PWR Goes Green

Sept. 21, 2011 - Day 3

Almost a month after Hurricane Irene caused the worse flooding in Vermont in 83 years, I pulled off I89 onto Rt. 4 in Central Vermont. My bicycle was in the back and I was on my way to the start of Pure Water Ride Day 3. I drove behind a line crew from Minnesota. The waitress at the Ottaquechee Inn in Bridgewater, where I stopped for morning coffee, said that they had been without power for only 5 days, but the area would not be back to normal for another week. Line crews from as far away as Ohio had been working to restore power. Road repairs along Rt. 4 had slowed traffic in three or four areas in the 15 miles from I89 to Bridgewater. Much of the way, the route follows the Ottaquechee river, normally sparkling, clear, swift flowing but well behaved. Now it was muddy. Torn and toppled trees lined the barren banks, swept clear of all but sand and clay, which the swollen river had deposited on low-lying fields the road wound through.

It was a common sight to see bulldozed mounds of sand that had been scraped clear from driveways and fields of river-side homes. Finding humor in difficult circumstances, one landowner had posted a "Free" sign on the DPW sized piles that lined his plot.



Desperately in need of exercise, I rode a bicycle instead of my usual motorcycle. The quiet of my mount was wonderful and allowed me to hear the chainsaws, dumptrucks, and power shovels that filled the silence everywhere. Rebuilding was progressing fast, but there were many months, if not years, of work ahead. The road I was climbing was badly eroded in places, but manageable.



A mile or so later I came upon a section that was completely washed away-nothing was left of the road except a gully deep enough to hide me on the bicycle.


I climbed out to find a faint path along the bank. There I met another mountain biker. His bike was the only way he could get to his house. He showed me the path he had cut, clipping away more branches as he walked along with me pushing my bike behind. When he stopped he gave me directions-follow path to his yard cut across lawn to driveway, go right, cross gully onto field and stay to left of field until the next house. After the house the road would be rideable again. And so it was. At least for a young person in good shape. I did get a few yards of pedalling in here and there, but otherwise it was walk beside the bike. It turned out to be 4 miles of continuous climbing. The 'hill that never ends' had me wondering if it had been a mistake...

Achieving the top was not the victory I had long anticipated. The far side descended far to rough and steep to relax and enjoy. Riding down was hard. At times it was necessary to walk just to keep the bike in control. Life's peaks are often not what we had hoped and worked so hard for. It's only when we sense God smiling at our efforts that we find real satisfaction. At the foot of the mountain were normal dirt roads and relief. But this was my bicycle shake down ride and the odometer was badly off. I had maps of the area, but was never-the-less bewildered. I was not where I thought I was. After failing to reconcile the sequence and shape of several road junctions-trying to match the map, I finally gave up and decided to just follow the main road down. Eventually I was able to rejoin the planned route, although I had missed several roads along the way.

At this point I accidently came across a road-side spring. Two local men were deep in conversation, one of them leaning on the fountain. They carried on, but moved politely away when I pulled up to fill my Gatorade bottle with the fresh, clear and cool water that flows continually day and night year after year. The water was delicious and I drank with no fear, thinking of the people in Cameroon and the Dominican Republic, who know their dirty water often makes them sick. You can help to make their water safe by donating funds for water filters.

Pedaling was hard work, and I often gave up, got off, and pushed.

At the same time it was rewarding, the slower pace allowed me to see more than a quick drive by. Besides, I never would have been able to follow the route on the motorcycle. Perhaps it would have been possible before Irene, but not now.

On top of that, this was real exercise, not just walking up 5 stories of stairs at work. My heart rate was elevated for pretty nearly the whole day. Only 38 miles-horrible for a bicycling pace, but then I'd walked up most of the hills, which were much longer and steeper than the downhills, this being Vermont.