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...
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