Crossing the North Appalachians

On Friday at about 4:30 pm, I rolled into Bennington, Vermont. HD and I are now in New England, as I can tell from all the town welcome signs. All these small towns are steeped in history and were settled or chartered in the 1700’s. The architecture is New England. The towns are proud of their heritage.

I just had to check out this town! After yammering to my family and loved ones via text and taking a shower, I headed downtown and brought the camera. I figured I would see some cool, old buildings. Yes indeed! Starting with the Catholic cathedral right next door! Bennington is an artsy town. The population is about 15,000, including Old Bennington right next door to the west.  There are galleries, museums, folk art stores, antique and vintage stores, dance studios, and a few Italian restaurants.

With only 15,000 people, Bennington is the 3rd largest city in the state. It was chartered in 1749 and settled in 1761. Bennington was named after Colonial Governor Benning Wentworth and is best known for the Battle of Bennington in 1777. General John Stark’s New Hampshire Militia defeated German Lt. Col. Friedrich Baum’s troops of Germans, local Loyalists, Canadians, and Indians. The German troops were battering the colonial troops until Seth Warner’s Green Mountain Boys arrived and turned the outcome of the battle. Ethan Allen is the famous colonial who founded the Green Mountain Boys. 

Now I understand why Bennington artwork featured Ethan Allen in so many pieces.

The catamount is another name for the beautiful mountain lion, or cougar, who used to populate the Vermont wilderness. Long thought to be extinct in the area, there have been numerous sightings, even photos and videos, over the last few years. 

While strolling the downtown area of Bennington, I saw about a dozen fiberglass catamount statues, all painted and decorated by different artists and representing different themes. This is part of The Catamount Prowl, a festival here in Bennington. The statues were unveiled in May and the party culminates in October with a gala event and catamount statue auction. Apparently, in 2005 and 2009, there was a similar festival, called the MooseFest, here in Bennington. 

That explains why I have seen about 8 or so painted moose statues in Vermont so far. In New Mexico, we had a similar event with Painted Ponies. These statues, all painted by approved artists, brought significan attention to New Mexico. Many towns even coughed up funds to purchase or sponsor a pony to stand in the downtown “Main Street” areas. 

I love when a state’s celebration has a heavy emphasis on artwork. 

So, Bennington streets were decorated with life-sized fiberglass catamounts and a few moose. Meese? 

Silliness abounds.

In front of an antique and curiosity shop, on that fine evening, were two young people trading off time to play their guitars and showcase their original works. They were raising money for St Judes but also had a separate tip jar. They announced they would like to buy pizza after the free concert, so tips were certainly acceptable and appreciated. I thought they were very courageous to play for the public. 

Don’t you love it when people take a chance?

I purchased pizza and salad at The Bennington Pizza House and took it “home” to my motel when it was dark. For a “small” town (not by VT’s standards), I was amazed at the number of people out and about, of all ages. It was a beautiful summer night and the weather will soon be turning cooler. But the happy families were strolling, going out for dinner, going to who-knows-what local event. What a hopping little town.

I ate my salad and most of the pizza in the comfort and quiet of my little room, saving two pieces of veggie pizza for breakfast. They were a little soggy on the tips the next morning, but I am not particularly picky, so I ate them with relish and set to packing up. As I headed out of town, I was hoping to score some coffee, but did not see anything open on that early Sunday morning on August 25th. That is, until I reached the east end of town. Then I came across Bakkerij Krijnen-, a local bakery which advertised pastries, donuts, and...coffee.

I pulled in and parked HD by the door. The entrance to the shop is interesting because you go through a storage and supply room to get to the shop. But, my oh my, it was heaven. I got a cup of coffee and chatted with the owner, Jen.

Jen and her husband Hans have owned the shop about 3 years. They are turning a small profit but not a huge one, considering the amount of work it requires. I had not noticed any signage in town advertising its existence, which might be a worthy investment, as I didn’t know it was there and, if it hadn’t mentioned coffee on the window, I probably would have kept cycling. Their business comes mostly from locals, but they do pick up vacationers going to or from Green Mountain, which was where I was headed that morning. 

Hans always wanted to own a bakery. His father and grandfather were bakers in Holland, so he grew up with the business. When he was a little boy, he told his family he wanted to be a baker too. His father and grandfather were horrified and forbade it, telling him there was no money in it. But there are more important things than being rich, so Hans became an accomplished, lettered chef as an adult, and now he spends the wee early morning hours, and into most of the day, baking the most delectable treats you can imagine. I saw some of the most gorgeous, appetizing pastries imaginable, but settled on a few cookies, which are easiest to carry on the trike for travel. They also serve limited vegan lunch time faire. For lunch today, a sweet potato soup was advertised. Now you’re talking.

Jen’s passion is “food”.  While she doesn’t do the baking, she loves to have a garden, eat her husband’s cooking, and she even started a farmers’ market here in Bennington some years back, so that fresh, local food would be available for everyone.  Her husband’s passion is preparing the food. He was a tall, thin man, moving quickly and efficiently in the kitchen, so I don’t think his passion is eating everything he makes! What self control this husband-wife team have!

After the conversation, I mounted HD and we rode up the mountain. The Green Mountains are Vermont’s portion of the Northern Appalachians. Vermont calls itself “The Green Mountain State”.  “Vermont” actually comes from the French “Verts Monts”, which literally means Green Mountains. The name was suggested in 1977 by Dr. Thomas Young, an American revolutionary and Boston Tea Party participant. So, Vermont it is.

The ride up the slope began easy enough and I found myself grinning at the mild work for many miles. Yep, riding the Lagunas, Cascades, and Rockies and then the foothils of New York’s Alleghenies and Vermont’s Green Mountain foothills had prepared me. Then, in the last few miles up to the peaks, the road took a definite leap upward and I found myself REALLY working!  I later found that the incline had increased from the 6% I was used to in the Lagunas to the 8-9% of this portion of the Appalachians. Luckily for me, throughout that day and the days to follow, the 7-9% road slopes were generally only 1-2 miles in length.  So, I got a chance to sweat and breathe hard and get a worthy workout. 

At the top of the eastern side of the mountain range, I came across a little store at Woodford. This store caters to campers and local outdoorsmen. I purchased some locally made chocolates and talked to the young people managing the store. They were very helpful and shared their knowledge of the road to follow.  From there, it was primarily steep but relatively short slopes all the way to Wilmington. HD and I cycled through some of the most incredible scenery, seeing both deciduous and evergreen forests, lakes, and streams. Going into Wilmington from the east, you pass Lake Raponda or Lake Whitingham. Being Sunday, families were out to enjoy boating and fishing and the town itself had a festival quality to it. 

Wilmington is a New England mountain town, in all its glory. Old, picturesque buildings, lovingly maintained; baskets of red geraniums hanging everywhere, even decorating the bridge that spans the Deerfield Rver right in town; art shops; bakeries; bed and breakfast inns in Vermont style; restaurants---I could definitely come back and stay in a bed and breakfast here in the summer and stroll the sloped streets and shoot the breeze with the locals and buy Vermont art. I stopped at a grocery store at the edge of town to purchase fruit and cheese for the evening. I finally scored some Vermont cheese on sale.

HD and I pulled into the Molly Stark State Park Campground in the mid afternoon. It was a relatively short riding day, as I knew it would be a strenuous cycling experience. But the day was young, so I did my calisthenics, took a hike, and climbed a radio tower, just to face my fear of heights. And also to take some nice long view photos of the hills of the Green Mountains. For dinner, I ate sliced apples and Vermont cheese and a brownie I had purchased earlier in the day.

I really must quit eating bakery goods. But it is like experiencing local flavors when you stop in these little bakeries and shops. I tell myself I owe it to the owners to try out their goods. It is about circulating funds through the country. A dollar here and a dollar there is like paying it forward. I reap the blessings of tasty treats, work it off, and get to help keep hardworking shop owners and bakers doing what they love. See how selfless that is?  Hahahaha!

I read a bit in my tent that night and had a peaceful sleep. Well, almost. It started raining and continued to maintain a light shower for several hours. I did have some leakage into the tent, but it was relatively minimal, as I was parked on a hard packed gravel space which allowed the water to drain off. 

The next morning, HD and I were off and running over the mountain range. The goal was to get to Keene, New Hampshire. It was another relatively short day of cycling, to allow muscle fatigue from mountainous riding. As I cycled around the sharp turns, I almost passed a local store on a farm.  I hadn’t had coffee yet and “The Sugarhouse” had a sign advertising coffee on the window.  So, I made a quick U-turn on the highway, after checking for traffic, and pulled into the personal property of the lady who runs the store. She told me to be careful on the country roads and went inside to the back. A friend of hers, who works the counter, went inside to take my purchases. This little country shop featured maple syrup and maple products as number one; home baked goods as number two; and really good coffee as number three. I chatted with the employee/friend of the owner, the latter having gone into hiding. I learned that the woman who owns the place bakes all the goodies and also taps the trees and makes the syrup herself. 

Apparently, you tap the maple trees in February and March when the sap starts running upward. The difference in the amber and dark colored syrups is generally related to when the sap was collected, with the lighter colored, more delicate syrup from the earlier harvested sap. You can no longer collect the sap when the trees start to bud, as it becomes unpalatable, so the harvest season generally lasts only about 7 weeks. Canada provides 80% of the world’s maple syrup. In the US, Vermont is the number one producer. I have been wanting to get some amber maple syrup, right here in Vermont, but have no effective way to transport it. 

Another trip. 

Some day. 

With a car and luggage in possession. 

Vermont had been lovely; I had enjoyed mountains, trees, fresh air, challenging beautiful roads, and I felt as if I had stepped back into Early American history.  Most of the towns I had passed through were over 200 years old and proud of their heritage. Arts and crafts are a big deal here, as is the ever popular Vermont maple syrup. I thought I would see more dairy farms and cheese being advertised, but apparently not in the mountainous area I traveled. Vermont is sturdy and strong and independent, as are its residents.

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Same day. Tuesday, August 26th, 2013, HD and I passed into New Hampshire. The Welcome to New Hampshire signs also have the following quote written at the bottom: “Live Free Or Die”. 

This says it all for New Hampshire. It was the first colony to break away from Great Britain and was the first US state to have its own state constitution. There is no state income tax on W2 wages, but they do tax interest income. It’s like saying: we won’t tax you if you work for your money. 

There is not even a state sales tax. Local municipalities may charge sales tax to cover some local services. 

Within the first 5 miles of cycling in New Hampshire, I saw road signs which reinforced their fierce independence. Apparently, the law demands seat belts only if you are under 18. You can talk on your cell phone and drive. There are signs saying “Use Common Sense!”

While wearing a seat belt as well as driving with your cell phone untouched are wise actions, you are not bound by law to do so. I like that. Some people drive defensively. Some people can drive and talk at the same time. 

I have seen the worst motor vehicle accidents occurred when the driver was trying to unwrap his fast food meal or spilled hot coffee on his lap while driving at the same time. But I have never seen a law saying you can’t smoke or drink coffee or eat while you drive.

Use Common Sense.

This is a common sense state. They don’t regulate your every move, but do expect you to act responsibly and follow what laws do exist. In return, they protect your freedoms to choose. They protect the right for same sex marriage as well as woman’s rights over their bodies in all but partial birth abortions. Imagine not being told every thing you can or can’t do, but the state protecting your rights to common sense. 

I was treated with consistent respect and curiosity. It is another fiercely independent-minded state. 

And, like Vermont, it is breathtakingly beautiful. 

My good friend Esteban was in the area that week, as he travels to New York twice a year to manage his home of many years, spring and early fall. He arrived in New York a few days ago and then went to New Hampshire for a few days to visit friends. He texted me, and offered to take me out to dinner. I was game for that, so he met me in Keene and we wandered the streets of this great college town and then went out for Mexican food. I enjoyed the company, the friendship, the conversation, and the great food. I met him the next morning for breakfast while he prepared to see his friends, with plans to spend the remainder of the week with his family and his new grandson. I took a few photos of him to post on a dating website as he would be a fine catch for some lucky lady. He is smart, witty, funny as all get out, very good looking, and talented. He buried his wife 5 years ago and he thinks he is ready now to start looking, but maybe wants to wait another 5 years when he retires from work.  He is such a dear friend; I pray he is happy and successful and has a great time back in the dating scene. 

We discussed my own romantic situation. For any curious readers, tune in to the last chapter. Or wait for the book...

Esteban appeared once more that day, while on the road. He “passed me a baton” while I was riding along, not saying a word, just handing it to me and speeding off in his souped-up car with the V8 engine. The baton is a stick with little leather strips streaming from one end and a braided handle secured on the other end---my new “dog whisperer”, as he called it. I had lost the first one on the road and had bemoaned its loss. Being half survivalist, he thought I should not be without personal protection. So, now I have a stick. I never had to “use” the first one for self defense, but must admit that simply lifting the stick when chased by a dog made them effectively stop chasing. Immediately. If I meet an aggressive raccoon while out camping, I know I can encourage the critter, however cute, to maybe consider another tent to raid. A little poke might do the trick. 

It was about 55 miles to Manchaster, NH, my goal for the day. I stayed on hwy 9 all day, until I arrived in town. Then I looked for a cheap place to stay and the Econo Lodge in an old industrial part of town fit the bill. I rode up to the building and saw the sign at the front of the huge, mostly empty parking lot. But the building itself sported no signage and it took me a few minutes to find the front door. The “lodge” looked actually like a huge, old, brick apartment/tenement building with hundreds of rooms over several floors. Some windows in the upper floors looked like there were signs of permanent habitation, such as house plants, fans, and the like. Some of the people going to and from the building did not look like travelers but relaxed residents. There is a certain look we travelers have. Maybe it is the look of restlessness or fatigue from a days’ travels. Maybe it is a look of uncertainty. When you “live” somewhere, you move like you belong there; you sport a look of ownership; you move confidently through the halls; you dress in clothing you would wear to either clean the bathroom or run to the convenience store down the street. 

The manager of the motel gave me a good price for the room and told me to make sure I brought my bike into the room with me as I should not leave it outside for the night. I wondered if I could get HD through the doors. I found my room and then went out the back door, which appeared wide enough. When the back door shut, you couldn’t get back in, so I planned to ride HD to the back door and then walk back to the front door, make my way through the building to the back door, and pull HD in, while propping the heavy springloaded hinged door with a foot. Well, I rode HD to the back and who was there holding the door open but the manager himself, who had been watching from his desk and wanted to ensure I got HD inside. I was grateful for his warm hospitality and generosity, but maybe a bit concerned about the area. I wasn’t nervous, but I guess I needed to use Common Sense in this part of town.

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Wednesday, August 28th, 2013. The goal was to make it to Maine and tag the 3rd corner of this trip. I knew there was a hiker/biker trail called the Rockingham Recreational Trail. It purported to run for 25 miles east from Manchester. Perfect. These old rails to trail roads were usually surfaced with fine rock or hard packed gravel, mowed and maintained throughout the summer months, and have very little incline to them. Perfect again.

So I thought.

I found the “trailhead” and it was no more than a walking path, fit for a single hiker. I tried block after block through Manchester, thinking that the path would surely improve. It took about 1 1/2 hrs to get out of Manchester, with the sad realization that the Rockingham Recreational Trail was not an adequate biking trail, and in many places would be a challenge even for a walker. It was certainly not maintained. 

So, I rerouted my iPhone map for walking to Kittery or York Harbor, Maine. But, these maps were off too. Strongly outlined roads were not the highways seen in maps from other states, but were often rough dirt roads or even entirely nonexistent. I came to several spots where the map clearly showed a road. Instead, I would see a new home. No road. Maybe there used to be another dirt road there!

So, I found my way around various lakes by trial and error, until I could get back to the highways. I learned to stay on the highways today in New Hampshire. The highways really did exist.

I cannot complain as this was a marvelous day filled with the scent of clean air in the trees, evergreens, moving fresh water, and, near the end of the day, the unmistakable scent of ocean air. YES!

I enjoyed cycling through the town of Newfields, NH, and met some locals there. It was the first day of school and there was an excitement in the air. I was riding through Newfields around 3 pm as school was letting out. The school speed limits lights were flashing. Up ahead, there were also the lights flashing on the Suburban police vehicle. The policeman had pulled over a man speeding through the school zone. By the time HD and I got to the site, the policeman had returned to his vehicle, did a U-turn in the middle of the highway and had pulled over at the school. Shortly before I caught up to him, he had leapt out of the car and donned a crossing guard vest and stopped the country traffic while a group of children crossed the street next to the elementary. They called out to him like their best friend, exclaiming that there was no home work today, nor for the whole week. He laughed and teased them.

Small town love. God, I loved this! I pulled over and asked him if he really was both a police officer AND a crossing guard? He laughed and said it was one of the parts of his job he likes best. He made a face as he looked off, reminiscing about having to apprehend lawbreakers (those not using Common Sense!), then smiling again as he thought of the children. He proudly stated that he was the police chief in the area as well. He has lived in NH for all of his life, but has not always worked right here in Newfields. But he does enjoy it here and sees retirement in some years. “Art” is 53 years old and is handsome and healthy and full of vitality. His passion is fly fishing. That alone I find impressive as fly fishing is a poetic, skilled sport which takes years of practice to master. 

Art gave me some road tips and talked a bit about the naval yards and interesting sights in Portsmouth and Kittery. He advised me to be very careful on the highways and country roads and goodnaturedly suggested I check out the the Newfields downtown and its country store.

HD and I cycled not a mile further when we hit the “downtown” section of Newfields, and found the small country store. It was about the only thing that suggested it was “downtown”. The owners sold some coffee and more home baked goodies. This must be a New England thing. The friendly lady at the counter said that the baked goods were made personally, every day, by the owner and a friend of hers. As school was now out, families were coming in to get ice cream and goodies while they chattered away with mom or dad, telling of the excitement of the first day back in class.

They had the best coffee ever. 

So, I made it to highway 1 and then took the 1 bypass over the bridge into Kittery, Maine. About 10 miles earlier, I had begun to smell the ocean air and the traffic had increased. Also, I could see the marine layer up ahead and I cycled into a foggy late afternoon. The bridge on the #1 bypass had construction going through the walkway, so I had to travel with the traffic, which is not my favorite thing to do on narrow bridges, as cars are in a hurry and I can’t quite comply. I understand. I’m a car driver too. So, I did my best to hurry over the fog enshrouded bridge and made it to Maine. 

TAG!

Third corner of this USA trip has been accomplished. Boo yeah!

I cycled to the shopping district of the north end of Kittery and found a Starbucks on my side of the busy highway. Wow! I hadn’t seen a Starbucks in either Vermont or New Hamphshire. Of course, I was mostly in the wooded areas of these two states. But most of the area is wooded, anyway, with primarily small towns and burgs and a few larger cities. In New York, there are Starbucks in most big towns, but where there is a Starbucks, there is a competing Tim Hortons nearby. And then there are Dunkin Donuts in NY, VT, and VH. Starbucks has stiff competition here in the east. Dunkin Donuts coffee is mild--quite to my liking. Tim Hortons’ coffee is a bit stiffer, but still quite good. Starbucks coffee tends to be more bitter, which most coffee afficionados really love. Since I was a late bloomer to the coffee world, my tastes prefer the milder flavors.

And I really don’t care for flavored coffees. Just half and half and sweetener. I rarely buy cappuccinos as their calorie count tends to be high and they often leave a sticky sweet aftertaste. Blended/frozen coffees, like frappuccinos, are yummy, but they can have as many calories as a Dairy Queen blizzard with ice cream and candy! 

So, I tend to drink my coffee and eat my ice cream. I have seen so many locally owned ice cream shops and I always want to stop in and get an ice cream cone, but rarely succumb. I’ve had about 4 ice cream cones over the last 5 months. I had fewer than that when I wasn’t cycling 6-10 hours a day. 

It’s hell to get old and have your belly show the evidence of each cookie and ice cream cone. I think I better go do some exercises, come to think of it...

Later. Gotta finish this blog first!

So. I got a blonde roast coffee from Starbucks and did a search on the availability of local lodging and campgrounds. One campground in York Harbor, up ahead, for RVs at, get this:  92 dollars a night!!! 

Scratch camping, then.

I found a Days Inn a mile back in Kittery, so I turned around and checked in. It wasn’t on the ocean, as I had hoped. But oceanfront lodging in New England tends to run a price tag of $150 to $350 per night. Not in my budget. Haha! 

The Days Inn worked out well. I have a large enough room and free breakfast and a convenience store down the street and a kickin’ internet connection. All needs met. 

So, I won’t really see much of Maine. Mostly the Hwy 1 bypass road, a few stores, and fog. I will head down the eastern states on Friday, August 30th for the race to South Carolina. 

I have a date! A real one!

Boo yeah! Twice!