Pure Water Ride 2011 - June 21, 2011 - Day 1
Colrain, MA. Despite sounding like “cold rain” the weather was warm and sunny at the start of the pure water ride 2011 in this historic town in northern Franklin county. Colrain was the first town in the United States to fly the U.S. flag over a public schoolhouse, and had already been settled for 41 years before the Declaration of Independence. The village center has changed little in the last 150 years, and was adopted as a state historic district in 2006. For me, the highlight of the town had nothing to do with the dormant center. It was the natural beauty all around it-the fields, hills, and streams that seemed to sparkle with excitement and life.
Heading north along the Green River, I was soon into Vermont, which was true to it’s literal meaning, ‘green hills’. The green on this bright, sunny, first official day of summer, was florescent. The hills were delightful, riding seldom level, always winding up or gliding down, adding to the giddy, free feeling of a relaxing day. The cool wind offset the heat of the sun so perfectly that there was no feeling of either hot or cold, but only of supreme comfort and ease.
It wasn’t long though, before the first challenge of the day-a section new to me that obviously didn’t get much traffic. The green road was overgrown by grass almost handlebar high that completely hid all rocks, holes, logs and mud, of which there were plenty of, and which soon had me huffing, puffing, and sweating with the effort of trying to keep the bike upright and at least somewhat on course. The track twisted crazily and descended slowly downhill as the ground became more and more swampy. I stopped and considered that turning back might be better than going further and getting hopelessly bogged down or lost.
Searching out the path ahead, I decided to press on at least a little further. As I did, I caught a glimpse of a small pond, that seemed only a little lower than the ground I was on and did not appear on my map. Just then the bike dropped into a hidden hole, adrenaline kicked in before I had a chance to think about getting stuck. I planted both feet on the mushy ground and pushed for all I was worth and at the same time gave the throttle a healthy twist. The bike surged up and out and forward onto the track which now seemed to be climbing imperceptibly. After only a few more twists and turns, the road improved dramatically.
And strangely. Why, in the middle of the woods, with no sign of any destination of any kind, for absolutely no conceiveable reason, did the nature of road suddenly change?
By this time, I was getting thirsty. Not to worry, the center of Marlboro was coming up soon. When I got there, I found only 1 white clapboard building. On one side was the Post Office, on the other were the town offices. Nothing else except an intersection. The next town, Dover, had a red-clapboard Post Office and General Store, where I pulled in eagerly only to find the store was closed. The day was warming up and I was getting more and more thirsty. I took a sip from the half bottle of water that was all I had brought with me, thinking that I could just stop somewhere to get more. Here I decided to abandon my planned route and head directly to the next town, Wardsboro, where I knew there to be a general store.
An old friend was missing on this trip. My son’s first grade backpack, became mine when he got a new one for second grade. That backpack had been with me all over the country, several trips to Albuquerque for work, our family’s only trip to Disney World when the kids were younger, a trip to California for work, a memorable and only family trip to New York, and most, if not all, of every motorcycle trip I had ever taken since my kids had grown and I got back into motorcycling. We’d been a lot of places together. The zipper finally wore out, and now I had inherited my son’s second grade backpack, which was on its first of, I hope, many, many rides.
At Wardsboro, I filled up the tank, bought the largest cold bottle of ice tea that I could find, took off my sweatshirt, found a place in the shade, and enjoyed a gourmet lunch of a McDonald’s Sausage McMuffin and quenched my thirst.
By now it was about 2:30, so I decided to go a little further towards Canada, exploring some new roads, and then call it a day. The new roads were poorly marked, and there were many intersections that were not on the map, so I just stayed on the main road, the one which seemed to be the most used. The only sign of civilization that I saw for several miles were a few snowmobile signs. I’m glad to have explored these new roads, but because of their remoteness and unmarked intersections, I’ll keep looking for alternate routes for next year’s Pure Water Ride.
On the ride back I had an opportunity to use my pocket chainsaw. A small tree or a large branch blocked the road. It took me several shifts that were each longer than the advertisement for the saw, which showed a larger tree being sawn in two in a few seconds. Rather tackily the ‘person’ doing the sawing was not shown. I strongly suspect the film had been speeded up to three or four times normal.
It was pretty cool to clear the path, wind the saw back into the tuna fish sized can where it was stowed, and ride on, unhindered.
No Kidding!
Colrain, MA. Despite sounding like “cold rain” the weather was warm and sunny at the start of the pure water ride 2011 in this historic town in northern Franklin county. Colrain was the first town in the United States to fly the U.S. flag over a public schoolhouse, and had already been settled for 41 years before the Declaration of Independence. The village center has changed little in the last 150 years, and was adopted as a state historic district in 2006. For me, the highlight of the town had nothing to do with the dormant center. It was the natural beauty all around it-the fields, hills, and streams that seemed to sparkle with excitement and life.
Heading north along the Green River, I was soon into Vermont, which was true to it’s literal meaning, ‘green hills’. The green on this bright, sunny, first official day of summer, was florescent. The hills were delightful, riding seldom level, always winding up or gliding down, adding to the giddy, free feeling of a relaxing day. The cool wind offset the heat of the sun so perfectly that there was no feeling of either hot or cold, but only of supreme comfort and ease.
It wasn’t long though, before the first challenge of the day-a section new to me that obviously didn’t get much traffic. The green road was overgrown by grass almost handlebar high that completely hid all rocks, holes, logs and mud, of which there were plenty of, and which soon had me huffing, puffing, and sweating with the effort of trying to keep the bike upright and at least somewhat on course. The track twisted crazily and descended slowly downhill as the ground became more and more swampy. I stopped and considered that turning back might be better than going further and getting hopelessly bogged down or lost.
Searching out the path ahead, I decided to press on at least a little further. As I did, I caught a glimpse of a small pond, that seemed only a little lower than the ground I was on and did not appear on my map. Just then the bike dropped into a hidden hole, adrenaline kicked in before I had a chance to think about getting stuck. I planted both feet on the mushy ground and pushed for all I was worth and at the same time gave the throttle a healthy twist. The bike surged up and out and forward onto the track which now seemed to be climbing imperceptibly. After only a few more twists and turns, the road improved dramatically.
And strangely. Why, in the middle of the woods, with no sign of any destination of any kind, for absolutely no conceiveable reason, did the nature of road suddenly change?
By this time, I was getting thirsty. Not to worry, the center of Marlboro was coming up soon. When I got there, I found only 1 white clapboard building. On one side was the Post Office, on the other were the town offices. Nothing else except an intersection. The next town, Dover, had a red-clapboard Post Office and General Store, where I pulled in eagerly only to find the store was closed. The day was warming up and I was getting more and more thirsty. I took a sip from the half bottle of water that was all I had brought with me, thinking that I could just stop somewhere to get more. Here I decided to abandon my planned route and head directly to the next town, Wardsboro, where I knew there to be a general store.
An old friend was missing on this trip. My son’s first grade backpack, became mine when he got a new one for second grade. That backpack had been with me all over the country, several trips to Albuquerque for work, our family’s only trip to Disney World when the kids were younger, a trip to California for work, a memorable and only family trip to New York, and most, if not all, of every motorcycle trip I had ever taken since my kids had grown and I got back into motorcycling. We’d been a lot of places together. The zipper finally wore out, and now I had inherited my son’s second grade backpack, which was on its first of, I hope, many, many rides.
At Wardsboro, I filled up the tank, bought the largest cold bottle of ice tea that I could find, took off my sweatshirt, found a place in the shade, and enjoyed a gourmet lunch of a McDonald’s Sausage McMuffin and quenched my thirst.
By now it was about 2:30, so I decided to go a little further towards Canada, exploring some new roads, and then call it a day. The new roads were poorly marked, and there were many intersections that were not on the map, so I just stayed on the main road, the one which seemed to be the most used. The only sign of civilization that I saw for several miles were a few snowmobile signs. I’m glad to have explored these new roads, but because of their remoteness and unmarked intersections, I’ll keep looking for alternate routes for next year’s Pure Water Ride.
On the ride back I had an opportunity to use my pocket chainsaw. A small tree or a large branch blocked the road. It took me several shifts that were each longer than the advertisement for the saw, which showed a larger tree being sawn in two in a few seconds. Rather tackily the ‘person’ doing the sawing was not shown. I strongly suspect the film had been speeded up to three or four times normal.
It was pretty cool to clear the path, wind the saw back into the tuna fish sized can where it was stowed, and ride on, unhindered.
No Kidding!
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