward Fort Collins.  First, we detoured to take an 11-mile route through the Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge.  This site once bustled with munitions and chemical production during World War II, constructed after Pearl Harbor, and finally closed in 1992. Heavily contaminated, the site has been cleaned up and restored to a wildlife refuge under the guidance of the US Fish and Wildlife Service since 2010.  A batch of new residents was transferred to the site in 2007 – a herd of wild buffalo- and has proliferated into quite a large herd.

No petting these creatures

This diversion is but one of four examples of education central to this family experienced on this trip – an interactive approach to learning with many direct field experiences.   The second was a visit to Wings Over the Rockies, an air and space museum housed in a cavernous old airplane hangar on the former Lowry Air Force base, a technical services training base that was once the first site of the Air Force Academy. 

The scale of the clear-span hangar was impressive

.

The third was a drive through Rocky Mountain National Park, at least the roads that were open.  Getting a fill of “whiteness” before Christmas, and with this as our family Christmas gathering a few days early, the majesty of the emerging mountains as one drives higher and higher intrigued the kids, constantly on the lookout for the emerging views.  Of course, stopping at the historic Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, considered one of the most haunted places in the country and where the horror movie “The Shining” took place, was a must-see for Henry. I suppose this is still educational!

A magnificent valley view toward Deer Mountain. 

The fourth was a visit to the Denver Zoo, always a favorite of the kids to see animals. Learning, it seems, takes all forms of stimulation.  Long interested in aviation and animals, the kids were especially drawn to seeing buffalo, prairie dogs, coyotes, mountains, as well as spacecraft, airplanes, and, perhaps, a gift shop!  

An engaging academic experience!

It was time, however, to honor Ryan’s accomplishment.  Within the tight confines of Moby Arena, the basketball pavilion, we had no choice but to sit in the cramped stands for a distant view of the event. Much more perfunctory, the commencement celebration included only graduate students from across campus programs.  And, as is typical, the march across the platform was to receive the diploma cover, shake a few hands, and likely get a photo taken.  Absent a keynote speaker, the event moved efficiently, processing several hundred students; Ryan one of the early ones.  He was “hooded” by his thesis adviser on the platform, a common practice for PhD students. 

Ryan's hooding - as seen from the distant seats

And that was it!  In all three cases, of course, celebrations were had, as they should be.  Commencement following the completion of any degree is worth honoring.  Education itself is worth honoring – indeed, sometimes we do not do enough to honor teachers and their role in making this happen for students.  Or, in Ryan and Heather’s case, honoring them for teaching our grandkids so well, with genuine interactive engagements, and showing the kids where education can take them.  

 

L to R: Henry (10), Heather, Ryan and Charlotte (nearly 13)

Proud?  Oh yes!  
Congratulations to all three of you!
 

______________________________________________________________

POSTSCRIPT - Easter Island

As I mentioned, I did tour Easter Island whilst in Chile, flying out to meet him on May 8th.  Colin is a travel agent for a high-end agency, and has never been to Easter Island to check into accommodations.  When I told him I would be coming, he had a trip scheduled the week before and invited me along.  I could not say no!  It was an amazing experience, especially the hundreds of Moai sculptures.  Ten annotated images follow:

Final approach to the island with a volcanic crater
Orongo in foreground

Afternoon ride along the west coast near Ahu Te Peu.

Sunset with the moai at Mirador Hanga Kioe

Went fishing. Caught nothing but great views of the 
the Islote Motu Kao Kao and Moto nui on the south tip.

The famous stand of moai at AhuTongariki, looking inward
to protect the former village site.

Ahh, yes!  Summiting Cero Terevaka with
great views

The view from Cero Teravaka before a wild 
descent to Hanga Roa

Riding mud pit backtrails to . . .

The most famous site on the island: the quarry where moai
were carved, then moved, at Moai Tukuturi

A final view prior to departure: the rim overlooking

Islote Motu Kao Kao and Moto nui at Orongo,

The Joy of Unmet Expectations

“I think we’re lost.”

Darkness draped Mount Sutton like a blanket, the deep woods dark and quiet; nary a sound nor a whispering breeze.  The creek beds rocky, dry from drought.  The owls silent, likely spying us unseen with their steely gaze.  Indeed, we enjoyed a quick, steep climb up to Lac Mohawk to catch the waning light of day, but spent a mere 15 minutes taking in the serene beauty of the place, aware that our descent back to camp was likely to take longer, absent the lack of daylight to guide us back.  And yet here we were, a wrong turn somewhere uphill, pondering.  The darkness was intense, her face dimly lit by the glow from our cellphones, our headlamp light absorbed by the deep darkness.

Dusk settles the woods

It is a remarkable feeling to be lost in the dark woods at night, uncertain of the way forward except downhill, and confused by multiple intersecting trails that beckon us to traverse them.  But which way was right?  So was our dilemma.  Getting lost was not expected on my bicycle trip.  Was there joy in this situation?  Well, you need to know more.

My friends would admit that I am an itinerant planner, always starting several months ahead of departure, examining maps, options, and routes.  On this trip, I was expecting to meet up with Mariya Moneva in Niagara Falls and ride through upper New York state, crossing through northern Vermont before entering the eastern townships of Quebec, taking the long way around to Montreal, Ottawa, and then Toronto.  Mariya and I met on my TransCanada journey in 2022 (see Old Friends, New Friends), and finally found the opportunity to reconnect for another adventure.  My 1100-mile plan laid out with reasonably clear expectations of the days, distance, and accommodations all the way across New York and through Vermont to the Richford border crossing into Quebec.  Thereafter, the plan was a work in progress, a blank slate about where we should travel in the eastern townships.  That was for Mariya to guide. 

I departed St. Paul, MN, on Amtrak the morning of August 7, 2025, bound for Chicago, with a layover before connecting on an overnight sleeper, a “roomette,” from Chicago to Buffalo, NY.  The roomette, essentially a micro-cabin, was an interesting study in efficient design, although it was a bit worn from long use. It features a bunk bed arrangement that converts to two seats, then the narrowest of space to stand.  It included a cleverly hidden toilet, a small sink, and a small pull-out table.  I entered with the bed turned down, the upper bunk raised all the way up, and was offered a drink from the bar nearby.  Pricey, yet comfortable, sleep came easily and comfortably. 

The Amtrak Roomette - with wine and a view

Arrived in Buffalo shortly after 9:00 AM.  It is always an exciting, though anxious, moment, hastily gathering my panniers and retrieving the bike from the baggage car. In a matter of several rushed moments, this massive metal tube rolled noisily out of the small Depew station, with quiet and a sense of emptiness settling on the lonely platform.  I reassembled my gear on the bike and began my journey, pedaling downtown to connect with the Niagara River, riding through an urban landscape that was tired, worn out, even outdated, with no hint of refresh but rather a striking display of abandonment.  

Niagara Falls is about 30 miles from Buffalo, but the plan had changed only days prior when Mariya mentioned she would meet me at the Westport, NY Amtrak station on the other side of New York, due to personal matters.  An easy adjustment, as Westport was on my itinerary, I now just needed to get there in one week.  So, I turned my bike instead toward Tonawanda, where the Erie Canal empties into the Niagara River, and then toward Lockport, a town I had fondly visited years earlier on another bicycle trip.

Lockport was planned so I could revisit the system of “step-locks” created in 1825 to bridge the divide and enable long-boat vessels to reach the Great Lakes.  For some reason, these locks fascinate me with their sheer ingenuity and the complications of their construction.  Over the next two days, I would ride the towpath along the Erie Canal, taking in the history and imagining the times gone by when the 363 miles of canal were the vibrant mode of intrastate transportation, connecting the Great Lakes to the Hudson River.

The four-step locks in Lockport, circa 1825

Typical Erie Canal scene near Brockport

I won’t bore you with the daily details of the next six days; instead, I'll summarize.  After two days riding the Erie Canal, I veered northeasterly to the shores of Lake Ontario at Sodus Point, then proceeded easterly across New York state forest lands and the Adirondack Mountains.  Nothing about this travel was unusual or unplanned, except it was quite hot, and I had the unfortunate surprise of finding my planned Selkirk Shores state park campground closed down for reconstruction after a long, hot and hilly 65 miles.  This happens, so while not entirely unexpected, it does cause one to consider options.  In my case, this was easy.  There was a small motel one mile away that had abundant vacancies and was perhaps the cheapest rate I might ever find again, at $67.  It was clean, pleasant, and came with another motorcycle traveler a few doors down, with whom stories were traded.

His bike was a bit faster than mine!

But there was one unexpected event.  I made a wrong turn. This is quite rare for me.  I camped for the night at Lake Durant State Park and enjoyed the company of two fellow bicyclists from Burlington, Vermont, with whom I shared an evening meal.  The next morning, I assumed I had to continue on the route I had come in on, turned right into the early morning sun, and started to climb a steep hill immediately.  A roller coaster of steep hills, both up and down, followed for about 9 miles, with a convenience store stop for chocolate milk in Indian Lake.  As I was sitting there, I realized I had gone east instead of north to Lake Placid, which was part of my plan.  The campground had been off route and required a backtrack of a mile or so to follow the northerly route to Lake Placid.  And at this moment, after what I had just ridden, there was no way I would go back. 

At Lake Durant State Park, dinner with new friends...

followed by the most amazing sunset!

I readjusted and set my sights on Ticonderoga on the shores of lower Lake Champlain, expecting a long, gradual descent to the lake.  That did not happen; after 71 miles of hilly riding across the mountains, I could finally enjoy a long, speedy descent into the hot Ticonderoga valley, and a stay in a quaint family motel.  

The descent into the Ticonderoga Valley.  YES!!!!

One of the amazing murals of Ticonderoga.

That was almost the same distance and terrain I would have faced had I gone to Lake Placid.  But what Ticonderoga has that Lake Placid does not is what surprised me most.  Set in an old grocery storefront in the rather quaint downtown is a Star Trek museum (huh?) featuring the original series set, with an event happening that weekend.  As I wandered around town, I noted several marvelous building wall murals.  No need to beam me up, Scotty; I had a great pizza and a salad. 

Mural depicting historic transport of canon above
Fort Ticonderoga

Friday morning, August 15^th.  This was the day planned to meet Mariya about 30 miles north in Westport.  I took a leisurely morning to depart and had a scenic ride on the New York Bicycle Route 9.  The road should really not be listed as such, as there was next to no shoulder and a decent amount of traffic – a bit of white-knuckle riding as the milk tanker trucks rumbled by.  Reached Westport with about two hours wait for the train, entertained by watching the local county fair across the train station and its tractor pull competition.  I confess, I really don’t understand that type of event (or shall I say "Oh Deere! ").  The train rumbled in around 4:00. A front wheel, then a rear wheel, popped out of the door, followed by Mariya, marking our 3-year reunion as complete.

Inbound Amtrak from Montreal. . .

And out she popped!  Meet Mariya Moneva - again!

I had arranged for a WarmShowers host stay that evening in Essex, an 11-mile jaunt climbing a steep hill and descending to a pathway along the lakeshore.  Essex is a small town with a ferry crossing.  We stopped to sort out where the WarmShowers host’s farm was, as the app indicated it was in or close to town.  We asked in the local tavern where the host was, and they showed it was some 11 miles out of town – the wrong direction!  Its location was mismarked on the app. Over a spot of ice cream, we reconsidered our options, much like our first day three years earlier, when, after a 10-mile detour, we had to navigate a different path to our campground.  It was still light, so we ate a snack dinner on the ferry dock and chose to make the 6:00pm evening crossing to Vermont. We rode another 10 or so miles on perfectly scenic country roads to Shelburne, where we camped for the night.  A familiar reunion with an unexpected outcome.

On the road to Essex

Crossing Lake Champlain in late afternoon

A buccolic rural evening ride to Shelburne

I was looking forward to the next day, a Saturday, riding north through Burlington (with a pleasant lunch and a stop for groceries), and connecting with the Island Line Trail, a long-converted rail-trail featuring a single-track causeway across Malletts Bay to South Hero Island.  Flat, with the expanse of the lake on either side and the distant mountains as a backdrop, it was a stunning piece of engineering that, likely due to environmental reasons, could not be repeated today, but certainly pleases the cyclist.  With a break in the causeway at the north end, a bicycle ferry manned by volunteers connects riders on the trail with South Hero Island, a few hundred yards away.

The magnificent Island Line Trail

And the ferry to South Hero Island

We rode north along quiet country roads, looking to camp at Grand Isle State Park, though we had an offer from a farmer to stay at his place nearby.  That ride was interrupted by a farm stand serving only one flavor of soft-serve ice cream – maple.  Don’t ask for anything else.  And if you want, they will top it with maple sugar sprinkles.  That, my dear readers, is what powers a touring cyclist!

Ahh yes.  Maple soft serve ice cream with sprinkles!

Mariya was our Camp Fire master,
Grand Isle State Park

After studying the map the next morning, Sunday, we decided upon an alternate, recommended route toward Richford, the border crossing, and a campground not too far from there.  We back-tracked to the South Hero bridge crossing and headed on backcountry roads (more hills) toward Milton, trying to avoid the main Highway 7.  Those backroads took us along the east shore of Arrowhead Mountain Lake, with a growing grey cloud bank building up.  We planned to cross the Lamoille River, only to find it blocked off for reconstruction.  This meant the potential for a long backtrack to Milton and further riding on the busy highway.  Though barricaded on both ends, with heavy equipment parked on the bridge and this being a Sunday, Mariya suggested we try to cross.  Reluctantly, I walked across the bridge to assess its condition, and it was passable.  We hefted our loaded bikes over the barricade on both ends and then gratefully moved on, eventually reconnecting with Hwy 7.  During a quick stop at a convenience store, it started to rain.  We rode on, putting on our rain gear, and were soon pelted with a cold, wind-driven downpour, the first of the trip.  Not pleasant.

It lasted for over an hour, drenching us, when we finally rolled into St. Albans City mid-afternoon to find a coffee shop to warm up a bit and have some lunch – an outstanding quiche.  As it was so late, with the detours and the miles ahead to a campground that was likely sodden, we pressed the easy button – we would stay in a motel to dry off.  We rode first to one motel that appeared to be a flop house, then rode to the next one that had no vacancy, and then rode to the Hampton Inn that could accommodate us.  It was a relief, though the storm soon passed and the sun returned.  We decided to walk around this quaint historic town, checking the neighborhoods and parks as the sun descended.  An unexpectedly great end to a shortened day of only 35 miles.

One of the many historic At. Albans structures.

With still no firm plan for what could happen north of the border, we headed out the next morning after oiling our chains and attempted to follow a rail trail all the way through Sheldon Junction, Enosburg, and then Richford.  The trail was being reconstructed in parts and was mostly closed during this stretch, but it did offer some fine views.  The main road, Hwy 105, was a pleasant alternate and not heavily travelled.  We stopped in a small Richford city park overlooking the Missisquoi River that had carved this bucolic valley.  I had been on this route on an earlier trip to Canada, and it looked familiar. 

Crossing the Missisquoi River

A familiar sight, but with adjacent
low-traffic road options

We were soon on the road to the border crossing, with absolutely no traffic heading in either direction on this, perhaps, 2-mile stretch of road.  The crossing is very small, and no vehicles were present when we approached.  Somewhat magically, as we could see no one in the building, the light turned green and the gate arm rose as if to welcome us.  We rolled up to the window, greeted by a young woman with a somewhat serious countenance.  “Passports, please.”

Now, I can see how this situation might appear to the border agent.  Two touring cyclists, one an older gray-haired American, and the other a young-looking, middle-aged Canadian woman speaking French with a Bulgarian accent.  Was this somehow nefarious?  Human trafficking? 

“So how do you two know each other?”

There followed the explanation of being old friends that met three years earlier at almost the exact day, on a reunion tour, a three-year anniversary of our meeting, as I had crossed Canada three years earlier and we met in Quebec City . . .

“I can see that” as she evidently saw from my passport records.

After a bit more study and some discussion between Mariya and the agent in French that I could not understand, she handed us back our passports and said, “Happy anniversary!”

Continuing on the traffic-less Route 139, we decided to take in some lunch in Sutton as it was (again) around 2:00, stopping at a bagel shop in the center of this charming small town.  Over a great sandwich on the sidewalk, Mariya suggested we camp at Huutopia rather than riding on, and take an evening hike, since it was close to 3:00 by the time we finished.  Recall that she was in the lead on this, and she mentioned that Sutton is the center of gravity in this area in terms of activities all year round – biking, skiing, hiking, and canoeing.  She called ahead, and the campground had space available, located two miles up the road. 

Our campsite at Huutopia

It was, quite literally, “up the road.”  A two-mile steep climb out of town to the visitor’s center, the last bit was gravel that had to be walked.  Huutopia is a chain of unusual campgrounds in that the spaces are all walk-in, no vehicles or RVs are parked at the sites, and they are reasonably far apart.  They also have semi-permanent tents set up for families more interested in glamping.   We finally located our spot in the woods and set up our camp.  By 6:00 PM or so, we were ready to go for a hike up to Lac Mohawk, water and headlamp in hand, with a pathway not too far from our site directly into the forest reserve.  More uphill climbing, and parts of this hike were very steep and a bit rocky.   The entire mountain is a network of trails – including hiking, cross-country skiing, and gravel biking – with different types of “blazes” posted on trees, intermittently marking the way, along with a few signposts.  I had the presence of mind to download the AllTrails app., which I had never used before, just to make sure we were headed in the right direction.

Cresting at Lac Mohawk

Darkening woods reflecting in the water

We finally crested at the lake around 7:45 pm, taking in the quiet, serene beauty in a particularly lovely evening light.  Now you already know what happened next. We were lost as darkness settled over Sutton Mountain.  Though there was palpable fear that we could spend a very cool night in the woods with limited water, we relied upon the AllTrails app to help us navigate a way out of the forest back to our campsite, taking a "short-cut" trail that traversed a dry, rocky creek bed and more or less followed the creek downhill.  Wayfinding was enhanced by the occasional blaze that had a small reflective sticker attached, so a single white spot in the dark woods would appear in the distance, almost like the eye of an animal, marking a trail (but which one?).  Thankfully, my battery held out, and after a few wrong turns, backtracks, and retraced steps, we were on familiar terrain and back at camp by 10:00 pm with no sprained ankles.  While we had planned for a nice barbecue dinner that evening, we resorted to a snack dinner of sausage, cream cheese, and crackers before turning in, relieved.

So, I have answered your curiosity, but I have not ended the story.

We decided to remain in Sutton one more night and use our rest day (my first in eleven days) off the bikes, instead hiking up to the top of Mount Sutton to take in the view of the Missisquoi River valley, the United States, and even Lake Champlain far beyond. 

Climbing to the top overlook

Panoramic view looking south to the valley and USA.

That was August 19^th. We officially celebrated our 3-year anniversary at Restaurant a la fontaine in Sutton, having walked not only the mountain, but also hiked back to Sutton thereafter.  Uber took us back to camp, thankfully!

Our 3-year anniversary celebration!

Mariya was pressed for personal matters in Montreal, and I was unable to visit my cousin at his farm this week. Some of the sites I had set on my planned agenda, such as the crater of Mont Mégantic, would have to wait for a future trip.  Instead, we rode 79 miles back to Montreal, where I stayed with Mariya and her flatmate, Remi, for three days. 

The ride to Montreal could get ultra-rural!

With "bluets" abundant, Mariya's favorite

A tunnel of trees

And the Montreal skyline from across the river.

Mariya's second-floor apartment

I chose not to do the tourist haunts, as I had already been to Montreal several times, but rather to enjoy and get a sense of the neighborhoods and the places that make them thrive.  It was perfect.

Visiting a year-round farmers' market

A picnic in the park with Mariya's Bulgarian friends.

The famous steps to the upper-level apartments that
are ubiquitous in the neighborhoods

And, of course, sampling the best soft-serve ice cream!

I finally headed toward Ottawa on Sunday morning, August 24, with Mariya escorting me out of town on track to Montebello, in what turned out to be a very long day – 88 miles!  I had shipped one of my panniers and my tent home to travel a bit lighter. The roads were quite scenic, but I was a bit glum as our reunion tour was not as long as we both had hoped, and we parted ways.  

Our last day together, leading me out of the city.

A wetland with early signs of autumn.

Within a few miles of Montebello, there appeared that typically ominous orange sign ahead – Road Closed!  At this point, the only possible detour options are the interstate-level road 50, which is not allowed for cyclists, or a backtrack to a ferry crossing and a long detour on the Ontario side of the river to eventually reconnect.  This was unexpected, so I decided to ride up the bluff toward Interstate 50 to see if anyone local could help.  Sure enough, a man was sitting on his porch, so I called out, “Parles-tu anglais?”  He did not, but went to get his wife, who did speak some English.  Between them, they suggested it was passable.  The bridge ahead was not out, but two massive culverts were dug across the road, blocking access.  They suggested I try riding to the construction site, and if I couldn't carry my bike across it, I could walk on the railroad tracks right alongside the roadway until I cleared the construction, and then continue on.  I was empowered by their suggestions, happy not to backtrack, and crossed the barriers.  Sure enough, it was easily passible, my worry averted, and a traffic-free finish to my day followed, ending at Auberge Montebello, an old boys' school converted to a hotel.

 My last riding day to Ottawa followed.  I was now determined to end the trip there, as I had already seen what I wanted to see and had the adventure I hoped for.  I had previously traversed much of the country around Toronto and felt no need to do anything other than connect with a direct flight to Minneapolis.  Taking a ferry across the Ottawa River and following a rail trail and other bikeways into Ottawa, I completed the journey with a 68-mile jaunt, staying for two nights in the Marriott hotel.

Short ferry across the Ottawa River to Ontario

Midwestern farm scene

And here.

The rail trail providing shade.

Arriving at Parliament.  Trip over.
August 25, 2025

There were more surprises in store.  Ottawa is an interesting town, the capital of Canada, with the Parliament Building dominating a cliff overlooking the river.  Many say it is boring, all government.  I was intrigued to see the Art Museum and all the old architecture. But interestingly, just as I had started my trip in Lockport, NY, examining the stepped locks with interest, so too had I come upon the Rideau Canal locks, which employ the same concept of stepping the locks higher to the level of the Rideau Canal from the Ottawa River.  And as the Erie Canal sought to open New York to a wider network of farms and industries, so too did the Rideau Canal network tap the interior region of Ontario in a vast web of canals and dams.  Comparing the purpose, age, and technology with the Erie Canal seemed a fitting end to my journey.  I spent the evening over pizza and a beer with Devee Nath, another trans-Canada rider I had met 3 years earlier.

Sculpture and the Museum of Art

The edge of Parliament overlooking
the Ottawa River

The seven-step Rideau locks, circa 1832

The original equipment still workable.

Street step-art

So, what is the joy of unmet expectations?  I discovered something about myself on this journey, thanks to Mariya.  As a careful planner, I was not accustomed to having a floating, indeterminate schedule; I preferred a mapped-out route and an intensively planned trip.  I learned that a journey of 30-some miles that stops short of the plan, but opens up new opportunities, is fully worth it.  I never planned to hike as we did.  I never planned to understand the Montreal experience more thoroughly.  I never planned to take a wrong turn and not fret about it.

And I never planned to get lost in the dark woods.  There was joy in these unmet expectations!

Throwback to year 2022 - Mariya and me in St. Johns,
Newfoundland at the end of that journey.  Still smiling!