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.

Chapter 12: Can't Find Your Birth Certificate? No Worries!

Day 6: Thursday, June 29
20 miles 
North Adams, Massachusetts to Pownal, Vermont

The first thing you come to upon entering Williamstown is the campus of Williams College. We knew we were on campus when we bicycled past lots of old brick buildings surrounded by well-manicured green lawns, kind of like every other New England private college. Not to belittle them, they are all equally picturesque and New Englandy. 

We saw a couple about our age walking down one of the sidewalks. They looked like locals so we stopped and asked how to get to the downtown. The man pointed down the street and said to go a couple blocks and turn right. "You'll find Tunnel City Coffee at the end of the street."

I said, "How did you know we were looking for a coffee shop?"

"That's what everybody is looking for," he said. Guess we're not all that unique.

We found it at the end of the only commercial street in town, nestled within the college campus. Clearly the town exists only to serve the college.

We spend a lot of time poring over our maps.

I was very excited to see this sign outside the bathroom of the coffee shop. At least here I didn't have to worry about bringing my birth certificate along when I go to the bathroom. Because you know, as we get older, we lose those hormones that guarantee we will not be mistaken for the opposite gender. Think of all those old men with boobs and old women with beards. 

The above sign came from the bathroom in Tunnel City Coffee, which I'll remind you is in Massachusetts. But what do you expect from the most liberal state in the country? You're talking about the home state of Elizabeth Warren and Barney Frank, after all. 

But I saw this one in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, after we finished our trip. How about that? A state that just passed a voter ID law requiring not only legal proof that you are who you say you are when you go to vote, but now you can't even register without proof that you are not only living here but that you are going to make New Hampshire your home. I don't understand that. Isn't your home where you live? Even the lawmakers who voted for it admitted that they want to make it harder for college students to vote. But at least you don't need a birth certificate to pee. Thank you, New Hampshire.

After enjoying tea, pastry, and a trip to the bathroom, we headed slightly out of town to the Clark Institute. What a find! Over two dozen Renoirs, one room devoted solely to Winslow Homer - thirteen paintings in all - plus works by Pissaro, Inness, Monet, Manet, and a myriad assortment of other great painters, all in this sleepy little corner of Massachusetts.

See all the crowds in that picture? Neither do I. What fun to discover an almost-empty room filled with great art. You can stand back and see each painting in all its glory, move in close to read the plaque about it and examine the brush strokes without having to elbow aside grandpa and his walker, then stand back and gaze lovingly at that one painting that would knock your socks off if you were wearing any.

The Clarks were rich. Stirling Clark's grandfather was a founding partner of the Singer Sewing Machine Company. Stirling and his wife bought a lot of art. They bought a bunch of stuff by Degas at an auction after he died. Stirling later regretted that they hadn't bought more. Don't you wish you could have those kinds of regrets?

Then they built a museum so they could share their love of art with the public.

Some people who are born rich feel no urge to do anything significant with their money. They just buy lots of yachts and other expensive toys and have lots of parties with their rich friends. But the Clarks bought all this wonderful art and then gave it to the rest of us to enjoy. And not just the art, but a beautifully landscaped piece of land. Check out the reflecting pool where we sat and enjoyed our lunch. What a legacy!

After our brief foray into the art world of northwestern Massachusetts it was time to head north, back to Vermont and on to Montreal. 

Before leaving Williamstown we asked around for a grocery store so we could pick up something for dinner. The only place was Spring Street Market & Cafe, a small shop on the one main street in town that sold sandwiches and chips and a very limited supply of groceries, including nothing we could cook for dinner. We picked up sandwiches.

Not all art lives in art museums. We passed this on our way out of Williamstown. I love it when people take the time to decorate their front yards with beautiful creations. Whoever you are, thank you.

We rode out of town on country roads in search of Pine Hollow Campground and, wouldn't you know it, we had to climb a steep hill to get there. This made three out of four campgrounds requiring a hill climb. And this was supposed to be our day off. At least we had our dinner with us so we wouldn't have to do it twice.

The campground didn't offer discounts for tents, so we got electricity whether we needed it or not. (It turned out to be handy for charging my phone.) But we did get a waterfront site, situated right on the spring-fed pond with its a fountain shooting up out of the middle.

We spent a pleasant evening sitting on the waterfront eating our sandwiches and potato chips. I had a veggie wrap with avocado and other assorted healthy stuff; Rob had one with turkey and bacon and healthy stuff to make him feel okay about eating all that meat.

After dinner Rob was futzing around by the bikes when some people stopped by and were asking him about our gear. I heard someone say something about how he should make me carry more stuff, and I shouted, "I already carry more than him!"

But, you know, I don't want anyone to get the idea that Rob is a wuss. Heck, I don't know what it is like to have pulmonary hypertension, but I can only imagine how hard it is for someone who loves to exercise to suddenly find himself struggling to catch his breath when his friends are having no trouble at all. And he never complains.

I turned around and followed up with, "He has lung disease." The man who had spoken had a beer gut. I said, "Gets ya' thinkin', doesn't it?" He laughed.

See that hill at the end of the day?