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.
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.
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| The Wooden Soldier |
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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?"
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.
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."
"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.
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.
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.
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| 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. |
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| 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? |
No offence, but I hate riding in the rain. I could go to the dentist instead.
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