Chapter 15: Turn Around. The Roads Are Flooded!

Day 8: Saturday, July 1, 2017 (continued)
49 miles
Lake St. Catherine State Park, Vermont, to Ticonderoga, NY

The rain commenced shortly after we left the campground. 

It was warm enough that we didn't bother stopping to put on rain gear. What did it matter if we got wet anyway? Given all our experiences so far this trip, the rain wouldn't last long and we'd dry out eventually.

You fair weather athletes probably don't appreciate how sensuous being outside in the rain can be. I tasted the fresh water as it ran down my lips into my mouth and listened to the patter of raindrops hitting my helmet and the swish of tires along the wet pavement. Keeping my eyes on the road ahead I was entranced by the water splashing off my tires. My nylon tank top clung, cool, against my back; I felt the raindrops hitting my arms and legs. My feet, once cozy in dry socks, became as wet as if I'd been wading through a mountain stream.

After about ten miles we climbed a hill and found an old-fashioned diner sitting on a corner at the edge of the town of Fair Haven, inviting us to come inside for that full breakfast we'd been looking for the day before. 

The Wooden Soldier

The diner bustled on this Saturday morning with families crowding around tables and single folks sitting on stools at the counter. And why not? What else was there to do on a rainy Saturday in the middle of summer?  

We found a wooden booth in the back where it was warm enough to start drying off. In the bathroom I took off my wet singlet and put on a dry sweater, hung the wet shirt on a hook by our booth. The server, a middle-aged woman with the bearing of someone who put up with no nonsense, dished out plates of food to a nearby table and came over to take our order. We ordered hot tea and asked for a few more minutes to look over the menu.

The #2 Weekend Special caught my eye - two pancakes, two eggs, toast, bacon, home fries, and hot beverage for $7.95. 

I said, "That looks good, but I don't want pancakes."

Rob said, "I want pancakes and eggs."

"So, how about you just order a couple eggs and I'll give you my pancakes?"

The food was perfect. We lingered over tea refills, hoping the rain would stop while Rob read his book and I caught up on my journal. The bill came to just over ten dollars, the kind of deal you only get in small towns far from the big city.

When we went outside the rain had stopped and the clouds, no longer sitting on the hillsides, appeared ready to depart. Being the positive thinker that I am, I looked forward to a dry day ahead.

The next ten miles gave us smooth, easy riding as we crossed the New York border and arrived at the town of Whitehall. I do realize that New York is not part of New England. But we were only in New York for two days and adding it to the title of this tour would have made it too unwieldy.

With a charming gazebo, and bridge over the Lake Champlain Canal leading to a small downtown area, Whitehall  looked worthy of exploration, but we had miles yet to cover before the day was done. And we were still full from breakfast, so weren't ready to stop in the town park for a snack or lunch. 

We continued on our way, while the sky remained overcast.

Then we began climbing. The hills challenge Rob especially, with his lung disease. Rather than stop at the top of every hill, by this time I had developed a strategy of waiting for Rob about every five miles or so, when I could find a good place to rest. It had to be somewhere just off the road where I could comfortably wait but he could also see me. Without reliable cell phone coverage, it would be no fun to miss one another.

I came to a rest area and sat on one of the picnic tables, waiting.  When Rob caught up I asked, "Do you want a banana?" 

"Sure."

We were still eating when we started feeling raindrops. The clouds weren't giving up an inch to blue sky. Darkness settled around us.

A car going in the opposite direction pulled into the rest area and stopped in front of us. There was an older couple inside; the man at the wheel rolled down his window and said, "You're heading into heavy rain and flooding further north. The roads are closed."

I said, "The rain seems to come and go."

"No," he said, "It's supposed to go on all day."

"Well, that's where we're heading. We don't really have a choice." 

We put on our gortex jackets and reflective vests, turned our rear lights to flashing and pulled the bright yellow covers over our panniers. The rain came hard as we began climbing a long hill. 

We continued climbing, the water washing downhill so deep I felt like I was pedaling up a stream. The rain pouring off my helmet reminded me of standing under a waterfall and I thought, I have never ever ridden in rain like this before. I was thankful for the wide smooth shoulder and that it was a warm summer day so even if I was wet at least I wasn't cold.  

I pulled over to wait for Rob. It wasn't the top of the hill and it wasn't a good place to stop. But I thought we would be safer if we stayed together, two of us more visible than one. I leaned my bike and myself against the guard rail and waited as the rain poured down and I didn't even care how wet I was. But it wasn't especially fun hanging out there on the highway in the rain, cars and trucks passing by with their windshield wipers hard at work and the people inside dry and comfortable.

A white station wagon came to a stop in front of me. The back was piled high with cases of mail. The driver, a rural mail carrier, rolled down his window. "You're nuts to be out in this, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

He said, "I'm sorry to say there are not any huts or anyplace else for you to stop." He was right. There was nothing on this highway except farms, wooded hillsides, and blue, yellow, white, and fuchsia wildflowers along the side of the road.

I said, "We're hoping to find a motel in Ticonderoga." Had Rob and I discussed this? No, but I knew he would be thinking the same thing.

"Well, this is rough for me," he said. "But it's much worse for you. Your husband's on his way."

Rob finally caught up. We had no choice but to keep going. As we approached Ticonderoga we passed a "Road Flooded" sign, but the road wasn't closed. The rain began to let up and and as streaks of sunlight escaped through the cover of clouds, the lawns of houses we passed took on the bright green hue of new spring leaves. 

We arrived in town around four o'clock to a washed-out fair in the town park. The bouncy house empty, no one waiting in line for the rides, the fried dough vendors closed up, the sides of tent canopies all zipped up, everyone had gone home to wait out the storm that lasted through the afternoon. The fun would have to wait until tomorrow.

We parked our bikes against a picnic table under a shelter to assess our situation. The rain had stopped. We ate some peanuts while we stood outside the shelter so we could watch the sky. Patches of blue sky, fluffy white clouds and dark storm clouds were all competing for attention. Which would ultimately win? 

"It looks like it's clearing," I said.

"I think we should find a motel," Rob replied.

"I don't know. We've already paid for the campground," I said. 

With indecision reining, Rob took off to visit the portajohn. I noticed something pushing up the roof of one of the vendor tents and water splashed down. I walked over. The tent was closed up. I called inside. "Hello! Do you have any idea if it's supposed to rain some more?"

"I'm not sure but maybe more rain." Just a voice and rustling noises. 

I walked back to our bikes to give Rob the report. 

"Possibility of more rain." 

Rob said, "Let's see if we can find a motel."

My wet shorts finally made the decision easier. If you're not a bicyclist you need to know that bicycle shorts have a built-in pad to protect your crotch. I haven't worn a diaper in a while, but I imagine that's what it must feel like. In this case, I was wearing a very wet diaper and all I wanted was to get out of it. I was also thinking about the wet clothes we had packed this morning. There was no way anything would dry if we camped tonight. Especially if it rained again. The campground reservation be damned, a motel room looked more and more appealing.

"There's got to be something available. No one is going to be traveling with this weather," I said.

Ticonderoga didn't appear to be a big town, mostly just one main street. As we rode along it we saw a pedestrian, an older gentleman. 

Rob said, "Let's ask this person if he knows of any motels."

He did. "Up ahead at the top of that hill," he said. "There are a couple across the street from each other."

Both motels were small-town locally owned affairs. We parked our bikes outside the office at the Circle Court Motel. I went inside while Rob went to check out the motel across the street. The woman in the office told me, sorry, they were full. 

When I went outside Rob was back. 

"There was nobody there," he said. "Just a No Vacancy sign."

I said, "I'll go back inside and see if they can recommend anything else."

The woman in the office of the Circle Court Motel asked me where we were heading.

I said, "We're going north toward Crown Point."

"There's a Super 8 up the road in that direction. Would you like me to give them a call?" 

"That would be terrific."

After talking on the phone for a few minutes, she said, "They have two rooms available. Do you want to book one?"

"How much?"

She came out of the office and handed me the phone. "Here. You can talk to them."

The room was just over a hundred dollars. I said we'd take it and asked if there were any restaurants nearby. Just a MacDonalds. We'd have to pick up something for dinner in town before heading over there.

Riding back down the street all we found open was a deli. It looked like sandwiches for dinner. There was a woman in front of us who wanted a pound of this and then a pound of that, no end to her list and only the shop owner to wait on customers. We were eager to get to our room, out of our wet clothes and into a hot shower, but it was twenty minutes before we were able to order our sandwiches.  While we waited we kept reminding ourselves that we were lucky the woman at the Circle Court Motel took the time to help us out instead of just sending us on our way.  

Drying out at the Super 8 in Ticonderoga, New York. Rob didn't want me to share the picture of his bicycle with his wet underwear strewn all over it. We had a picnic dinner on the bed with our deli sandwiches and chips. It did rain again, but after six o'clock the clouds finally lifted, a good sign for tomorrow.

It looks hilly, but it's all relative. Our highest point wasn't even 500 feet, making it a very pleasant day of riding. Except for the rain. Ten miles worth of wetness in the morning and 26 in the afternoon. But that's part of the adventure, isn't it?

Chapter 14: Planning Ahead

Day 8: Saturday, July 1, 2017

49 miles

Lake St. Catherine State Park, VT, to Ticonderoga, NY

These are our wet riding clothes from the storm we got caught in yesterday. And, look! Is that the sun shining through the trees? Looks promising, doesn't it?

Rob and I like to start each morning knowing we'll have somewhere safe and dry to lay our weary bodies after the day's riding is done, whether that's a cozy bed in a luxurious country inn or a sleeping bag inside a tent protected from the vagaries of the weather. But we don't want to lock ourselves into anything. Because the beauty of traveling fully self-supported is that you never know what magic, good or bad, lies waiting for you.

It was only the first day of a two-week trip in Nova Scotia, many years ago, when we met some people who told us we had to go to Kejimkujik National Park. I bet you've never heard of it; neither had we. Being smack dab in the middle of the province it was nowhere near where we were heading. We'd gone to Nova Scotia for the coastline, after all. But we were told we had to go there, so we did. Kejimkujik is a park of backcountry lakes, no motorboats allowed, a paddler's paradise, with canoes available for rental. It turned out to be such a special place we've returned three times. If we'd had a strict agenda we would have missed out on some beautiful camping and paddling adventures.

So when we plan a trip, rather than make concrete plans we prefer to just make sure we have options available. The happiest circumstance is looking at a map and seeing campground symbols sprinkled randomly all over it like confetti and knowing that bicyclists are never turned away. Our trip in Prince Edward Island last year was like that. 

In planning this trip we definitely wanted to get to Montreal. After that our plans were totally up in the air. Maybe we'd go to Quebec City. Quebec has a network of bicycle routes so we had lots of possibilities. But we at least wanted to count on a place to stay in Montreal so we took a stab at figuring out when we might arrive and booked a room for a couple nights. And the cancellation policy was flexible. Getting there we had plenty of options available, including a night with a warmshowers.org host, staying with friends near Burlington, Vermont, and camping. 

But we've learned to watch out for holiday weekends. We found three state parks near Ticonderoga, but when I checked the reservation website there were only a few campsites left for Saturday night. And I couldn't get an assurance from the New York state park people that they wouldn't turn us away if we showed up exhasuted at six o'clock. 

Making a reservation online would cost us $35. Rob and I talked it over and decided to go for it, thinking that, even if we didn't use it, the money was buying us peace of mind. We booked a site at Crown Point State Park. It was the only campground reservation we made this trip.

Knowing our evening plans were all set, we slept in and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. The day showed promise, with patches of blue sky overhead.

While Rob packed up the tent I pulled all the wet clothes off the clothesline. When I'd hung them up last night I wasn't so foolish as to think they would actually dry. But it seemed like a good place to put them. We both had a dry set of riding clothes to wear so we just packed up the wet stuff. We'd be staying with friends tomorrow night so we could do laundry then.

"My shoes are still soaked," I said. "I wonder if it is even worth putting on dry socks." But I had a clean, dry pair so what the heck. Surprisingly, my feet felt very cozy even inside my wet shoes. 

By the time we got on the road, around nine o'clock, storm clouds had moved in.

Cycling Tips: Where Do You Stay?

I am often asked where we spend our nights when we are out on a bicycle tour.

On one of my first bicycle tours, when I was riding through the Colorado Rockies with another woman,  a bicyclist caught up to us who was carrying no gear, nothing at all but what he was wearing. It was in the middle of the Rockies, no towns nearby and he said he was out for several days, riding alone. But where was he staying, what was he doing for food? "Credit card!" he yelled as he blew past us. I don't think I even had a credit card back then. 

Personally, I prefer free which often makes for a good adventure. Staying with friends, if you have any, is a terrific option. Strangers work, too. On that same Colorado bicycle tour my female cycling companion and I stayed at the home of an old retired miner who we'd met in a bar. More recently, while Rob and I were riding along the coast of Maine, a retired gentleman let us spend the night in the spare bedroom over his garage. 

I've met people who camp along the side of the road but I draw the line there. My minimum requirement is to have water and toilets available.

I recently discovered warmshowers.org, an online network that matches bicycle tourists with people willing to host them. I've already written about the first time we used this service. You can find that story in chapter 4.

When I was traveling solo in 1980 I discovered a way to camp for free when the national park campgrounds were full. I would cycle through the campground looking for a friendly-looking family or couple or group of cyclists and ask to share their campsite. I was never turned down and, even though I offered, they never let me pay my share for the site. One evening I sat around a campfire getting to know a young couple from one of the Scandinavian countries. I received a letter from them after I returned home saying how much they enjoyed the time we shared, that they didn't really have the opportunity to meet other Americans during their trip to this country.

Also on that trip, while in the Canadian Rockies, I stopped at a campground shelter in Banff National Park to get out of the rain and met five other cyclists hanging out, waiting for the rain to stop. It didn't. Two cyclists rolled in after me, making eight of us, and we all had a grand time sharing stories and complaining about the rain that had been going on for days. Rather than set up my tent in the rain I spent the night sleeping on a picnic table in the shelter. For free.

If free isn't an option our next choice is a public campground. National forest campgrounds are generally the cheapest, but they also come with the fewest amenities. You'll probably have water at an outside spigot and toilets but not necessarily the flushing kind. Further along the spectrum in price and amenities are national park and state park campgrounds. State parks have showers and national parks often don't. In California the state park campgrounds have hiker/biker campsites, a larger group campsite for anyone who shows up that night without a car. You don't need a reservation and they cost only $5 per person. 

Then there are private campgrounds. Sometimes they'll give us a reduced rate for a tent site, but often we're stuck paying for water and an electrical hookup. They generally cost more than public camping, sometimes a lot more. $45 to pitch a tent can be a bit excessive. 

The biggest challenge when camping is what to do if it rains. Private campgrounds may have a shelter or a rec hall. In Canada we've found shelters in many of the national parks; in the United States you're on your own, stuck in your tent. Vermont state parks are the best, with some campsites having a lean-to for an extra $7, well worth every penny. 

But even with shelters or lean-tos, when it's raining Rob and I both start thinking about going for the fallback "credit card" option of motels, hotels, and bed and breakfasts. Because we are always traveling on a budget we try to save this for bad weather or when we are sidetracked by a medical emergency. On our trip through Vermont a few years ago Rob broke a tooth and we had to find a dentist. By the time his tooth was repaired it was late in the afternoon and we were far from any campground. But ten miles took us to Montpelier where we found a reasonably priced bed and breakfast and could walk downtown for dinner at a fine restaurant. The dental emergency turned into a very enjoyable evening.

Sometimes we'll stay at a bed and breakfast just because we're tired of sleeping on the ground in our tiny tent. Or maybe we've landed in a town perched on a lake with a restaurant that has outdoor seating along the water. It's late in the afternoon and a swim would be perfect followed by dinner so why don't we see if we can find a room somewhere?

Once we built a short bike trip around staying in bed and breakfasts and country inns. When I was pregnant with our daughter, my mother was already asking us when she could babysit. So when Kylee was nine months old, we took off for a five-day bicycle tour in Vermont. Instead of bringing camping gear we packed our tennis rackets and stopped along the way for an occasional game. We only rode about 40 miles a day that trip so that we could fully savor our luxurious accommodations. 

On that trip we had all our accommodations booked ahead of time. That was unusual for us. Generally, we like to keep our options open, as we never know what any day will bring.

Chapter 13: In Search of a Good Breakfast

Day 7: Friday, June 30, 2017
65 miles
Pownal to Lake St. Catherine State Park, Vermont

We started out the day riding along backcountry roads for ten easy miles into Bennington. Check out those clouds. Look like rain?

Our plan was to stop in Bennington for a second breakfast. But we only found a coffee shop in the downtown area, no place that served a real breakfast. So we asked a few pedestrians for recommendations. Hands down, we should go to the Blue Benn, just down the road in the direction we were heading. Along the way we saw a local cafe, Two Brews, with a large front window overlooking a patio filled with tables and folded umbrellas. I pulled into the parking lot, Rob right behind me.

I said, "Let's check this place out."

"You go inside. I'll stay with the bikes."

I opened the door onto a bright and spacious room with half a dozen wooden tables of varying sizes, all empty. Not a single customer at nine o'clock in the morning - not a good selling point. But with a name like Two Brews what would you expect? It's not like people are looking to have beer for breakfast.* 

Back outside, I said to Rob, "There's no one there. Let's check out the other place."

So we continued on in search of the Blue Benn, and, sure enough, there it was just down the road, an old-timey diner. I love old-timey diners. They're right up there with ferry rides. But today it was closed. So we went back to Two Brews.

Just as we arrived it started raining. Before heading inside we got out our rain gear and covered our panniers. 

We had to order at the counter where the only items on the breakfast menu were egg sandwiches. I'd been looking forward to a full breakfast with table service. I fought off a grumpy attitude as I tried to find something more exciting than the standard bagel with bacon, egg, and cheese. 

"Are you okay staying here?" I asked Rob.

"I'm fine." Rob is way more easy-going than me. He's just happy to have good food. 

At least we didn't have to wait in line. The only thing that looked at all interesting was the Ranchero, a wrap with eggs, avocado, black beans, Vermont cheddar cheese, and pico sauce. 

"I'll have the Ranchero," I said.

"Make that two," said Rob.

We fixed ourselves mugs of Earl Gray tea with half-and-half cream and sat down at a big oval table by the front window where we could watch the rain pour down on our bikes. I embraced my mug in both hands, feeling its warmth, happy to be inside and dry.

"It's going to stop before we finish our breakfast," I said.

Rob replied, "Let's hope so."

Our orders arrived and I took a bite of a very ordinary-looking burrito. And was immediately taken aback by a delicious medley of familiar textures and flavors combined with a unique and surprising taste. 

"Wow."

"Are you enjoying yours as much as I'm enjoying mine?" asked Rob.

"There's something about the sauce that is just amazing," I said, savoring every bite. 

Most of the time when I go out to eat the ambience is pleasant and my meal tastes pretty good and the company is entertaining. When I think back on my meal I remember I had a nice time but I can't say what I ate. Then there are meals like the breakfast I had at Two Brews, one that I can still taste as I write this. Who cares if the menu has limited choices, if what I ordered hits all the superlatives? The next time I'm in Bennington I'm heading to Two Brews for breakfast.

With its amazing food and pleasant atmosphere I became invested in wanting the owners to succeed in their business endeavor. I felt better for them when other customers trickled in while we ate. And while writing this I found reviews for Blue Benn, the diner everyone recommended, on the internet. The old-timey atmosphere is evidently a bigger draw than the food. Lucky for us it was closed. 

It was still raining when we got back on our bikes, but not for long.

Out of Bennington we got on Route 7A, a leisurely road for those tourists who want to see Vermont but aren't in any hurry to get anywhere. Tourist shops advertised local honey and maple syrup. We rode by small locally-owned motels and restaurants. There were plenty of places to stop if we needed a place to get in out of the rain. But the rain had stopped and the sun was shining so we just enjoyed the riding and didn't stop in anywhere.

We passed fields filled with rows of hay bales. When we rode alongside a herd of cows Rob called out, "Hey, guys!" We saw old barns and silos sitting atop the rolling hills. 

We cycled through pastoral scenes like this one. And look at that blue sky.

In the afternoon I stopped to wait for Rob at this old quarry past Manchester. There was a parking lot filled with cars and not just because it was an interesting historical site. It turned out to be the local swimming hole, everyone enjoying a refreshing swim on a hot summer's day. 

When Rob caught up I said, "I'm going for a swim." I quickly dug out my bathing suit and went to change in one of the porta-johns. It looked like it was going to rain any minute. That's probably why Rob decided to give it a pass.

I jumped in and quickly got out, but that was all I needed. The water felt terrific - cool and refreshing. By the time I had changed back into my riding clothes and went back to take this picture everyone had cleared out. The rain started coming down.

I needn't have dried off after my swim. The rain came down so hard it wasn't long before we were drenched. But how lucky we were that we got to ride through such beautiful countryside, on fine roads with wide shoulders and very few cars. Don't you wish you could have joined us?

Riding right behind me, Rob said, "I think we should find a motel." I didn't argue. It didn't look like the rain would be stopping soon. But we were no longer on Route 7A, with its many stops for tourists. We were on Route 30 with no tourist traps or motels, just fast riding and picturesque farms.

Then it started getting lighter, and the rain let up. We stopped for a short break on the covered porch of a town building and watched the clouds clear out.

With no motels to choose from and the rain stopping, it looked like we'd be camping after all.

With years of camping in state parks behind us, we knew we'd be lucky to get a campsite on a Friday night in the middle of summer, especially when it was arguably a holiday weekend with July 4 on the following Tuesday. But many state parks have a policy of not turning away bicyclists. In Vermont they'll set aside a few campsites for people who are special like us. I know because one of the rangers told me.

We arrived at St. Catherine Lake State Park after 65 miles of riding. When we checked in the ranger said she had two campsites left and I asked her to give us whichever one she thought was the nicest. 

We found our campsite at the end of a cul-de-sac crowded with cars, campers, tents, and people. I counted three cars in each of the three nearby campsites. Folks were starting campfires and there were plenty of coolers sitting around the picnic tables and fire pits. It looked like it was going to be a long night of partying, not at all promising for a good night's sleep.

Rob started setting up the tent while I walked to the bathroom. On my way I noticed a number of empty, spacious sites and thought, maybe we can get a different one. When I got back to our site Rob had the tent mostly up. I said, "I think we should check out that other site, if it's still available."

Gotta give the guy credit. He didn't argue, just said, "Okay." He's always flexible with my fickleness. I got on my bike, rode back to the entrance station. I said to the ranger, "You put us in party central."

She said, "Oh, yeah, I didn't think of that. But it really is the nicer site." And she showed me on her map where the other one was, off by itself next to the trash bins. It might not be scenic, but those trash bins sure wouldn't keep us up all night. We took it. 

And we had a peaceful evening. After setting up our tent (again) and getting hot showers we bicycled to the swimming area and ate dinner overlooking the lake. It was so much nicer than a motel would have been. We were really glad it had stopped raining.

So, if you are counting, that makes four times we got caught in rain, or three days (out of seven), depending on how you want to keep score.

[*When I told my daughter, Kylee, this story she said, "Mom, people brew coffee." Well, duh, they also brew tea, I guess. But with all the craft brewing of beers going on, that's all I think about. I love craft beers. But not at 9 o'clock in the morning.]

We spent the day in the southwest corner of Vermont.

And had very enjoyable riding on rolling hills, with an overall loss of elevation. No wonder the riding, even in the rain, was so fun.