Forty mile mistake.

June 8, out of Eastman on route 112, somewhere the direction led me off 122.  Thinking I was going west, paying attention to new routes north then west had me believing every mile I  was gaining ground on Montreal.  Stopping for lunch at Racine after thirty-five miles and four hours of intermittent hills, I was stunned to learn, using the restaurant’s WiFi,
that I had gone 20 miles north instead of west.  Somewhere, I thought 112 had ended and merged onto 247.  In fact, unmarked, 112 had gone left.  Totally pissed I tried to find a truck at the restaurant who would give me a lift back south.  No such luck, with the sun beating down, I hammered away at the miles.  Hot, tired, totally disgusted with myself and everything around me, I rode until I entered Waterloo. There I stopped at a convenience store and hydrated with a cold vitamin drink. I regained a bit of my sanity and asking for the whereabouts of a campsite.  Luck finally swung my way.  A mile down road there was a campsite where I could quit for the day.  Upon arrival the campsites owner gave me two cold bottles of ice water.  Over some laughs as to whether he could tell if I were American or not, he showed me my site options.  Grassy spot off the rutted main camp road was were I set up my tent.  Across the road a guy with his brand new RV struct up a conversation with me.  All it takes a friendly hello to get things going.  After hearing about my forty mile screw up, he offered me a cold beer. Later after I cleaned up, he had me over for one more; whereupon I sacked out, leaving a lousy day behind me.

Across the border to Magog, Canada

June 8, the last five miles to Canada wound me through a residential area, onto a rail trail, ending with more road until I ran into the border.  Essential I paralleled the border, being careful not to accidental cross over by accident (big fine and maybe jail time).  Good talking with the border police, answering the standard questions about having firearms, reason for coming to Canada, how long, etc..  Fifteen miles down the road led me to Magog.  Plenty of hills contrary to the flattening out I been told about. Car drivers just don’t grasp the fact that every hill takes effort to bicycle up. Flat are the Salt flats of Utah and in the northeast and Canada there is no such thing as flat, at least for us bicyclists.  Thinking I could escape from the never ending hill, I took the green bike route west, recommend to me by the locals. Big mistake, forget about a rail trail, it wound up and down taking on a circuitous route that got me totally lost. Four miles of torture ended me up at the same intersection, totally disgusted. Once again the locals gave  a bum steer. Annoyed, I pedaled
west another fifteen  miles.  I rolled into Eastman pretty much toast.  Fortunately, three woman in bikes greeted me at a gas station I stopped. They led me down a lake side, FLAT, bike path to another picturesque campsite. Claire, the camp do everything person, checked me in. She led me to a idyllic spot by a gorgeous lake where I threw up my tent. Asking if I could buy a beer some where, she offer me one after showering down. Being an attractive woman perhaps a few years younger, it was nice sitting with her on a outdoor chair for two. The local brew she offered me was deceptively strong to the point that I stopped half way through the second beer as I began to slur my words.  In fact, she saved me by taking the beer from me. I drifted back to m tent and crashed for the night..  One interesting note about all these campsites is that most of the RVs are permanently left on site  by people who are longtime summer tenants. Some have been there up to forty years! Tenters like me are the exception, if not an oddity.  Privacy is critical because of the regulars’ curiously. Someone crawling into a small tent, having ridden in with a fully loaded bicycle, is way beyond their comfort zone.

St Johnsbury to Newport, Vermont

June 7, without internet reception, I posted June 4-6 on my notes page as I did with latter half of my Cuban trip.  The hills continued for another 44 miles but The Northern Kingdom of Vermont wa the most scenic of the places prior to this point.  Lush grazing pastures and farms everywhere. Nevertheless, the terrain was rough on the legs. Up a hill, flat for a half a mile or so, down a hill, flat for a mile, up a long hill....so it continued for the entire day.  A warmershowers host who couldn’t put me up, being on vacation himself, gave me directions to a beautiful campsite overlooking a lake in the town of Newport. $35/night for the site was a little pricey, considering that I only needed a ploy for my tent and a clean bathroom. It was my only option.  Dined at a nice restaurant recommended to me by the camp maintenance guy (former teach who had had enough of the system). Nice place by the water and a flat short ride to get there.  Slept great with almost no one there, plenty of privacy.  Their was a train which managed to blast its way through Newport in the early morning hours which didn’t do much for my deep sleep. My experience across the country is the same. The train horns just blow you out of bed and nobody complains.

   June 3,  up early, hit the dining hall for breakfast. The main cook, Todd, realizing I was an early arrival alum cooked me up some eggs for me and made sure I was well fed.  Todd and Tom stayed ahead of the curve and kept me fed throughout the day even though
no one else was around.  Good guys!  Classmates started trickling in late afternoon.  After getting our assigned dorm rooms, the class met at a local eatery in Meredith for a dinner, “paid for by the
Committee”.  Tom Deihl, a former master/teacher was paid tribute during the dinner.  Over $200,000 was raised in his name for the endowment.  My contribution was a blip compared to the big givers but at least I gave more than I ever had before.  I made a second contribution to benefit the music department.  Everyone should take up an instrument to round out their education.  Sport participation is the same old story.
    Official registration commenced at 16:00 Friday, followed by a class dinner. Fifty out seventy-nine students showed up (ten deceased).  Saturday night was the big event for all the classes with numerous awards bestowed. The whole weekend was an outstanding success.  We all hung tight, old friends reunited and new acquaintance made of those we had little interaction with when attending the school.  With the school’s two hundredth anniversary happening in three years, we will have an opportunity to rally again.  Tomorrow the ride north begins again with Quebec City in my sites.

Arrival at New Hampton a day early

May 30, what I thought was a thirty-two mile ride to New Hampton turned out to be forty-five. The Winnie rail to trail for twenty-three miles took me on a big loop; avoiding the hills was worth it.  Peak season left me no other option but to make a run for New Hampton.  Bristol was my original destination, knowing the school was not ready for any alums. Peak season rates squashed that option. 16:00 hours I rolled onto the school’s front lawn, 213 miles, four days on the road.  Covered with sweat, I parked bike against the school sign, took some pictures and walked into the main building to announce myself.  Predictably, Cindy Buck was a unyielding hardass.  Facing down the new head of school, Joe Williams, I got his permission to camp out in back of the new hockey rink. Cindy loaded me up with bottled water, granola bars and trail mix, making sure the gym locker room was open so I could shower.  I doubt any one my age has ever showed up on a bike and pitched a tent.  Someone needs to set the example of what a fifty year alum should aspire to in this age of the soft American.
The mattress wouldn’t stay inflated making for a tough night on the ground. Quit the bitching and suck it up.  Let the reunion commence.

A kill ride through of southern New Hampshire

     May 29, from Wilton to Concord, 40 miles of hill after hill, it was a testament to will. The first two days I pushed to hard plus too much wine the night before.  I stop at a Good Samaritan’s house on Twist Hill Road. Watered up, granola bars and a break for lunch; he saw how I was dragging and helped to rejuvenate me.  A rolled into Concord to a small cafe and had a much need lunch and rest. Found an inexpensive Airbnb north of town. Glad that day was over. Chilled out with a few Netflix movies and some food I had stored. Mellowed me out for the evening.  Tomorrow New Hampton.

68 miles to Wilton

May 28, the fun began after leaving Dudley.  I have done the Rockies and the Pyrenees but the constant up and down of the hills going around Worcester wore me down.  Perhaps it is age or the fifteen pounds I need to lose. Perhaps, the weight of the heavy duty inner tubes or the larger front tire is slowing me down but something needs to give.  Finally, arriving in Wilton, New Hampshire at another warmershowers house, I was ready for some R&R.  Along the way, I traversed some dirt roads and sketchy rails to trails.  Briefly, made a visit to the High Mowing School where my son Cyrus attended.  The Wilton hosts live in a converted barn right in the center of Wilton.  The house was open and modern, a house I could see replicating.  Jeff and Lynn Stone fed me like a god and the wine flowed to excess, real nice people.  Next morning, the breakfast was superb. I am more convinced that I should find some land up there to relocate the 1829 poorman’s Greek Revival I saved from demolition.  A dream perhaps but something worth pursuing.  Northward I go.

New Hampton bound

May 26, so nice to leave on one of trips from my own driveway. 59, 68, 40 and 45 miles over four days respectively to reach New Hampton School for my fifth reunion. The first day’s ride was punctuated by light rain off and on all day.  Upon reaching Dudley Massachusetts, a fellow cyclist, through Warmshowers.com, rendezvoused with me and took the bike and I the last few miles to his house.  Gerry and Maureen (Mo) and daughter rallied to made exquisite pizzas augmented by IPA beer.  Cyclists are interesting individuals. The house he built is totally solar, off the grid, as are his cars.  Everyone raves about the Prius and Leaf but GM’s Bolt beats them hands down. Up to 275 miles without recharging. Fortified by a good breakfast, I departed the next morning for Wilton, New Hampton.