In Wardsboro I saw these vehicles for sale, presenting the dilemma that every Vermont guy constantly wrestles with - should I buy a shiny new green tractor or a shiny new red sports car?
In South Londonderry, I made a wrong turn and dead-ended in an unofficial junkyard - what my backyard would be if I wasn’t married-where someone had collected cars for a lifetime. The woods were full of them. At least up until recently. Today a crew was flatening them in a portable car crusher parked by the side of the road. There were only a few to be seen from the road and those were from the fifties. But judging by the size of the crew and the sounds coming from the nearby woods, there were plenty more being dragged out. I only hope those doing the clean up were as interested in preserving old cars as they were in cleaning up the land, but there was no way of knowing. It was really sad to think of all those old beauties being sold for scrap, even if the land was being cleaned up.
Rowley Lane, with great views of Magic Mountain, turned into a nice woods road, but was blocked by a large blow down too big and long to get over, under, or around.
As I was coming back down this road, a lady walking two dogs was gesturing wildly, which I eventually understood as wanting me to stop, which I did. While she rounded them up she explained that her dogs would chase me. She herded them back in her house, and thanked me. I was thankful not to have to pull dog hair out of my chain, and anyway, it gave me a few moments more to admire the view of Magic Mountain.
The blocked lane meant a long paved road detour to get back on route, which took me to Londonderry where I pulled in to gas up. The attendant was about my age and curious about my bike, because he hung around while I pumped my own gas, and looked it over like he hadn't seen one like it close up before. We were on route 100, a popular touring route and I had seen a large group of bikes headed this way a short time before. But these were shiny, large, comfortable road bikes like the majority of those who rode by this highway station. "I like your GPS" he joked about the Delormes Atlas I always have taped on the tank. "This kind doesn’t need batteries", I replied, not feeling any need to apologize. I would probably lose more time trying to figure out a GPS than it could save me by telling me where I was. Noticing the Massachusetts plate, he asked if I had ridden all the way up. This is a fairly common reaction, usually with an air of disbelief- partly because the bike looks too beat up to make it that far, and partly because it doesn’t seem like anyone short of no other choice would attempt such a trip. Their gut feeling is right on-while the bike could make the trip, it is much more comfortable on dirt roads with its soft, long- travel suspension and knobby tires, than supermotoing on the smooth blacktop where the tires hum louder than the engine and cause enough vibration so that if I actually had ridden from Massachusetts only the seat and handlebars would be left-the handlebars because I was holding onto them and the seat because it was percussively welded to my butt.
Next up were some non-descript dirt roads until Jaquinth Road in Weston which became steadily worse and worse and therefore better and better until it intersected with Trout Camp road-another horrible, great road.
Here I met some game and fisheries men who were on their way back from a remote stream-having gone there to evaluate the brook trout population. These were great guys - friendly, down-to-earth, and a real credit to their employer, the state of Vermont. They helped me find my place on the map and reassured me that I would eventually come out on a good road. Later, a few miles down that road, I went by Vermont’s oldest trout fishing club, a very expensive looking place, with a very scenic view across historic Wantastiquet private lake to the Green Mountains beyond.
The weather had turned worse than predicted. Completely cloudy and easily the coolest day of the summer.
Arriving at Weston Priory at the same time as a gentle rain, I was very nearly the only visitor-two other cars in the large parking lot.
I made a beeline for the visitor center, empty except for someone just leaving. Next I tried the gift shop-but I was much more interested in finding something to eat than to look at or listen to. Actually the silence around the priory was the best part of my visit – unnatural to my urban ears, otherworldly, promoting meditation and prayer-it was enjoyable, spiritual and heartening.
I found lunch a mile or two down the road in Weston center, at the Weston Village Store and sandwich shop which also sold cheese and fudge and was absolutely packed with trinkets-room full after room full-hanging from the ceiling, covering the walls from floor to ceiling and packed in so tight there were only narrow aisles left. It was the quintessential tourist trap.
The turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, mayo, and a slice of good Vt cheese on local multigrain bread was good-in my half-starved state-very good and the coffee warming-and almost worth what I paid for it. Heading back in for a treat of a dollars worth of maple walnut fudge, I was told that the smallest she could cut was a quarter pound, which would be about $2.75. Unkindly thinking that she certainly looked like she had never sampled any less than a quarter pound herself, but saying that I would look for something smaller, I checked out the rest of the store, at least as much of it as I could stomach, and not seeing any candybars, although they did have some gum, left with out being satisfied, and determined not to do any further business there and to warn anyone reading this too.
Weston is a pretty town and has capitalized on its charm by catering to tourists-check out the town’s website, www.westonvt.com, to see more.
Happily, Justice (or mercy) prevailed. Going back through South Londonderry I stopped at the Village Pantry du Logis where the kind counter lady sold me their last chocolate croissant for a dollar, (the same one I had not spent on fudge at the Weston Village Store) saying that it was their last and it was late in the day (3pm, normal cost 2 dollars). I thanked her and God, and doubly enjoyed this delicious dessert, while strolling across the road to admire the river brightly bubbling along its merry way.
I had eaten here before a few years back and remembered a delicious chicken curry sandwich on real bread. If you are in this area, this is a definite must stop here place. The store and location are modest, quaint and comfortable, and thankfully have none of the glitzy tourist veneer of the shoppes in Weston. However, once inside, you’ll see what they do have-lots of good, even gourmet, food to eat there or take with you - www.villagepantry.com. And a good neighbor behind the counter.
All day I had been looking forward to supper at the Townshend Dam Diner in Townshend, but was never able to find it. If anyone knows where it is, please drop me a line.
Tennis, anyone? How's this for a courtside view?
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