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| On every ride the same 3 trees greet me as I turn into my street. I decided to try my hand at painting one of them. I call this "Local Color." |
The same thing
happens every year. The green forests slowly turn into a brilliant pallette of reds,
yellows, and oranges bringing on a show that pulls me outside on my bike to
marvel at the splendor as it unfolds along each of my favorite local rides. I
ride along ridges with the vibrant colors softening on the hills as they blend
into the horizon, around lakes where the pageant is doubled by the water’s
reflection, and alongside green pastures, the changing trees a varicolored backdrop.
Every ride takes me down roads embraced by the New Hampshire forests that, cut
down by early settlers, have reclaimed their birthright to stand in crowds
behind old stone walls along the roadside, forming a canopy overhead.
During the too
few weeks of autumn, the leaves, having given up their summer green, can only
hang on for so long. As they fall around me, I feel a part the seasonal
transformation.
Strong wind
gusts last week brought down the curtain on the final act of this Fall Foliage
Display. By Saturday, as Rob and I ride
our bicycles through the Monadnock region in southern New Hampshire, there are
few colors left and the only thing falling is a rotted old birch tree. I catch
the movement out of my peripheral vision, turn to see the tree hit the ground, hear
the crash, and evaluate its thickness as I ride by. It must have been pretty
rotten and probably soft but how much damage would it have done if it had
landed on me? Would it have killed me or just landed me in a wheel chair for
the rest of my life? It fell in the woods beside the road but, even so, I look
ahead and try to assess the chances of a tree crashing down on me.
I know people
who are so worried about the dangers awaiting bicyclists who venture out onto
the roadways that they won’t even consider getting on a bicycle. I acknowledge
the risks and do my best to mitigate them. I wear a helmet, watch for cars
pulling out onto the road, use hand signals, and ride at least three feet from
parked cars. (A bicyclist died recently after crashing into a car door that
opened as he was riding by. These things happen.) But this was a new hazard I
hadn’t yet considered – getting wiped out by a falling tree. What a bummer that
would be.
We have embarked
on a 36-mile ride that starts and ends in Peterborough. The ride is described
in Best Bike Rides New England, by Paul Thomas. We have the 4th
edition of the book, published in 1998, a tad bit out of date and it appears
not to have been updated since, is in fact out of print. You can still get a
copy of the book – new or used - through Amazon.
(Used for a penny; with shipping it’s $4). If you are going to do any riding in
New England, I highly recommend it. We’ve been very happy with the rides we’ve
done.
Like a
politician who says only enough to avoid speaking the truth, the author begins
the ride description with, “About the only attraction this part of New England
doesn’t offer cyclists is long steep hills.” Perhaps. We start out slow, uphill,
level off, then more uphill. Not long and steep, just long and gradual, so
that, when we arrive in Harrisville after ten miles, we’ve only averaged around
9.8 mph. And the hill into Harrsville
isn’t long and steep either, just short and steep. A short, steep hill and at
the top is an old general store with a picturesque porch overlooking the old
textile mill and surrounding brick buildings of this quaint New England town,
founded in 1774 with the construction of a combination sawmill and gristmill. I
pull into the parking lot and wait for Rob.
The Harrisville General Store
opened in 1838 and is now owned by Historic
Harrisville, Inc., a non-profit dedicated to the preservation of
Harrisville’s mill town buildings.
“How about we
take a break?” I ask.
“Sure,” he
says, always agreeable.
Warm air hits
us when we go inside. People are seated at small tables by the front window.
There are various food and gift items for sale, a deli case and baked goods on
the counter.
Many small-town
general stores in New England have been transforming themselves into coffee and
sandwich shops. Which brings me, proud foodie that I am, no end of happiness.
Rob thinks
he’ll have a muffin until I point out the braided cinnamon bread sitting on top
of the deli case.
“Let’s eat in
here,” he says.
“No, I want to
sit outside.” I am not as agreeable as Rob. But at least the woman at the cash
register backs me up. “It’s too hot in here,” she says.
Early November
in New England can be anything. Yesterday Global Warming brought us a summer
day, but today is more seasonal. At 9:30, when we started out, it was warm enough
to ride in shorts and a light jacket, but I decided to add an extra layer, a
lightweight long-sleeved shirt under a short-sleeved tech shirt and haven’t
regretted it. It’s an overall gray day, but still warm enough to sit outside on
the porch of the general store and enjoy a cinnamon roll along with the tea and
oranges we packed.
Back on our
bikes, it still feels like we’re gaining some altitude, not tearing through the
miles. Time to marvel at the forest streams, lakes, and farms that we pass by.
And then there are these cows that are the oddest cows either of us has ever
seen. They are black with one big white stripe wrapped around their middle. I’m
sorry, but I didn’t stop to take a picture.
We come to the
town of Nelson, which isn’t much of a town, really, kind of like our town,
Madbury, with a town green, a pile of mailboxes, town hall and a small library.
Nelson is known in the New England folk music community for its Monday
night contradances, a weekly tradition going back many years. We cycle on
through and get rewarded for all our climbing with a lovely long downhill ride.
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| The amount of traffic on this main east-west highway gives you an idea of how quiet the countryside is in this little corner of New Hampshire. |
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| No big box stores on this part of Rte. 9 |
We ride
alongside a lake and by now I’ve lost count of how many lakes we’ve passed, docks
pulled out, sitting randomly along the shore. We turn onto Rte. 9, a major
two-lane highway that runs east-west through southwestern New Hampshire. A
roomy shoulder and light traffic make three miles fly by and then we’re on Rte.
123, a quieter road, for nine well-earned downhill miles into Hancock. Quoting Wikipedia here,
“Almost every building on Main Street in downtown Hancock is listed on the
National Register of Historic Places as part of the Hancock
Village Historic District.” Old brick buildings, a town green, tree-lined
main street, yes, it is as quaint as it sounds.
Sitting proudly
on Main Street is the Hancock Inn. And
rounding out the business district across the street, sitting side by side, are
a general store and the Fiddleheads
Cafe, just in time for lunch. Inside
Fiddleheads is bustling with diners. We both order an Indian chicken soup at
the counter, where my will power is sorely tested with the desserts all
packaged and ready to go home with me. But, with a cinnamon roll behind me and home-baked
cookies waiting at our bed and breakfast, I steadfastly resist any temptation
and stick with just the soup.
The temperature
has been dropping and we both put on warmer clothes for the last seven miles
back to Peterborough. And these miles,
too, go by quickly as we continue to be rewarded for our early morning climbing
and finish our ride on a quiet country road.
We’re back in
Peterborough before 2:00. On our arrival in town, I count my fifth Bernie sign of the ride.
Living in New Hampshire, it feels like we are always in the midst of a presidential election season. No sooner has one president taken office then here comes the next batch of contenders, testing the waters, working on name recognition. Bernie Sanders has been visiting New Hampshire for a while, and is pretty well known, coming from right next door in Vermont. I won't get into his politics here, because this isn't a political blog. But what I want to say that what struck me was that there were no other political signs, Republican or Democrat, to be seen along the way. And usually, while the Seacoast region of New Hampshire, where we live, tends to be more liberal than the rest of the state, I was just a bit surprised by this popping up of Bernie signs, with no sign of support for anyone else. It probably means nothing, but I just thought I throw it in. Something to chew on.
We’ve planned to spend the weekend here, time to
enjoy browsing in some art galleries, go out to dinner, do some contra dancing,
maybe some hiking in the morning. The Monadnock area of New Hampshire is
steeped in natural beauty and traditional New England culture, well worth a
visit.
Here are a few
suggestions:
Stay at the Little River Bed and
Breakfast. Tea, freshly baked cookies and other treats greet you upon arrival
and you’ll wake up to home-baked breads and a hot breakfast with fresh fruit.
Dine at Marzano's Trattoria. But don’t
wait too long. Their 5-year lease is about to run out and the owners haven’t
yet decided if they’ll renew.
Lunch at Harlow's
Pub. A pub with good food – I had a delicious spicy chicken and rice soup -
and outdoor seating.
