Cyclostravaganza 2007, Day 4: Twin Mountain NB to Portland ME

This would be the longest day's ride on my trip. I wanted to make it to Portland, Maine, by that evening, because of my ferry reservation the next morning; but I had not made it quite as far as planned on each of my previous days. So it would be the longest day - and perhaps the most challenging, as my itinerary would take me through the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

As I was packing up my bike on the veranda in front of the hotel, two outrageously cute red squirrels were staking out their turf. Red squirrels, unlike their grey urban cousins, are highly territorial, and it shows.

I stopped at a local coffee shop in the strip mall for breakfast - two egg mcmuffin-style sandwiches, orange juice, and coffee - and tried to keep from ogling the ridiculously attractive staff member.

It was a bit foggy and misty as I set out. That was a bit disappointing, as the kindly bike mechanic in Abercorn had suggested this would be the most beautiful part of my whole trip. I couldn't really tell because of the clouds/fog/mist, but I think that must have been Mount Washington behind the Hotel New Hampshire in Bretton Woods. Even so, the Bretton Woods municipality's town sign was worth photographing, in honour of those economics classes I'd taken.



At first the scenery was nice - like a larger version of Marshy Hope, Nova Scotia, perhaps - but a bit disappointing, because I was expecting more.



And then, well, I got more. Route 302 took me through Crawfod Notch. Wowee! Suddenly there was a huge valley/cleft, with me and the road on one side, and a sheer near-cliff on the other side, so steep that it was treeless in places. I cried out loud "wow!" to anyone listening as I descended wheeeeeeeeee all the way down the valley in a wonderful rush of glee.



I stopped at a friendly bike shop shop in Bartlett, where they cleaned my chain for me.

North Conway was attractive but a little on the cookie-cutter-side. It bustled with tourists shopping up a storm at the various factory outlets, big-box-stores, and temples to mass consumption. On the way out of town, I succumbed somewhat; I saw a Louis Garneau outlet, where I picked up the "bento box" I'd been wishing I had for days now. It fixes onto my top-tube, at the intersection of the down-tube, and keeps my camera and cell-phone within easy reach.



It started to rain as I crossed into Maine. (How funny that it stopped to rain as I left Vermont and entered New Hampshire, and then started to rain again when I left New Hampshire for Maine. New Hampshire, though, had hardly been dry to me. In any event, Maine was the best-smelling part of my trip; with good reason is it called the pine tree state. I also some some nice wild flowers: red lilies, and a wild corydalis.



I had a nice picnic - fancy crackers, habanero-studded cheddar, and (canned) pineapple - at the edge of a lake with beautiful wildflowers.





I sat on a perfectly-shaped boulder, under pine, oak, and maple trees; the boulder had a survey marker on it, so I suppose it shouldn't be hard to find this spot again. I walked around a bit, and found some massive highbush blueberries growing wild, along with poison ivy.



After my lunch, I continued on my way. It was a nice ride, but even with snack breaks, I was getting tired, especially past Gorham.

Finally I made it to Portland. Alas, I sprung a flat tire on the outskirts. I didn't even realise I had a flat until I noticed that it was too hard to advance, and looked at my tire. Grrrr! It was raining, and I really didn't feel like unloading my bags, struggling with the flat, getting dirty, and putting bags back. I checked the map of Portland I'd picked up earlier in the day at a Maine tourism bureau; it looked like I was just a few blocks from my hotel, so I decided to walk. I discovered that my map was not to scale, after walking 5km through the rain to get to my hotel, over hilly terrain, with slippery brick-paved sidewalks most of the way.

It was about 8:00 PM when I arrived at the Danforth Hotel, located very near the waterfront in a charming old house. My grumpiness couldn't last long; the hotel was very beautiful. I was famished - justifiably so, I think, after 12 hours and almost 160km - but it was getting late in the evening, and I wasn't sure what restaurants would still be open. The owner/hostess recommended Katahdin, as it was nearby, accommodating, "and they always serve pasta." I was expecting a very casual family diner, which, as it turned out, it decidedly was not. Katahdin is a lovely with a very modern and deluxe menu. I started with a wonderful carrot/corn soup; if only all restaurants put this much love into the daily soup. I followed with beautifully presented lemongrass halibut, and concluded with a delicious blackberry upside-down-cake with homemade vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce. (The latter tasted deliciously of caramelised sugar, not just brown sugar; no short-cuts here, it seemed.)

I returned to my hotel, well-fed and happy, and had just enough energy to wash my laundry in the bathroom sink before falling asleep around 11:00 PM.

DAILY RIDING STATS
MXS   47.8
AVS   19.7
DST  158.31
TM  8:02:03
DEP 7:45 AM
ARR 8:00 PM

Cyclostravaganza 2007, Day 3: Island Pond VT to Twin Mountain NH

View of the White Mountains, as coming into Twin Mountain NH.

Another late start, but not for failure to get up early; this time,
I blame the weather and mechanical problems.

I arose around 6am, installed myself at my campsite's picnic table overlooking the lake, and enjoyed the quite beauty while I ate breakfast (bought in town at the grocery store yesterday) of muffins, cherries galore, cheese, and espresso. Espresso? Yes, I travel with a portable espresso maker, source of heat, stainless-steel demitasse, and my own ground coffee. Who wouldn't?

I watched a squirrel amuse itself greatly at a neighbouring campsite, where the occupants had left all sorts of foodstuffs out on their picnic table overnight. I guess that wherever you go, squirrels will be squirrels.

As I was packing up, it started to rain. Grr. It's much harder and slower for me to pack up when cramped inside the confines of a tent. Eventually I was ready to load everything onto my bike....

...when I discovered that two of the four bolts that hold my rear bike rack in place were missing, and the third was quite loose. Although vandalism was my first thought, I quickly ruled that one out. I can only suppose that the bolts had rattled themselves loose, and am grateful that the rack (and my bags) stayed put. I was pretty distraught over the question of how to transport my bags without a functional rack, and with nary a bike shop in the vicinity. I left my bags at the campground reception, biked back into town to the hardware store, and came across a very helpful clerk in the store. How lucky am I! I could have spent hours trying to figure out what size bolt I needed, but she eyeballed it and soon I was re-fitted of rack, back to the campground to retrieve my bags, and on my way.

I was hoping for a bike shop to check my rack, but there was very little of anything other than forest as I passed through East Brighton, Bloomfield, and Maidstone (where I'd hoped to camp). Past Bloomfield, I edged along the Connecticut River valley, which was very beautiful. Alas, there was plenty of rain along this stretch, and a surprising (given that I was shadowing a rail-line) abundance of hills. The combination of hilly terrain, heavy loads, and wetness meant I ate through my brake pads front and rear... making finding a bike shop even more important, but not much less elusive.

I left Vermont and crossed into New Hampshire at Stratford. The rain stopped (for a while at least) and the terrain seemed less hilly. In Groveton aka Northumberland I discovered that muncipal mergers and correspondingly confusing roadsign are not just a Canadian phenomenon. More importantly, I stopped at an outdoor (hunting) store, and found out that the nearest bike shops were not so near - one in Lancaster, the next in Littleton - far and farther, respectively.

I arrived in Lancaster around 2pm, anxious to replace my brakes, only to find out from a shopkeeper that the bike shop's owner had died just three weeks before. He suggested I look into taking the tourist-trolley-service to Littleton, and referred me to the tourism office down the street for more information... where I discovered that I had just missed the last trolley of the day by a few minutes. Grrr!

When in doubt, or in foul spirits, eat; so I headed to Lancaster's local American/Chinese restaurant. The sign indicated "no Chinese food today" so I had non-Chinese eggs, toast, ham, and surprisingly good coffee. I called the bike shop in Littleton, got directions , and discovered that they would be closing at 5:30pm. It was now about 3:00pm, and Littleton was about 30 hilly kilometres away, and I wanted them to have time to fix my bike before closing... so off I sprinted.

To get to Littleton, I had the choice of a route that went inland (routes 3, 142, and 116), or a route that hugged the Connecticut River (route 135), so I chose the latter expecting fewer hills. It's hard to imagine that the other route could have been hillier! There was a very long climb into Dalton, where I decided not to take a detour up "Mount Misery Road", followed by a long descent (which could have been more enjoyable if I weren't so worried about my brakes) followed by more up-down-up-down.

Around 4:45pm, I arrived in Littleton, a very very pretty town, and after stopping at a garage to ask the outrageously attractive cashier for directions, I soon found the bike shop. The mechanics were very friendly and helpful, and they checked my wheel alignments, replaced my brake pads, and such. When they lifted my bike and bags and realised how heavy it was, they weren't at all surprised I'd gone through my brake pads so quickly, so I bought spare pads to take with me.

I contemplated staying in Littleton, but decided I had some daylight ahead of me and a long day tomorrow, so I pushed on. In Bethlehem NH I saw a surprising number of Jewish signs, many in Hebrew. On my way out of Bethlehem, I had a magnificent view of the White Mountains, probably Mount Washington.

My happily repaired bike soon carried me into Twin Mountain NH, my destination, on the north-western edge of White Mountain National Forest. I was a bit concerned at first, because although the scenery was stunning, the town along route 302 looked like it had been abandoned 40 years ago - then I turned onto Route 3 and found the real town. I decided to spring for a hotel so I could let my tent dry, and so I would be able to get an earlier start the next morning. Istopped at the general store (in a grand old building that looked like an erstwhile hotel or railway station or railway hotel) to ask advice on where to stay, and got a recommendation for Lyons Hospitality (I think that's what it was called) which turned out to be a hostel. Since there was no one else there that night, for $20US, which was cheaper than any campsite I'd stayed at, I had the room to myself. I walked across the street to the appealingly-named Shakespeare Inn. The proprietor, one Mr Shakespeare, is a man of Caribbean origin, and for supper, I had Jamaican chicken soup, bread, roast jerk pork, rice, mashed potatoes, orange juice, and apple pie. (Hello, carb-loading!) The pie was okay, but everything else was wonderful. I retired to my hostel room, happy to have a private shower and a real bed to sleep upon.

DAILY CYCLING STATS
MXS   47.4
AVS   21.0
DST  127.00