When Rob and I aren't traveling on our bikes we live fairly regular lives with a semblance of routine. Rob works as a professor at the University of New Hampshire; I've been a stay-at-home parent and now that the kids are out of the house I'm working seriously at oil painting. We run most days and both pursue interests in music. For the most part our lives are pretty calm and predictable. But sometimes we need a little adventure to spice it up. Maybe that's why we don't put much effort into planning our bike trips. It's just so fun to see what lies in wait for us around the bend.
Some surprises are annoyances like a flat tire or road construction we have to navigate or failing brakes. But more often the surprises are fun random encounters. This post is about some bits of fun we had on the last several days of our journey.
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Some surprises are as simple as a beautiful place to take a break and not having to share it with anyone but your favorite person who most likely was checking out the port-a-john when I took this picture.
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On our rainy day ride in northern Vermont we came to a town with a little library and thought it would be a good time to stop in and do some computer work, check email or log into warmshowers.org to see if we could find a place to stay out of the unending rain. We are not strangers to small town libraries. Over the last twenty years of living in our small town of Madbury our library went from being nonexistent to a closet in the town hall to a small ranch house. One of the first purchases our library made when it moved into the ranch house was a computer. It’s something we’ve come to expect in any library, even if the computers are outdated and you have to bang pretty hard on the keys to get a result.
When I entered the library in the small town in northern
Vermont I didn’t see anyone at the front desk so I wandered around in search of
a computer. The place had a homey feel to it, with wood paneling and displays of books
and shelves full of books but not a computer or librarian to be found. In one of
the rooms, sitting around a wooden table in wooden chairs were about eight people
discussing something or other. I stood quietly to the side for a minute or two
hoping that someone might notice me. They seemed oblivious to my presence so
finally in a break in the conversation I said, “Excuse me, I’m wondering if you
have a computer I might use.”
A man close to me said, “If you knock on the door by the entryway,
you might find someone who can help you.”
I did that and heard someone coming down a staircase. A short man, stooped with age, opened the door. It seemed like he lived upstairs. I don't know if he was even
the librarian.
I repeated my query. “Sorry to bother you. Do you have a
computer we might use?”
He looked at me sternly and said, very emphatically, “No we don’t
have a computer and we have no plans to get one. Read a book.”
I had a good laugh at that one when I went outside and told Rob the story. "I guess he doesn't realize you can read books and still use a computer," I said.
We gave up on accessing the internet and walked across the street to a coffee shop to get some hot tea and use their wifi.
* * * * *
We didn’t really know what to expect on our journey south along
the Connecticut River. We tried to stay as close to the river as possible and
occasionally took back roads that turned to dirt. We had some large views of
the river but more often the peaceful country roads took us under the shade of
trees or out in the open with views of old farmhouses, barns, silos, and cows.
One morning we stopped in a small town country store and picked up a couple of pastries.
Rob’s was stale, not really a surprise in a small town with not much traffic
passing through.
So we didn’t expect much when we arrived at the Barnet Village Store,
an old structure with peeling paint and a front porch with an ice machine and
random clutter in a pile off to the side. It was around noon, time for a lunch
break, so we figured we’d check out the store’s offerings to see what we could
purchase to augment our peanut butter and cheese and crackers. When we stepped
inside we found wooden floors worn smooth and uneven over time, dark, low level
lighting with little sunlight coming in through the small windows, shelves of
basic groceries and racks with bags of chips and popcorn. This was an old New
England relic from bygone times.
Then we saw the deli at the back of the store. I read the menu
written on the wall behind the counter and was surprised to see that it had a
selection of sandwiches to rival any café in Boston or San Francisco. By now
our standard lunch had gotten pretty tiresome.
“I’m going to order a sandwich,” I said to Rob who stood beside me.
“Sounds good. I will, too.”
We both ordered a chicken salad wrap with apple, cranberries,
walnuts, tomato, and lettuce.
“That’s one of our most popular sandwiches,” said the middle-aged
robust woman taking our order. She put them together quickly and wrapped them in white deli paper. I was in between books so I bought a
newspaper – they had the Boston Globe. I guessed it was time to find out what
new escapades our president was up to. We took our sandwiches and my newspaper outside.
Across the street we found a wooden bench in a small grassy area overlooking a small stream running under a bridge.
The
sun was shining with fluffy white clouds scurrying across the sky. We listened
to the sound of running water and leaves rustling in the gentle breeze.
I bit into my wrap and the cornucopia of textures – crunchy
walnuts, crispy apples, chewy cranberries, sinewy chicken, and smooth
mayonnaise - complemented the congregation of flavors. We took our time eating in this fine outdoor café.
Then I opened the paper to catch up on all the news I had been able to ignore
while we were out of the country, but I didn’t let it mar the beauty around us.
For a time we just sat along that stream in rural New Hampshire because, after
all, time was what we had. We had found a piece of heaven in Barnet, New
Hampshire, along the Connecticut River Valley.
* * * * *
A couple days later we found another hidden gem at the
Gardner Memorial Wayside Park on Route 4A on our way to Wilmot, New Hampshire.
Summer had finally arrived. It was hot. We’d ridden 16 hard miles,
averaging only nine miles per hour, after starting out that morning with lots
of nothing to see, a few marshes and trees. There are lots of trees in New
Hampshire.
If we were travelling by car, we’d probably pass right by this
small park. It’s just a few picnic tables and a rocky creek.
We leaned our bikes against a table next to the creek, pulled some food out of our panniers and sat on the table. My bike shorts were hot so I took them off, along with my shoes and
socks. We had the place to ourselves.
We started with a snack that turned into lunch. I ate a banana, peanuts,
cheese and crackers, some dried mango, and two large chocolate chip cookies.
“We’re definitely having the biker’s diet,” said Rob. “The seefood diet.”
My hunger satisfied, I began eyeing the rock-filled stream. I dug my towel out of my pannier and walked several yards down the dirt
bank, stepped onto a rock and dipped a foot in the water. It felt refreshingly cold. I studied the water to determine if it was deep enough
to get a good soaking and decided it was. Forget the bathing suit, too much trouble. I took off the rest of my clothes and set them on a rock next to my towel. Then I stepped onto the sandy creek bottom and sat down in a shallow pool of water, leaned all the way back and put my head under. I came up gasping. Oh, my gosh! It was cold and invigorating. Standing up, I said to Rob, “That was wonderful! You really should come in.”
He evidently thought so, too, and he started pulling off his
shorts, then abruptly stopped and said, “A car’s coming.”
I grabbed my towel off the rock and wrapped it around me. I watched as the car pulled into the parking lot, turned around and
parked a short bit away from us. A few older men got out with walking poles and
took off toward a hiking trail.
The coast clear, I got dressed and Rob proceeded with his swim.
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| The refreshing feeling stayed with us for the next seven miles of nonstop downhill riding. |
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