Chapter 9: Waylaid!

Day 5: Wednesday, June 28, 2017
28 miles
Woodford State Park, VT, to North Adams, MA

Tucked into the northwestern corner of Massachusetts are two well-known art museums that I'd been eager to get to for some years, the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art (Mass MoCA) and the Clark Art Institute. When we readjusted this trip to make it more of a meander I suggested we put these museums on the itinerary. (See the Prologue.)

The beauty of our change in plans yesterday was that we were only 20 miles from the Mass MoCA so we could still get there by the time it opened at 10 a.m. We did get an early start, on the road before eight o'clock, under a cloudy sky with rain threatening, and cool enough that I put on an extra sweater and warm tights over my shorts.

We backtracked several miles on Route 9 to Highway 8 which would take us directly south to North Adams and once we got to the junction the sky had cleared and the sun warmed us enough to stop and take off our extra clothing. We looked at the road that was supposed to be easy and downhill and saw a hill going the wrong way - up. Rob said, "That guy yesterday was pulling our leg." 

I sincerely hoped not. But after getting over that first hill we came to another that was shorter but steeper. I decided it was too early in the morning for this nonsense and got off my bike and walked up. Then more downs and ups. 

But soon enough we were doing the kind of riding that you dream about: fresh morning air caressing our faces; legs effortlessly turning the pedals, faster, then faster still; cruising past barns, fields of cows and hay bales, and tree-covered hillsides; riding on smooth roads with wide shoulders and only the occasional car. Ten or more perfect miles, miles that give you the taste of perfection, the reason you get on your bike and fight the fight we fought yesterday.  

I said a thank you to the man who gave us such great advice as we sailed along through a valley, past wind turbines, and on into North Adams. 


Can you see the wind turbines along the top of the ridge?

We averaged 12 mph into North Adams. I realize that for many cyclists that may not seem all that fast, but remember we're carrying a lot. And we're getting old.

North Adams
Once in North Adams we found the Mass MoCA pretty easily by following the many signs showing us the way. It is housed in a collection of old brick mill buildings similar to those you find in many New England towns and cities.

We were heading over to a corner of the parking lot to park our bikes when we were accosted by a slender man - looked to be in his late sixties, early seventies - who appeared suddenly as if from nowhere. 

He said he was going on his first ever bike trip, solo, via credit card, in France, for three weeks. (Credit card bike tourists can travel light since they charge all their food and overnight accommodations.) He had all his nights booked ahead, planned to ride 30 miles a day. He kept talking while Rob and I locked our bikes. I took off my riding shoes and socks, packed a bag of food for lunch. I wanted him to move on so I could discreetly change out of my riding shorts and into more comfortable street shorts. He kept talking. I was eager to get into the art museum. This was what we'd ridden all those miles for, I didn't want to waste a minute. But I never want to put off another cyclist. I told him it sounded like he had everything figured out and I'd never biked in Europe. What did he need to know? 

"I'm worried about what will happen to my reservation if I break down."

I said, "Do you have a thumb?" I wasn't being flippant. The best advice I ever got was from someone who told me about hitchhiking when you are in a pickle on a bike trip. People do stop to pick up cyclists; they realize you are probably trying to get a ride because you are in trouble.

He said he was renting a bike and I assured him that he would be fine, he could call the bike rental shop if he ran into trouble. 

Then I made the mistake of getting out my map and asking him about riding around the area of North Adams. He showed me some back roads north to Bennington and then some more and didn't want to let go of the map. I finally said, "You'll have to avert your eyes while I change out of these shorts." He kept on talking while I did my quick-change act. 

Meanwhile Rob had locked his bike, had his flip-flops on, looked like he was ready to go. I got my map back and put away and said, "It sounds like you've got it all figured out for your trip to France. Have a great time."

Even now, as I write this, I wonder where that man came from. He just appeared out of nowhere, in the middle of a parking lot. He wasn't even going to the museum.


Check out that downhill. Yes, it was as much fun as it looks.

Chapter 8: ...The Old Folks Find the Easy Way Out

Day 4: Tuesday, June 27, 2017 (continued)
33 miles
Southern Vermont: Brattleboro to Woodford State Park

If you're thinking of bicycling Vermont, let me tell you what road not to take. Then again, what were we thinking? Vermont Route 9 goes directly across the state, over the Green Mountains.

Looking over my last post, I don't think I conveyed how beat up we were by the morning's ride. We had anticipated about 50 miles to our next overnight stop, a campground south of Bennington. By the time we stopped for lunch, it had taken us four hours to ride 17 miles. At that rate we'd be getting to the campground after 8 p.m. If we lasted that long.

We were discouraged, exhausted, and anxious about the promise of more hills to come. 

We looked over the map while we ate lunch, hoping for a new route to magically appear. It didn't.

We'd finished eating but hadn't made any moves to get back on our bikes, just kind of sat there in a tired stupor, enjoying the view, trying to work up an appetite for more hill climbing, when an older gentleman came over to us. "I saw you this morning riding up this way. I've been to White River Junction and now I'm on my way home. That's quite a ride you're doing." 

I pictured the distance in my mind. "You've been to White River Junction and back?" That's a long way, even by car. And we'd only done 17 miles. We really were a sad case.

He told us he'd been to the VA hospital to get his wounds from a bike crash checked out. "A suicidal dog ran out in front of me."

I said, "Did you kill it?"

"Unfortunately, no."

I had been so immersed in studying our map that I barely glanced at this man. Now I made a more careful inspection. Yup. He was pretty beat up. He had bandages covering his arms and legs where he'd been sewn back together. But he was obviously a true bicyclist, his accident just a bump in the road on his journey to ride the RAGBRAI at the end of July. 

Organized by the Des Moines Register, the RAGBRAI is an annual ride across Iowa. Participants' gear is transported from one overnight stop to another. We'd been in Davenport, Iowa, several years before when the RAGBRAI was finishing in that city. The temperature was in the nineties.

I said, "It's too hot. I'd do it if it were in September."

We talked pros and cons of different styles of riding.

He pointed to our bikes. "I don't want to carry all that gear."

"Yeah, we are kind of pack mules. But I like the freedom. If I don't want to get on my bike and ride 70 miles on any given day, I don't have to."

"There's that. Your gear is going so you'd better go, too."

He told us that the last ten miles to Bennington could be a bear. It turned out that he lived in North Adams, home of the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art (Mass. MOCA), which was our destination for the next day. He said we could turn directly south to North Adams without going all the way to Bennington, and the ride was mostly downhill. 

Even if we made it to Bennington, which wasn't sounding like much fun, we'd still have another 8 miles south to the private campground we were aiming for. We took another look at the map and found Woodford State Park, with a campground, a few miles past the turnoff he was talking about. It looked to be about 15 miles. We could do that much. This didn't require any discussion; it was the alternate plan we'd kept hoping to find every time we examined the map.



On our bikes after lunch, we were thrilled to see this sign. 6% downhill grade for 3/4 miles. Not much, but after all the climbing in the morning we were ecstatic about any bit of downhill.

Our change in plans made the afternoon much more pleasant. We stopped for about an hour at the library in Wilmington where I did some writing and Rob some trip research. 

This picture doesn't do justice to the picturesque town of Wilmington, Vermont. We strolled down Main Street, admiring the rustic buildings that housed local businesses. Alas, we found nothing open that suited our fancy for afternoon tea. But we did find a statue of the famous Molly Stark, who never set foot in the town.

Seven miles after Wilmington we arrived at the top of another hill and the road to North Adams. Tomorrow we would be riding back to this junction. And I thought, I'm too tired to do any more climbing but if we have a long downhill from here then we'll have to climb back uphill tomorrow morning and I don't want to do that either. So, please, let it be flat for the next few miles to the campground. 

It wasn't flat, but it was gently rolling hills and that was okay. With several miles to go our luck with the dark clouds that had been hovering over us all day finally gave out and the rain came down hard. We rode into the campground cold and wet. That made two days out of four finishing with a ride in the rain. 

The campground office had already closed by the time we arrived after five o'clock. Good fortune shined on us through the rain and we found a site with a lean-to, and discovered we had enough change for hot showers. Soon we were warm and dry and thankful for the serendipitous meeting with the man who offered us an alternative itinerary, saving us from our poor planning.

Rob and I agreed that Route 9 was a disappointment scenically. With the exception of our lunch stop we couldn't recall any beautiful views from the day. Maybe because we were too busy swearing at the hills.





Chapter 7: When the Going Gets Tough...

Day 4: Tuesday, June 27, 2017

It's only 40 miles from Brattleboro to Bennington, Vermont. Uphill.

We began climbing as soon as we got onto Route 9 in Brattleboro. I shifted my front gear to the smallest chainring, then gradually worked the rear shifter onto the climbing gears while focusing on staying as close to the side of the road as possible with only a narrow shoulder to work with. One semi after another blew past, rattling my balance and my nerves. It didn't take long before I realized that this was the major highway for trucks heading across the state. 

We climbed steadily for several miles. When it looked like I'd reached the top I stopped. When Rob caught up I said, "This is no fun." I showed him the map, which had a detail of the local roads. 'There's another road here," I said.

A car pulled in beside us and the driver, a slender older man, said, "I bicycle around here a lot. I was wondering if I could help you in any way."

"We're looking for Stark Road," I said.

"You passed Stark Road a while back. But you wouldn't want to take it anyway. It's steeper than this."

"Oh. Well, we've got a downhill coming," I said.

"Oh, you'll only be going down for a couple hundred yards. No, you're not done climbing yet."

He said we'd be climbing until about the last three miles into Bennington and there was no way to avoid the traffic. He wished he could tell us that there was another, better way to go. He apologized for not being able to help us out and drove off.

Rte. 9 is the major east/west route across southern Vermont. I'd driven this road before and remembered it as a scenic byway so I figured it would be a fun way to go. I was wrong.


I stopped to wait for Rob at this roadside memorial. We were both ready for a break and some food. We still had some of the hard-boiled eggs that John Whiting had given us the day before. It hadn't been too hot so they were still good and much appreciated.


"Truck Lane 1/4 Mile"
Translation: You're not at the top yet and the climbing is going to get worse. But at least the cars and trucks will have some more room to get around you.

After 17 miles we arrived at the top of Hogback Mountain. With its fine views and a deck and picnic tables it was the perfect place to stop to eat lunch and regain our positive attitudes. Studying maps can help. We tried to figure out an alternative plan but kept coming up empty. 

On a fine day you can see New Hampshire and Massachusetts. This wasn't a fine day, and we were very glad for the cloud cover. It reminded us that we could have been much worse off. It could have been very hot or it could have been raining. In many respects the weather was perfect for the day's ride.

Outside the gift shop were some signs describing Route 9 as The Molly Stark Trail. And we would see many more references to Molly Stark along the way. The woman was never anywhere near all these places that honor her. She was a nurse and had 11 children. Her husband rallied his troops during the Revolutionary War by telling them: "There are the Red Coats and the enemy are ours or this night Molly Stark sleeps a widow." And the farmer soldiers were so inspired that they won the Battle of Bennington. That's why Molly Stark is famous. I'm still trying to make sense of that. 








Chapter 6: Backcountry History

Day 3: Monday, June 26, 2017
44 miles
Rindge, NH to Brattleboro, VT

You can find all sorts of historical gems tucked away on the country roads of New England. As we bicycled through Francestown on Sunday I noticed a church with a building of old stables dating back, one assumes, to the horse and buggy days. When I mentioned it to John Whiting, he said, "Oh, our church has old stables, too." So I stopped and took this picture on our way out of Rindge.

To the left is the First Congregational Church of Rindge, but I was interested in the old stables straight ahead. The historical summary of the church makes only a brief mention of the stables when discussing the construction of the church in the 1760s: "Horse stables were built near the Meeting House and on the Common." 
While writing this up, I did a little online research and found out that the building with the stables in Francestown isn't a church, but the town hall, which is on the National Register of Historic Places. I found it on googlemaps and took a screen shot, so I could fool you into thinking I did take a picture after all.

The Francestown town hall - it sort of looks like a church, doesn't it? - was constructed in 1847 so perhaps the stables were built then as well.

After enjoying John and Lynne's delicious breakfast we headed directly west on Route 119, a rural two-lane highway. Except for a stretch of heavier traffic the last few miles into Brattleboro, the riding was terrific with long stretches of downhills and manageable uphills.


The Fitzwilliam Inn
Restaurant & Pub - Rooms Available

I took this picture because it is an example of the sort of picturesque inn we often stumbled upon in the small New England towns we rode through. And probably to remind myself to come back one day and stay. What do you think, Rob? We could come here after a day of hiking Mt. Monadnock and then do some bicycling the next day. Check it out. The prices look reasonable.

Not too many cars on this stretch of two-lane highway in southwestern New Hampshire. Yes, that's Rob coming up the hill...


And enjoying a beer on the rooftop of the Whetstone Station in Brattleboro. The bridge in the background goes over the Connecticut River, which forms the border between New Hampshire and Vermont. The picture below is the view of the river. Are those storm clouds moving in?


We camped that night at Fort Dummer State Park, an unremarkable campground just outside Brattleboro, situated next to the interstate with no swimming and only a couple of short hiking trails. But what was remarkable about it was how much trouble we had finding it. We saw not a single sign directing us there. We realized that our map was no help after heading down the road it should have been on, with no luck. Fortunately the woman working the customer service desk at the local grocery story gave us directions. We took a local street until coming to a "Dead End" sign. We stopped, wondering what to do, then saw someone working outside an apartment building. He assured us we should keep going and we'd come to the park, at the top of a significant climb. 

The climb was a killer. And we did it twice because we wanted to get our campsite set up before enjoying our beer in Brattleboro. At one point Rob got going so slowly that he came to a stop before he could unclip from his pedals and fell off his bike. I missed seeing it, but he told me. That would be the only time for this trip. Which is an improving trend. He fell 3 times on our Maine trip in 2015 (I fell twice) and two times last year. 

Even though it hides some of its parks, Vermont generally does a great job with them, offering hot showers and, for an extra $7, lean-tos. We asked the park ranger if rain was expected. It was. When I heard the rain during the night I thought about how glad I was that we paid the extra money and how fortunate we were that our bikes and tent all fit easily in the lean-to and would be dry in the morning. 

We rode 44 miles along Rte. 119 from Rindge to Brattleboro.


No wonder it felt like we had lots of downhill riding. We did. But I am surprised that the last hill to the state park doesn't look more significant.