Day 6 of the 2010 Pure Water Ride never happened. On the night before it was planned, I discovered a flat rear tire, that turned out to be from a leak on a patch on the inner tube. By the time a new inner tube arrived, and between my work schedule and the weather, it was too late in the season at the next opportunity, so the ride came up about 70 miles short of reaching Canada.
Next year's Pure Water Ride will begin late Spring, 2011. In the meantime, thank you for your support that has made it possible for many more people to have safe, healthy drinking water. Please consider sponsoring me again on next year's Pure Water Ride. Your support is always needed and appreciated. Happy New Year!
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Day 5 - Randolph to Middlesex - Oct 13, 2010
You'd expect to see some nice foliage color this time of year and I did. On top of that, it was a sunny day, with clear blue skies. There were so many colorful vistas during the day, that I gave up trying to photograph them all. Viewing them with your own eyes is so much better than a photo. But I didn't take into account my new camera, a Nikon Coolpix with a cool 12 megapixels. The pictures came out so much better, that I was disappointed I hadn't taken more!
Today's ride had its share of rough going-but no stoppers! No downed trees blocking the route. No roads existing only on the map. No washed out bridges. Maybe a first for the Pure Water Ride. The worst obstacles were giant mudholes left by recent rains. Some were only crossed by getting off and pushing-a messy business at best. Slippery, hidden ruts and ridges, making your chances of staying dry as likely as a contestant on a "Wipe-Out" reality show obstacle course. The bike and I got home looking like we played mud football all afternoon.
The first half of the day's ride was familiar, enjoyable roads. Up and over the Braintree mountains and then back up and over the Northfield mountains, along with miles of really way back roads in Brookfield made for an challenging ride. But once safely in Northfield, the second and completely new half began after a very short lunch break at a gas station where a school bus driver tried to get me interested in his old motorcycle. What he didn't know was that I have a cellar full of old motorcycles and a wallet as thin as the chicken noodle soup at 12:30 at the cafeteria at work.
The next 25 miles were all new to me. The map was the only place I had seen any of them before, so what to expect? Usually, with a section of new road this long, there will be some that work out great, and some that end in swamps, or washed out bridges, or just disappear into the woods...Today they all worked out. Even one that came as so much of a surprise that I almost missed it. I was on a dirt road looking for a woods road on the left. At the right mileage, I came upon-not at woods road-but a parking lot that was full of cars. I almost rode by thinking that the woods road was now a popular hiking trail-not that uncommon. But I decided to pull into the parking lot, at least I could check the map for a way around.I shut the bike off and walked over to read some of the posted signs. One caught my eye-"Trails closed to all wheeled vehicles.." No surprise there, I thought and almost missed the rest.."from Nov 1 to May 15".
I read it again just to be sure, then hopped back on the bike, kicked it to life and headed up the trail. It was Oct. 13th. After a short distance, the popular hiking trail took a left up Irish Hill and the old woods road, much less traveled, continued straight. I didn't know which way to go at the time, but fortunately there were two hikers right there that very pleasantly told me they were pretty sure that straight ahead was where I wanted to go. They were right, it turned out, and what a nice trail-winding up, over, and down to Dog River valley. Between the pleasant surprise about the trail being open, the friendly attitude of the hikers, and the fine old woods road that was just primitive enough to be fun without being arduous, the brilliant fall weather and glorious color, it was serendipity at its best.
To be continued...
Today's ride had its share of rough going-but no stoppers! No downed trees blocking the route. No roads existing only on the map. No washed out bridges. Maybe a first for the Pure Water Ride. The worst obstacles were giant mudholes left by recent rains. Some were only crossed by getting off and pushing-a messy business at best. Slippery, hidden ruts and ridges, making your chances of staying dry as likely as a contestant on a "Wipe-Out" reality show obstacle course. The bike and I got home looking like we played mud football all afternoon.
The first half of the day's ride was familiar, enjoyable roads. Up and over the Braintree mountains and then back up and over the Northfield mountains, along with miles of really way back roads in Brookfield made for an challenging ride. But once safely in Northfield, the second and completely new half began after a very short lunch break at a gas station where a school bus driver tried to get me interested in his old motorcycle. What he didn't know was that I have a cellar full of old motorcycles and a wallet as thin as the chicken noodle soup at 12:30 at the cafeteria at work.
The next 25 miles were all new to me. The map was the only place I had seen any of them before, so what to expect? Usually, with a section of new road this long, there will be some that work out great, and some that end in swamps, or washed out bridges, or just disappear into the woods...Today they all worked out. Even one that came as so much of a surprise that I almost missed it. I was on a dirt road looking for a woods road on the left. At the right mileage, I came upon-not at woods road-but a parking lot that was full of cars. I almost rode by thinking that the woods road was now a popular hiking trail-not that uncommon. But I decided to pull into the parking lot, at least I could check the map for a way around.I shut the bike off and walked over to read some of the posted signs. One caught my eye-"Trails closed to all wheeled vehicles.." No surprise there, I thought and almost missed the rest.."from Nov 1 to May 15".
I read it again just to be sure, then hopped back on the bike, kicked it to life and headed up the trail. It was Oct. 13th. After a short distance, the popular hiking trail took a left up Irish Hill and the old woods road, much less traveled, continued straight. I didn't know which way to go at the time, but fortunately there were two hikers right there that very pleasantly told me they were pretty sure that straight ahead was where I wanted to go. They were right, it turned out, and what a nice trail-winding up, over, and down to Dog River valley. Between the pleasant surprise about the trail being open, the friendly attitude of the hikers, and the fine old woods road that was just primitive enough to be fun without being arduous, the brilliant fall weather and glorious color, it was serendipity at its best.
To be continued...
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Day 4 - Bridgewater to Randolph - Sept. 11, 2010
American flags were everwhere, but not a cloud was seen all day. People were making any excuse to be outside-I even saw some working! It was a fine day to enjoy being an American - having leisure time and the means to support it. We really don’t appreciate how fortunate we are. On a forest road today, I passed by a group of about a dozen ATV’ers on a club outing. Each rider had his or her own fancy four wheel drive machine complete with enormous tires. These tricked out machines could go almost anywhere in the woods, but that is all they were good for-weekend sport-and yet each must have cost as much or more than a good used car or far more than people make in a year in many parts of the world.
People in these poorer countries often don’t have clean water to drink. They must walk sometimes miles to fill buckets which they then have to lug back home. When you donate to the Pure Water Ride, you can help provide biosand filters-each unit will purify enough water for a family needs. These filters are renewable using readily available materials and last for many years (learn more about these filters at http://www.samaritanspurse.org/ and search for biosand filters, or at http://www.biosandfilter.org/). For the cost of one tire, you can provide a biosand filter that will make the difference between health and sickness for one family, so please donate generously to the Pure Water Ride.
Today’s ride was through some of the prettiest scenery in Vermont. And the weather was perfect. Here are some pictures…
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Day 3 - Weston to Bridgewater
Saturday, Aug. 21, 2010
This was very unusual. I had ridden Day 2 just two days earlier and was now back at it again. I never go twice in the same week-I need more time than that to rest my muscles, plan the next days route, and let the wanderlust build up to bursting. And I don’t usually ride on Saturdays. Saturdays are 'working around the house' and family days. But Margaret, my wife, was away for several days, Gordon and Abby were working and living at camp, and it was another terrific weather day-not to mention I kept having this unreasonable thought that I might find the camera I lost two days ago. Yeh, I might find it somewhere along the 40 miles of road between Dover and Weston... I had it narrowed down that far. I knew I had taken pictures at the turn around point-the priory at Weston, and I didn’t remember taking any other pictures that day...
So even though the new ground today would be from Weston to Bridgewater, the days ride began at the same car park and would cover exactly the same route in reverse all the way from Dover to Weston, if need be. I was looking for a gray camera case that had come undone from my belt somewhere along the route two days before. I knew the chances of finding it were miniscule, but it seemed more likely that it would have shaken off while bouncing from rock to rock on one of the rough sections. I would concentrate on those, but just in case, I kept one eye scanning the road side as I rode along. It required a third of my attention and took away from the enjoyment of riding, but after all I had ridden this section just two days before. At about mile twelve, I was entering a woods section where there was some very rough going, when I spotted a case before the rough section began (although after it in the original sequence when it had been lost), unharmed and near the middle of the trail, standing out very clearly from the smooth brown dirt upon which it rested. The case was actually black, not the gray I remembered, and had it fallen among the rocks or weeds just yards ahead, I could have easily overlooked it.
I couldn't help but wonder-it just didn't seem normal- finding both the camera and the maps two days earlier, Oh, the losing of either was all to easy to understand, but the finding...the maps should have been blown all over the highway, if not ripped to pieces and yet they were one on top of the other, intact, and safely off the travel lane, yet readily visible in the breakdown lane. And now I had the camera back, untouched, and still working-I turned it on and checked-finding it was too easy-with over 40 miles of all kinds of roads to search, after two days worth of passing traffic that could have crushed it had it fallen in the middle of the road, or knocked it off the roadway into hiding weeds.
Riding was easier now, now no longer scanning the roadside, and with a light and grateful heart, the miles floated by. Arriving at Weston near noon, I picnicked again by the pond, and filled up my water bottle at the tap in the welcome room. I had been drinking one of my favorite brands, Poland Springs-one of the best tasting bottled waters around in my opinion. I couldn’t help but notice that the Priory water tasted just as good-in fact, exactly the same. Located at the end of the road on the outskirts of Weston, and adjacent to the Green Mountain National Forest, the priory is well situated to take advantage of natural isolation of its water source. Not everyone is so lucky. The pure water ride exists to raise funds to help purify drinking water for people whose water is not safe to drink. Please donate generously so we can help many.
There were several nice roads, all new for ride this year, in the town of Mount Holly. There is something about the soil in this area that makes the roads beautifully white. This makes the pristine summer palaces even more visually appealing-gorgeous country farms immaculately maintained and carefully situated to attain the finest mountain views and looking every inch a feature from Vermont Life or Country Living.
After miles of this sort of scenery, I was totally unprepared for the Old Shunpike [that's its real name]- a weed infested track which wound through a scattered junkyard of partially dismantled, rusting, and unrecognizable vehicles and passed by the teetering remains of a hippie house, so desolate and decaying, that it was palpably spooky-as if some Hulk-like spirit had, in a rage flung a full grown tree, smashing the house halfway to destruction, then sudden left leaving the inexorable elements to slowly finish it off. It was too eerie to stop for a picture [Note: I'm planning to return and take pictures next year], and I was only too glad to attempt the rickety remains of a bridge just beyond that held the only hope of avoiding a return. Climbing up the old wood roads beyond the bridge brought me further and further from the menacing evil and back, with an involuntary shiver, into the thin veneer of normality that we incorrectly assume is safe and mistakenly call propriety.
The little town of Shrewsbury has a pleasant old store that is the only business establishment for miles and miles around. This quaint and sleeply little hamlet has not been sidesteppedby current trends. I couldn’t find a Coke or even a Arizona tea to quench my mid-afternoon thirst, only a brand of organic oolong tea sweetened with honey called REAL. And Twinkies were nowhere to be found, only day old muffins baked by the owner that tasted a week old and cost more. To be fair, the unnatural heat and humidity had no doubt prematurely aged a fine product without the doubtful benefit of additives to retard spoilage.
As I got refueled, I reminesced that at this same store, thirty some years ago, I had stopped to rest after riding my bicycle up the winding state forest road from the other direction, and bought a little book called 'Rightly Dividing the Word of Truth'. Nothing had changed except perhaps the owner and the products for sale. Soon it was time to hit the road again. Something I was eager to do, in hopes of finding a Coke or Twinkie or even maybe both. Imagine then my disappointment upon arriving at the gas station and Quik-Stop store that was my turn-around point, only to find it was closed. No Coke and no alternative but to keep going.
Plymouth was the next town but the gas pump there was eighty years old and hadn't worked for the last sixty. Chatting with the proprietor of the general store I learned that he and all the locals were disappointed with the closing of the Quik-Stop station. For them, it meant a 7 mile trip to Bridgewater whenever they needed gas, a trip I was only going to have to make this one time. A can of cold Moxie and an Almond Joy fortified me for the 14 mile detour.
The store at Bridgewater corners looks like a typical country general store. But it’s located on Rt 4, a busy highway that transports mainly tourists to and from Woodstock, the town next door, which might explain why the ambiance is more like a Seven-Eleven in Anytown, USA. The busy proprietor hardly looked at me as I paid for my gas.
You would think, with the close call I had just had with the maps two days prior, especially since I had to rely on them so many times, that I would have been absolutely certain to bring all the maps for the days ride-but no, in the spontaneity of this day's ride, I overlooked the obvious. So far I had been lucky-the turn by turn instructions had been correct and there had been no need to consult them. Now I was on the return route-the same route that I had ridden last year, and lost. The route sheet was clearly wrong and I had no maps. I had a hunch about a turn to take, if that didn't work out, my only guide would be the sun. I turned around and rode a mile or so back to an intersection and took the opposite road, even though I did not think it was the right one-but it was. In less than 5 miles, I was lost again. This time I ignored my directions, which were wrong anyway, and followed my instincts-instincs which had brought me in large circles many times. I have read that this is common with lost people. This then is the only hint of normalcy in my behavior. So it was a surprize when this time-although I didn't end up exactly whrere I should have, it was somewhere close instead of back wither I had started. Requiring me to concede that maybe I am a total freak after all...
I made it back to Weston later than I would have liked, grabbed a quick snack, and took the same route back to the truck. This was fresh in my mind from two days before, and I made good time, although with the lengthening shadows and fading sunlight, my riding got embarassingly bad as I bounced off more obstacles than I avoided.
I good some weird looks from some swimmers at the car park when I was loading the bike up. But didn't think much about it, other than to guess that they probably weren't used to seeing to many gray-headed old men on beat-up old dirt bikes taking up parking spaces. The park and ride was a popular place to park and swim for the locals as it was right on a shallow river, and close to the population center of Brattleboro. In fact, this was its primary, although unintended, use.
It was late and I was hungry so I stopped at Brattleboro Burger King, where I fortunately went first to the bathroom before ordering supper. Looking in the mirror I saw a Native American with a war-painted face. Had Geronomo seen it, US History would be different. I thought of the weird and averted looks of the day and wondered how long my face had been like this. I remembered pushing my glasses up with my gloves several times throughout the day. My gloves must have been saturated with powered dirt because they left streaks as dark as a magic marker. As I washed up in the sink, I made another New Year's resolution-whenever riding, always look into my rear view mirror before appearing in public...
This was very unusual. I had ridden Day 2 just two days earlier and was now back at it again. I never go twice in the same week-I need more time than that to rest my muscles, plan the next days route, and let the wanderlust build up to bursting. And I don’t usually ride on Saturdays. Saturdays are 'working around the house' and family days. But Margaret, my wife, was away for several days, Gordon and Abby were working and living at camp, and it was another terrific weather day-not to mention I kept having this unreasonable thought that I might find the camera I lost two days ago. Yeh, I might find it somewhere along the 40 miles of road between Dover and Weston... I had it narrowed down that far. I knew I had taken pictures at the turn around point-the priory at Weston, and I didn’t remember taking any other pictures that day...
So even though the new ground today would be from Weston to Bridgewater, the days ride began at the same car park and would cover exactly the same route in reverse all the way from Dover to Weston, if need be. I was looking for a gray camera case that had come undone from my belt somewhere along the route two days before. I knew the chances of finding it were miniscule, but it seemed more likely that it would have shaken off while bouncing from rock to rock on one of the rough sections. I would concentrate on those, but just in case, I kept one eye scanning the road side as I rode along. It required a third of my attention and took away from the enjoyment of riding, but after all I had ridden this section just two days before. At about mile twelve, I was entering a woods section where there was some very rough going, when I spotted a case before the rough section began (although after it in the original sequence when it had been lost), unharmed and near the middle of the trail, standing out very clearly from the smooth brown dirt upon which it rested. The case was actually black, not the gray I remembered, and had it fallen among the rocks or weeds just yards ahead, I could have easily overlooked it.
I couldn't help but wonder-it just didn't seem normal- finding both the camera and the maps two days earlier, Oh, the losing of either was all to easy to understand, but the finding...the maps should have been blown all over the highway, if not ripped to pieces and yet they were one on top of the other, intact, and safely off the travel lane, yet readily visible in the breakdown lane. And now I had the camera back, untouched, and still working-I turned it on and checked-finding it was too easy-with over 40 miles of all kinds of roads to search, after two days worth of passing traffic that could have crushed it had it fallen in the middle of the road, or knocked it off the roadway into hiding weeds.
Riding was easier now, now no longer scanning the roadside, and with a light and grateful heart, the miles floated by. Arriving at Weston near noon, I picnicked again by the pond, and filled up my water bottle at the tap in the welcome room. I had been drinking one of my favorite brands, Poland Springs-one of the best tasting bottled waters around in my opinion. I couldn’t help but notice that the Priory water tasted just as good-in fact, exactly the same. Located at the end of the road on the outskirts of Weston, and adjacent to the Green Mountain National Forest, the priory is well situated to take advantage of natural isolation of its water source. Not everyone is so lucky. The pure water ride exists to raise funds to help purify drinking water for people whose water is not safe to drink. Please donate generously so we can help many.
There were several nice roads, all new for ride this year, in the town of Mount Holly. There is something about the soil in this area that makes the roads beautifully white. This makes the pristine summer palaces even more visually appealing-gorgeous country farms immaculately maintained and carefully situated to attain the finest mountain views and looking every inch a feature from Vermont Life or Country Living.
After miles of this sort of scenery, I was totally unprepared for the Old Shunpike [that's its real name]- a weed infested track which wound through a scattered junkyard of partially dismantled, rusting, and unrecognizable vehicles and passed by the teetering remains of a hippie house, so desolate and decaying, that it was palpably spooky-as if some Hulk-like spirit had, in a rage flung a full grown tree, smashing the house halfway to destruction, then sudden left leaving the inexorable elements to slowly finish it off. It was too eerie to stop for a picture [Note: I'm planning to return and take pictures next year], and I was only too glad to attempt the rickety remains of a bridge just beyond that held the only hope of avoiding a return. Climbing up the old wood roads beyond the bridge brought me further and further from the menacing evil and back, with an involuntary shiver, into the thin veneer of normality that we incorrectly assume is safe and mistakenly call propriety.
The little town of Shrewsbury has a pleasant old store that is the only business establishment for miles and miles around. This quaint and sleeply little hamlet has not been sidesteppedby current trends. I couldn’t find a Coke or even a Arizona tea to quench my mid-afternoon thirst, only a brand of organic oolong tea sweetened with honey called REAL. And Twinkies were nowhere to be found, only day old muffins baked by the owner that tasted a week old and cost more. To be fair, the unnatural heat and humidity had no doubt prematurely aged a fine product without the doubtful benefit of additives to retard spoilage.
As I got refueled, I reminesced that at this same store, thirty some years ago, I had stopped to rest after riding my bicycle up the winding state forest road from the other direction, and bought a little book called 'Rightly Dividing the Word of Truth'. Nothing had changed except perhaps the owner and the products for sale. Soon it was time to hit the road again. Something I was eager to do, in hopes of finding a Coke or Twinkie or even maybe both. Imagine then my disappointment upon arriving at the gas station and Quik-Stop store that was my turn-around point, only to find it was closed. No Coke and no alternative but to keep going.
Plymouth was the next town but the gas pump there was eighty years old and hadn't worked for the last sixty. Chatting with the proprietor of the general store I learned that he and all the locals were disappointed with the closing of the Quik-Stop station. For them, it meant a 7 mile trip to Bridgewater whenever they needed gas, a trip I was only going to have to make this one time. A can of cold Moxie and an Almond Joy fortified me for the 14 mile detour.
The store at Bridgewater corners looks like a typical country general store. But it’s located on Rt 4, a busy highway that transports mainly tourists to and from Woodstock, the town next door, which might explain why the ambiance is more like a Seven-Eleven in Anytown, USA. The busy proprietor hardly looked at me as I paid for my gas.
You would think, with the close call I had just had with the maps two days prior, especially since I had to rely on them so many times, that I would have been absolutely certain to bring all the maps for the days ride-but no, in the spontaneity of this day's ride, I overlooked the obvious. So far I had been lucky-the turn by turn instructions had been correct and there had been no need to consult them. Now I was on the return route-the same route that I had ridden last year, and lost. The route sheet was clearly wrong and I had no maps. I had a hunch about a turn to take, if that didn't work out, my only guide would be the sun. I turned around and rode a mile or so back to an intersection and took the opposite road, even though I did not think it was the right one-but it was. In less than 5 miles, I was lost again. This time I ignored my directions, which were wrong anyway, and followed my instincts-instincs which had brought me in large circles many times. I have read that this is common with lost people. This then is the only hint of normalcy in my behavior. So it was a surprize when this time-although I didn't end up exactly whrere I should have, it was somewhere close instead of back wither I had started. Requiring me to concede that maybe I am a total freak after all...
I made it back to Weston later than I would have liked, grabbed a quick snack, and took the same route back to the truck. This was fresh in my mind from two days before, and I made good time, although with the lengthening shadows and fading sunlight, my riding got embarassingly bad as I bounced off more obstacles than I avoided.
I good some weird looks from some swimmers at the car park when I was loading the bike up. But didn't think much about it, other than to guess that they probably weren't used to seeing to many gray-headed old men on beat-up old dirt bikes taking up parking spaces. The park and ride was a popular place to park and swim for the locals as it was right on a shallow river, and close to the population center of Brattleboro. In fact, this was its primary, although unintended, use.
It was late and I was hungry so I stopped at Brattleboro Burger King, where I fortunately went first to the bathroom before ordering supper. Looking in the mirror I saw a Native American with a war-painted face. Had Geronomo seen it, US History would be different. I thought of the weird and averted looks of the day and wondered how long my face had been like this. I remembered pushing my glasses up with my gloves several times throughout the day. My gloves must have been saturated with powered dirt because they left streaks as dark as a magic marker. As I washed up in the sink, I made another New Year's resolution-whenever riding, always look into my rear view mirror before appearing in public...
Day 2 - Dover to Weston
Thursday, Aug. 19, 2010
I glanced down from the road ahead. The maps were gone! I was just a mile into the day's ride. It was near the end of August-the constant and unusual heat and humidity of the summer had discouraged me from riding since Day 1 in June. After waiting out the summer, to say I was eager to ride was a gross understatement. The first cool day found me loading up the bike and heading up to Dummerston Vt, where I had left the truck at a 'Park and Ride' just moments before. There were several miles of highway riding to connect with the premature end of Day 1's route and I was gleefully booking it along. But without maps, I would literally be lost. I always use a route sheet-a turn by turn listing of the route-as my main guide. This works fine as long as there are no impassable sections, or missed or wrong turns, road construction etc . If you lose the route for any reason...the only way to get back on it is either incredible blind luck, or by finding your location on the map and planning an alternate route. For this reason I always carry road atlas maps for the area I'll be riding. I keep them in a large see-through zip-lock freezer bag duck taped to the handle bars-definetly not trendy-but extremely effective. It's saved my butt from many a cold and hungry night and well worth the inevitable distainful and unbelieving looks. The maps were gone-blown out of the bag by the sixty mile an hour wind- likely torn to pieces and scattered along the highway under the wheels of passing vehicles.
To turn back now was the last thing I felt like doing, but not doing so would be stupid and I knew would inevitably end up regretting it. To my great surprise, I found the maps laying in the middle of the breakdown lane as if they had been snatched out of the air by an unseen and benevolent hand and placed neatly and firmly out of harm's way where I could conviently recover them. This was to be a harbinger of what was yet to come...but for now I carefully placed the maps back in the bag, realiziing that the zip-lock was now useless. As long as the zipper was left in the middle, the maps could not get out on either side. This technique worked and there were no lost maps for the rest of the day.
I had not finished the 5 mile highway section before I came to a detour around some bridge construction. Peeved at another delay before picking up the end of Day 1's route, I groused for a moment or two before it hit me that the back roads around the detour were a welcome relief from the highway tedium.
It was a glorious day. The cool and comfortable air was such a relief from the hot and steamy torture of the last two months that just being outdoors made one feel grateful to be alive, and to be in the Vermont countryside was close to heaven. The miles glided easily by until I came to Rowley Lane, where I had come upon and impassable blow down on last years Pure Water Ride, and had to make a long detour around. I had decided to give it a try this year in the hopes that an industrious snowmobile or ATV club had cleared the way. And this is just what I found-no more blow down. I went a quarter of a mile further only to come upon a series of three smaller fallen trees blocking the road. These I could drag the bike over, but instead decided to park the bike and walk ahead to reconnoiter. There were a couple of signs, looking fairly new, which were encouraging, but after another quarter of a mile I came to a river. The crumbling supports where a bridge has once spanned it were clearly visible, the bridge itself was long gone, and the banks were too steep to ride. With the river frozen, snowmobiles were good, but I was going to have to double back and take the same long detour around, the route of which I had long forgotten, but thanks to the recovered maps was able to reconstruct.
Just for old times sake, I stopped at the same gas station as last year, curious to see if the same attendent would still be there [see blog for 2009 Day 2]. And yes, he was, at least I think so, although he or I never let on. Noticing my Mass plate he asked what part of Massachusetts I was from, and told me he was from Beverly. To which I responded that my son was going to Gordon College, thinking surely he would know about Gordon College since it was only five or ten miles from Beverly, but he never said a word more. I was surprised at this because he was so talkative last year, and rather unkindly thought that the mere mention of college might make someone who pumped gas at the same garage year after year uncomfortable. I'm ashamed of my socio-economic profiling, an unfortunate 'skill' that I wish I didn't have, but one that I catch myself frequently practising. It kept me from relating to him properly, in fact it pretty much cut me off altogether and I missed a perfectly good opportunity to give him a friendly 'see ya next year!' before driving off. Tune in next year, because I definitely plan to seek him out and I'll be sure to let you know what happens and if I do better.
More great riding along the same roads as last year until I came upon yet another detour-this one on a state forest road with a large sign clearly stating the road was closed, which I blithly rode by in the unreasonble hope that I would some how be able to get by on the bike. After a half a mile I came upon a power shovel completely blocking the road. The operator gave me a cold and disguted stare which I returned as neutrally as I could for several moments, but he never paused or waved me on as I had hoped. Now I had managed to lenghthen the detour by a mile. Good thing I had the maps with me as I was able to find an alternate way and get back on the route.
And so, after a day of delays it was 2:30 before I reached the turn around point at the Weston priory. Here I enjoyed a snack sitting under an apple tree on the bank above a little pond admiring the wildflowers in the meadow beyond. I caught faint and occasional sounds of singing wafting through the breeze-the brothers at the priory are well known for their music-people come from far and wide to hear. I had the best seat, but it was definitely not in the house...
The route back was new for this year and I completely missed a turn, which I realised only after several miles of highway. Checking the maps one more time, I managed to get back on the route after a boring paved road detour. Several more new-to-me roads proved to be good additions for future rides and found me back to the start without further hitches. I loaded up the bike under a few curious looks from others using the park and ride and was off. It was only when I stopped for supper at the Brattleboro Burger King that I realized that my camera had not made it back with me...
I glanced down from the road ahead. The maps were gone! I was just a mile into the day's ride. It was near the end of August-the constant and unusual heat and humidity of the summer had discouraged me from riding since Day 1 in June. After waiting out the summer, to say I was eager to ride was a gross understatement. The first cool day found me loading up the bike and heading up to Dummerston Vt, where I had left the truck at a 'Park and Ride' just moments before. There were several miles of highway riding to connect with the premature end of Day 1's route and I was gleefully booking it along. But without maps, I would literally be lost. I always use a route sheet-a turn by turn listing of the route-as my main guide. This works fine as long as there are no impassable sections, or missed or wrong turns, road construction etc . If you lose the route for any reason...the only way to get back on it is either incredible blind luck, or by finding your location on the map and planning an alternate route. For this reason I always carry road atlas maps for the area I'll be riding. I keep them in a large see-through zip-lock freezer bag duck taped to the handle bars-definetly not trendy-but extremely effective. It's saved my butt from many a cold and hungry night and well worth the inevitable distainful and unbelieving looks. The maps were gone-blown out of the bag by the sixty mile an hour wind- likely torn to pieces and scattered along the highway under the wheels of passing vehicles.
To turn back now was the last thing I felt like doing, but not doing so would be stupid and I knew would inevitably end up regretting it. To my great surprise, I found the maps laying in the middle of the breakdown lane as if they had been snatched out of the air by an unseen and benevolent hand and placed neatly and firmly out of harm's way where I could conviently recover them. This was to be a harbinger of what was yet to come...but for now I carefully placed the maps back in the bag, realiziing that the zip-lock was now useless. As long as the zipper was left in the middle, the maps could not get out on either side. This technique worked and there were no lost maps for the rest of the day.
I had not finished the 5 mile highway section before I came to a detour around some bridge construction. Peeved at another delay before picking up the end of Day 1's route, I groused for a moment or two before it hit me that the back roads around the detour were a welcome relief from the highway tedium.
It was a glorious day. The cool and comfortable air was such a relief from the hot and steamy torture of the last two months that just being outdoors made one feel grateful to be alive, and to be in the Vermont countryside was close to heaven. The miles glided easily by until I came to Rowley Lane, where I had come upon and impassable blow down on last years Pure Water Ride, and had to make a long detour around. I had decided to give it a try this year in the hopes that an industrious snowmobile or ATV club had cleared the way. And this is just what I found-no more blow down. I went a quarter of a mile further only to come upon a series of three smaller fallen trees blocking the road. These I could drag the bike over, but instead decided to park the bike and walk ahead to reconnoiter. There were a couple of signs, looking fairly new, which were encouraging, but after another quarter of a mile I came to a river. The crumbling supports where a bridge has once spanned it were clearly visible, the bridge itself was long gone, and the banks were too steep to ride. With the river frozen, snowmobiles were good, but I was going to have to double back and take the same long detour around, the route of which I had long forgotten, but thanks to the recovered maps was able to reconstruct.
Just for old times sake, I stopped at the same gas station as last year, curious to see if the same attendent would still be there [see blog for 2009 Day 2]. And yes, he was, at least I think so, although he or I never let on. Noticing my Mass plate he asked what part of Massachusetts I was from, and told me he was from Beverly. To which I responded that my son was going to Gordon College, thinking surely he would know about Gordon College since it was only five or ten miles from Beverly, but he never said a word more. I was surprised at this because he was so talkative last year, and rather unkindly thought that the mere mention of college might make someone who pumped gas at the same garage year after year uncomfortable. I'm ashamed of my socio-economic profiling, an unfortunate 'skill' that I wish I didn't have, but one that I catch myself frequently practising. It kept me from relating to him properly, in fact it pretty much cut me off altogether and I missed a perfectly good opportunity to give him a friendly 'see ya next year!' before driving off. Tune in next year, because I definitely plan to seek him out and I'll be sure to let you know what happens and if I do better.
More great riding along the same roads as last year until I came upon yet another detour-this one on a state forest road with a large sign clearly stating the road was closed, which I blithly rode by in the unreasonble hope that I would some how be able to get by on the bike. After a half a mile I came upon a power shovel completely blocking the road. The operator gave me a cold and disguted stare which I returned as neutrally as I could for several moments, but he never paused or waved me on as I had hoped. Now I had managed to lenghthen the detour by a mile. Good thing I had the maps with me as I was able to find an alternate way and get back on the route.
And so, after a day of delays it was 2:30 before I reached the turn around point at the Weston priory. Here I enjoyed a snack sitting under an apple tree on the bank above a little pond admiring the wildflowers in the meadow beyond. I caught faint and occasional sounds of singing wafting through the breeze-the brothers at the priory are well known for their music-people come from far and wide to hear. I had the best seat, but it was definitely not in the house...
The route back was new for this year and I completely missed a turn, which I realised only after several miles of highway. Checking the maps one more time, I managed to get back on the route after a boring paved road detour. Several more new-to-me roads proved to be good additions for future rides and found me back to the start without further hitches. I loaded up the bike under a few curious looks from others using the park and ride and was off. It was only when I stopped for supper at the Brattleboro Burger King that I realized that my camera had not made it back with me...
Day 1 - Northfield to Dover
Friday, June 11
It was inauspicious. The windshield wipers were on steady now, sweeping away raindrops, not the mist which earlier had begun to obscure my view of Rt. 2 and solid grey sky as I headed west towards the start of the Pure Water Ride 2010. The forecast had been gradually downgrading for days-first it was ‘mostly sunny’, then ‘partly sunny’, then this morning’s ‘mostly cloudy’.
I had been checking the weather for Northfield, MA each day for the past week, looking for a good weather day that would fit into my schedule to begin the ride, and had all but decided it would be today. “I should have waited” I told myself -the declining forecast had been warning enough, but this morning I was ready, not just ready, but really ready, and a look at the weather for the week ahead was not encouraging either. I resigned myself to a cloudy, grey day and hoped and prayed it wouldn’t rain. The good news was that I knew this year’s ride would raise some money for pure water-a few sponsors had already spoken to me.
The Pure Water Ride start is the Northfield Mount Hermon school which was deserted of students, although a grounds crew was at work, or more correctly at a coffee break. Which was perfectly understandable because as usual, the gorgeous grounds looked like they did not need any landscaping. This year I was able to see more than a few buildings at a time-no fog, and enjoyed a slow lap around what must be the best view of any school in Massachusetts. Dwight Moody sure knew how to pick a location, his school for girls on the other side of Northfield has a glorious view also. I have a feeling that God has something to do with it. He is the reason Dwight started the Northfield Seminary for Young Ladies in 1879 and Mount Hermon School for Boys in 1881, to give young poor people an opportunity for education that they would not otherwise have. Right now the buildings were locked as it was before the summer session, so I was unable to post a Pure Water Ride sign.
So another year’s ride began. The rain had stopped and just like the weather man had predicted, it was mostly cloudy. The area around Halifax was fun exploring. This year’s route was different-a lot of new roads from last year meaning a lot of unknowns. Sure enough the first unimproved road of the ride was blocked by a blowdown too high to drag the bike over and too thick to cut through. I hadn’t brought my folding saw anyway, an oversight that I was to regret many times during the day. The second was also blocked by a blowdown which I might have been able to cut through…
Out with the maps and improvising a route around gave an opportunity to glimpse the rural scenery so different from the flat and crowded suburbia I’m so used to. Until the next unimproved route which soon disappeared into the wild outdoors. Retracing my route to a junction, I took the other branch, which turned out, after threatening to end exactly the same way, to be a nice old town road, even if it was not the one I had planned to be on. Out with the maps again! I don’t know, because I’ve never tried, but I suspect a GPS out here in the boonies would be about as helpful as trying to figure out which side of the trees the moss was growing on...
This got to be a somewhat of a routine which was nicely broken up by a friendly homeowner in Brattleboro whose driveway I ended up on, having made the wrong choice at a Y at the end of the road. His greeting was “Can I help you find something”? We had a very pleasant conversation and he was very helpful and pointed out the right way to go and assured me that I could make it on my bike-not like the BMWs from NJ that often followed their GPS’s only to end up just where I was. He said he felt like putting a sign at the foot of the road, “It ain’t going to happen” or “You’re GPS is Wrong”. A sign which I actually did see later that day in Dover. If only there was someone like him at every wrong turn… By 2 o’clock I was just in Dover and still a long way from my planned lunch stop in Wardsboro, and being quite hungry, pulled over to the side of the road and had lunch. Only one vehicle went by while I ate a leftover from breakfast Egg McMuffin, which happily had morphed in my backpack to a sausage McMuffin.
The route back was, by design, more straight forward with only one unknown, an umimproved road in Halifax. It was on this final explore that I had a foreboding revelation. It came when I came upon the nth blowdown of the day. Stopping to check it out, I realized the leaves were still green and attached. Yep, it was just a week ago that we had that tornado warning in MA. Hmmm…’wonder if it came through here’? I mused…thinking back through the day remembering green leaves on a good many of the blowdowns of the day. Back roads travelers like myself benefit a good deal from the diligent maintainence of snowmobiling clubs who keep so many of the back roads clear of blowdowns during the winter, but it would likely be fall at the earliest before they tackled any of these.
Oh boy, a summer ahead of blocked routes...
It was inauspicious. The windshield wipers were on steady now, sweeping away raindrops, not the mist which earlier had begun to obscure my view of Rt. 2 and solid grey sky as I headed west towards the start of the Pure Water Ride 2010. The forecast had been gradually downgrading for days-first it was ‘mostly sunny’, then ‘partly sunny’, then this morning’s ‘mostly cloudy’.
I had been checking the weather for Northfield, MA each day for the past week, looking for a good weather day that would fit into my schedule to begin the ride, and had all but decided it would be today. “I should have waited” I told myself -the declining forecast had been warning enough, but this morning I was ready, not just ready, but really ready, and a look at the weather for the week ahead was not encouraging either. I resigned myself to a cloudy, grey day and hoped and prayed it wouldn’t rain. The good news was that I knew this year’s ride would raise some money for pure water-a few sponsors had already spoken to me.
The Pure Water Ride start is the Northfield Mount Hermon school which was deserted of students, although a grounds crew was at work, or more correctly at a coffee break. Which was perfectly understandable because as usual, the gorgeous grounds looked like they did not need any landscaping. This year I was able to see more than a few buildings at a time-no fog, and enjoyed a slow lap around what must be the best view of any school in Massachusetts. Dwight Moody sure knew how to pick a location, his school for girls on the other side of Northfield has a glorious view also. I have a feeling that God has something to do with it. He is the reason Dwight started the Northfield Seminary for Young Ladies in 1879 and Mount Hermon School for Boys in 1881, to give young poor people an opportunity for education that they would not otherwise have. Right now the buildings were locked as it was before the summer session, so I was unable to post a Pure Water Ride sign.
So another year’s ride began. The rain had stopped and just like the weather man had predicted, it was mostly cloudy. The area around Halifax was fun exploring. This year’s route was different-a lot of new roads from last year meaning a lot of unknowns. Sure enough the first unimproved road of the ride was blocked by a blowdown too high to drag the bike over and too thick to cut through. I hadn’t brought my folding saw anyway, an oversight that I was to regret many times during the day. The second was also blocked by a blowdown which I might have been able to cut through…
Out with the maps and improvising a route around gave an opportunity to glimpse the rural scenery so different from the flat and crowded suburbia I’m so used to. Until the next unimproved route which soon disappeared into the wild outdoors. Retracing my route to a junction, I took the other branch, which turned out, after threatening to end exactly the same way, to be a nice old town road, even if it was not the one I had planned to be on. Out with the maps again! I don’t know, because I’ve never tried, but I suspect a GPS out here in the boonies would be about as helpful as trying to figure out which side of the trees the moss was growing on...
This got to be a somewhat of a routine which was nicely broken up by a friendly homeowner in Brattleboro whose driveway I ended up on, having made the wrong choice at a Y at the end of the road. His greeting was “Can I help you find something”? We had a very pleasant conversation and he was very helpful and pointed out the right way to go and assured me that I could make it on my bike-not like the BMWs from NJ that often followed their GPS’s only to end up just where I was. He said he felt like putting a sign at the foot of the road, “It ain’t going to happen” or “You’re GPS is Wrong”. A sign which I actually did see later that day in Dover. If only there was someone like him at every wrong turn… By 2 o’clock I was just in Dover and still a long way from my planned lunch stop in Wardsboro, and being quite hungry, pulled over to the side of the road and had lunch. Only one vehicle went by while I ate a leftover from breakfast Egg McMuffin, which happily had morphed in my backpack to a sausage McMuffin.
The route back was, by design, more straight forward with only one unknown, an umimproved road in Halifax. It was on this final explore that I had a foreboding revelation. It came when I came upon the nth blowdown of the day. Stopping to check it out, I realized the leaves were still green and attached. Yep, it was just a week ago that we had that tornado warning in MA. Hmmm…’wonder if it came through here’? I mused…thinking back through the day remembering green leaves on a good many of the blowdowns of the day. Back roads travelers like myself benefit a good deal from the diligent maintainence of snowmobiling clubs who keep so many of the back roads clear of blowdowns during the winter, but it would likely be fall at the earliest before they tackled any of these.
Oh boy, a summer ahead of blocked routes...
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Pure Water Ride 2010 - In Progress!
The Pure Water Ride for 2010 began in June and is now well underway. Remember 100% of your donation goes to charity. All the costs of the ride itself are paid by me. Please donate now so more people can have safe water to drink. Safe water means less sickness and disease and can save lives!
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