An Extra Week

One fine summer several years back, I found myself in the curious situation of having an extra week of vacation. Having no plans, and no friends around who were out of work, I figured I'd hit the beach, do some fishing, catch up on to-do lists, and try to repair some entropy. That lasted about two days.

I woke up and decided to go for a ride. I packed in half an hour and was off. Saddle bags hanging on the back, backpack bungy-netted on the back seat, and a tank bag. Plenty of room. It was a good set-up. I scrunched into the cockpit, the backpack providing a backrest, the tank bag a comfortable pillow to lean my chest on. The Kawasaki GPZ 750 was a sport bike, but its relative upright rider position was very comfortable for a long haul. And still fast and fun where there are no straight lines to follow.

Being it was summer, meant there was really only one general direction - North.  No maps needed.  I had my face shield up as I drove through the congestion of the bridges and construction zones outside of NYC. Then North. Away...

I probably should have checked the weather, but the Throughway has plenty of overpasses to rest under when sprinkles turn to torrents. I needed two of them, then pulled into a rest stop for a break. So now I was a bit wet, and I must have had some crazy helmet hair, but all those staring faces  made me uncomfortable. I used the bathroom, facilities, washed my hands and holy crap....  My face was speckled dirt and eyeballs, almost black.  NYC and bikes don't mix well.

Somewhere up in the Adirondacks, tired and hungry, I pull into a comfortable little restaurant. Stretch my legs and seat myself at a quiet table off to the side. The waitress comes over.

"Out for a long ride by yourself, huh?"
"Yep."
"I'm just getting off. Beer?"
"Yep."
Back with two cold pints of beer, "Mind if I join ya?"
"Nope."
It was an enjoyable dinner. Easy warm smile, deep brown eyes that paid attention.  Unspoken understanding.  Guess I did a good job washing my face.

Another 20 minutes down the road, I find a cheap little hotel and get a room key. I'm tired. Its raining. I drive the bike through the door and park it next to the bed.  My baby.  No need to unpack.

The dawn wakes me up and I'm ready to ride. I go out toward's the office for coffee. The old white haired lady who owns the joint yells at me, "Where the HELL is your bike??"
"Um, its in the room - it was, um,  raining and - don't worry, it um, doesn't leak oil - I..."
"Oh", laughing loudly, "I don't care about that. I thought it was stolen! Go get yourself some coffee. I just made it, hot n' fresh."
"OK, thanks."
 Cool.

Smooth, twisty, single lanes winding through the mountains are the best roads to Ride. It becomes a moving meditation. Rhythm. Both feet, both hands, on automatic, no thought, your body swings its weight into the gravity void inside the curve. Into the zone. This is the real ride.  The Ride.  The Destination.  Fortunately there are two sides to every road. Open into another corner of your mind, and slow the bike down. The Adirondacks are just to pretty to race through. Pull over at nice spots and look around. Drink from a clear stream. Take an hour to gaze at a pair of Peregrine falcons doing their thing.

Off into the east, the Green Mountains of Vermont are softer, gentler, with miles and miles of green rolling hills. Hit the throttle. Its 1AM. The cool of the night has fog settled low in the valleys. Its getting late and I'm in the middle of nowhere with no clue. I'm just riding the twists at 75mph, enjoying the destination, until I find somewhere to crash. Pun not intended. Then I smell -

~~~~~~
Then I smell - COWS. The STRONG smell of cows. Manure and cows. Backing off the speed, I slice a corner and find almost no room left to break. Cows. (If you ride, it is a very, very good thing to practice hitting the front brake hard, at speed. Maximum front brake without skidding is the second fastest way to stop. The fastest way being to hit something). Like cows. They are sleeping in the road. Over 50 of them. I stopped with a good 10 feet to spare, but the closest one didn't even flinch. Not even a moo! I beep my horn - still no moo. And they are not about to move, let alone moo. Weaving through them is harder than negotiating those cones during the licsencing test. At least if I fell over the bike would be ok. The cow too, I'm sure.

The White Mountains of New Hampshire contain some of my favorite spots in New England. Its 79F at the base of Mt.Washington. At the summit, its 37F.  Rugged beauty. On the decent, my breaks start burning, even though I'm abusing the gears to slow me. This area is as close as the east gets to the west. At the bottom, I collect my little "This Bike Climbed Mt. Washington" bike bumper sticker, which is kind of cool, but its not going on the bike.

Still heading east, I'm scouting out a place to camp along the Kangamangus Hwy. This gorgeous stretch is famous for its own congestion when the leaves peak. Apparantly the leaves on this road are "special". To be fair, it is a special place. I pull over here and there for some short hikes and watering holes. Double back, locate my spot - an small vague, grassy road with a granite boulder blocking traffic. I head in and find a nice bed of pine needles for my sleeping bag. Dinner is GORP. Cashews, peanuts, sunflower seeds, raisins, and MnM's. I sleep early with the darkness and cool pine air. Long day tomorrow.

Further east, down route 302 to Naples, Maine. Great food and cold beer at Rick's cafe. Watching para-sailing and float planes on Long Lake from my outside table. I'm starving. The result of last night's dinner. Clams, mussels, lobster, corn on the cob. Twenty minutes south, I pull into a special place. One particular cove on Sebago Lake. I say hi to friends and swim in the refreshingly cold water. Its still "refreshing" in June. Its too nice here, I stay the night.  I feel at home.  Happily tired.

In the morning, I hit the interstates heading south. A journey. Paying tolls is a pain in the butt when you are on a bike. But there is always room on the ferry when you have no reservation. Its a rough day, so the crew ties my bike to the iron rafters with heavy rope. Across Long Island Sound and I'm home.

I check my phone messages. The boys want to go riding.

We settle on fishing.