Lobster, the Green Mountains, and beyond

All in all, my stay in Nashua, NH, was pretty uneventful. I got to bed too late, so I woke up a little later than expected, but I had already decided that I was stopping at the beach in Maine, so it wasn't going to be a long day. After a crappy bagel sandwich from Dunkin Doughnuts, I pedaled off. My mileage for the day was going to be somewhere in the 60s, so I made sure to get more than half knocked off before I got off the seat for a break. The little convenience store I stopped at was not a busy place. The woman working at the counter asked about the trip and offered me a slice of very greasy pizza while we talked. It accented the Dunkin Doughnuts breakfast quite well.

I saddled back up and pushed on towards my final Atlantic coast state. When I got across the bridge that brought me into Maine, a man that had been out for a run stopped to chat. Apparently this man, Tim, had ridden across the country in 1975. That was before it was the cool thing to do. We chatted for a while, and he took my picture by the sign announcing my entry into Maine. The man even offered me a place to crash for the night if I was interested, but I had been pretty set on the idea of camping on or near the beach, so I declined.

Everyone I met that heard I was going to Maine said I needed to eat lobster when I was there. Tim pointed out a place called The Hebert Brothers Seafood and said it was the best place around, and probably the best price, too. I walked in and told the man at the register that I had never been to Maine and I had never had lobster. I'm pretty sure they cut me a pretty good deal, but we don't need to discuss numbers. I got a bowl of chowder, a big pile of steamed clams, and two lobsters. Holy crap, that was a lot of food. The guy even showed me how to eat all of it. This guy ended up being one of the Hebert Brothers (namesake of the restaurant), and the other brother had been in and out a bit too. Seriously, the food was excellent, I saw them pull the lobsters out of the tank, and they were just all around great guys. As I was on my way out the door, they came outside and we got a picture, the two brothers and I, in front of the restaurant (I keep promising pictures, but that takes a while on my little computer! I promise they're coming!).

From the Hebert Brothers, I went on (slowed a bit by the seafood filling my stomach) to York, ME. I knew that the campground my GPS was directing me to was right on the beach, so I was going to see the Atlantic (which I had already swam in while in Delaware), but when I came over the last rise and was face to face with the Atlantic Ocean, knowing that the next morning I would no longer be heading in a northeasterly direction, but turning west, felt strange. On the rare occasion that people would shout to me while I biked past, "Where you headed?", and I didn't have time to explain where all I was headed, I would just say, "Maine" so we could both go on with our lives. I suppose now I'll have to answer, "the Pacific" when that happens.

The campground was beautiful. From my tent I could have thrown a rock and hit the ocean. I mean, I'd have to be warmed up, but you get the idea. Pretty close. Other sites at this campground were literally feet from the water, like if they threw their rock and tripped, they'd fall in the ocean themselves.

As I was setting up camp, a woman named Ann came wandering by. We exchanged pleasantries, and she asked where I was coming from. I ended up at her campsite enjoying a cold beverage and talking about traveling. Eventually we went out to supper, where I enjoyed another part of the local cuisine: Haddock. I used to hate fish, but I think that was when the only fish I had ever had was from a box and in the form of a stick. The restaurant was pretty cool, too. The lobster tanks were right where you stand in line to order, and you can reach in and pick one up if you want.

The next morning I departed from the beach on my first day headed west. One thing that always rough about leaving the beach on a bicycle is that everything is uphill from there. The first day of climbing away from the beach was pretty mild. As I was meandering through the woods of southern New Hampshire, I happened upon a fellow touring cyclist. This was pretty exciting, considering I have cycled well over 2000 miles without seeing any other bikes with bags on them. Katrin is a German school teacher, who was using her 6 week summer vacation to tour around the northeastern U.S. She flew into Boston and was just kind of riding wherever she felt like going. I rode with her for a few miles, but she stopped at a campground a few miles before I intended to call it a day.

I pressed on to the Oxbow Campground in Hillsborough, New Hampshire. I was pretty shocked to find that they only had one site available upon my arrival, but it worked out well for me. They had a small spring-fed pond with a small beach on it, so I went for a dip. While enjoying the cool spring waters, I ended up talking with Eric and Leann about my travels. They, like the crystal ladies, gave a little towards the "help feed Neal" fund. I'm amazed at how freely some people have handed me cash to support me in my journey before even hearing that the ride is intended to raise money/awareness/whatever for Mennonite Disaster Service. I have seen how the recent economic condition has affected many of these places, and how it isn't getting too much better for some people, yet when people hear about me voluntarily leaving my job, choosing to be unemployed and travel around on my bicycle, they take cash out of their pockets and hand it to me. Eric and Leann told me to think of them as I enjoyed a nice big burger with their money. I'm certainly not getting rich or even breaking even off of the money people have handed me, instructing me to go have a nice meal, but I hope people are also throwing some money in the direction of MDS. When I passed through there a couple weeks ago, I think a little over $1400 had come in. I don't really know how to set a fund raising goal for this trip, but I think that sounds like some pretty good money so far.

When I left Oxbow Campground, I knew I had a heck of a day ahead of me. Everyone kept telling me that Hogback Mountain was coming up, and that it was going to be a heck of a climb. Along my route, Hogback basically started my travels through the Green Mountains of Vermont. Just before Hogback, I took a long lunch break in Brattleboro, Vermont, outside of a grocery store. I just sat, enjoying the shade, and made small talk with passersby and employees coming out for a smoke. Out of curiosity, I checked the weather in Wilmington, Vermont, (my intended destination for the day) and it was almost 10 degrees cooler there. Since it was a hot day, that was motivation to get to the top. I jumped on the bike and headed out of town. The climb started gradual, but consistently up. Eventually it got steeper, with a few switchbacks that allowed for a brief break from the climb. Near the top, there was a brief descent before the final ascent to the peak of my journey for the day. When I reached this first, lower peak, a storm cloud seemed to appear out of nothing. As I made this short and steep descent towards the final climb of the day, giant raindrops pelted me. As the drops stung my face and arms, I thought back to the good ol' days on the farm, and how much it sucked to get caught out on the 4-wheeler in the rain. At this point in the day, however, I had just climbed 1600 feet without getting off of my bike and I was dead set on getting to the top of that mountain, rain or shine. I'm glad that nobody was within earshot except a few cars, who obviously didn't have their windows down. If anyone would have heard me during this part of the trip, they would have thought I was out of my mind. I would compare my behavior to that of Lieutenant Dan in the movie Forrest Gump when they're out on the shrimping boat in the storm, you know, where Lt. Dan is on top of the mast, yelling at God and the storm and laughing. I don't think I was yelling and laughing at God so much as just the storm. I was dead set on making it to the top of that nearly 2000 foot climb without getting off of my saddle. The intensity and momentum that I had gained from that brief storm was stripped by the anticlimactic dissipation of the storm and my chain slipping off. I got off the bike, put the chain back on, and pedaled the last couple hundred feet of vertical.

When I reached the top, there was a small gift shop where about 30 motorcycles had stopped, all of which had passed me going up that long climb. They were all preparing to pull out, but as they saw me approaching the summit, several of them started cheering me on. A couple of them seemed impressed with the climb, and then thought I was completely out of my mind when I told them I started in Louisiana. At the gift shop I enjoyed some ice cream and the spectacular view before descending to Wilmington, Vermont, which is apparently somewhat of a ski town in the winter.

Luckily, the first two places I stopped in search of lodging were full. The third place I stopped was the Old Red Mill Inn, and it proved to be a great place to stop. The room was very small, but it was a cozy kind of small. I mean, anything bigger than my tent is living the high life for me. On the main floor they had a restaurant that seemed to be their primary source of income. It was a fantastic little place. The bar area was open to the outside, and they had space heaters hanging from the ceiling for spring and fall patrons. I settled up to a bar stool in search of a bite to eat, and ended up sitting next to Katherine and Miller. Katherine didn't stay too long, as she had a concert to get to, but Miller and I talked for a while. Apparently he had a minor bicycle accident earlier in the day and ended up with some stitches in his elbow and a jammed shoulder. Miller ended up covering my meal and providing great company for the duration of the evening.

The next morning a journalist from the local paper came to the hotel to get a picture and ask me a few questions about what I was doing. It pushed my start time back a little, but it's good publicity for MDS and the ride.

Coming out of Wilmington, there was one pretty steep but relatively short ascent to start things off, but after that it was mostly down hill. There was actually one very long down hill, but it was stripped of some of its entertainment value because of the headwind. It was an 8% grade for more than 3 miles. I'm pretty sure it was an 8% grade in Virginia or Kentucky that got me my current speed record of 49.5, but on this fairly windy day, I was holding steady in the mid 30s the whole way down. After things started to level out, I came across another touring cyclist at a gas station. He was on his way from Oregon to Maine, and had even taken time to ride B.R.A.N. (Bike Ride Across Nebraska) when he got to the plains. We ended up chatting for nearly 2 hours in this gas station. Our conversation moved around from cycling to philosophy/theology to science and eventually to some of the reasons for taking a long solo bicycle trip. He asked me why I'm doing this, and wanted a better answer than, "For MDS" or "I felt like it". I know that a better answer to the question, "why" is out there, behind this journey, but I haven't really found it yet. I've got a couple different answers I tell people, but I'm still trying to figure out why I'm out here. Paul, not a particularly religious man, said that maybe there were a few people along the way that he was supposed to meet. One of those people that he had encountered, a man in his mid 70's, told him, "That's what's wrong with people, they're afraid to try things." Not an incredibly profound statement on it's own, but in the context of the conversation Paul and I were having, I believe it caused us both to pause for a moment. The conversation encompassed much more, but that's not for this blog. He's helped me formulate a few questions I should try to answer over the next few thousand miles.

A little ways down the road I came across a couple of Surly LHT's (same model as my own ride of choice) parked outside of a McDonald's. It was a father/son duo that was working on finishing a two month ride from Oregon to Maine. It's nice to see other touring cyclists up north after such a drought of them through the south and east.

At about the time I met these two cyclists, my mother called me. She had just landed in Albany, NY, with the intention of renting a car to come drive with me for a couple of days towards the Niagra Falls. Apparently Albany (yes, the whole city) had no cars to be rented. They were all out because of the horse races in Saratoga. I ended up finishing for the day in a small town called Amsterdam, NY, so mom caught a bus to come there. I asked the guy at the hotel desk where the bus station was. He remembered me as the cyclist, and asked how my mother was going to get from there to here. When I had no answer, he gave me the keys to his truck and said I could use it to pick her up.

This morning I got up, got packed, and hit the road on my bike. My mom still didn't have a way of getting out of there, but she said she'd work on it. A couple hours later, she pulled up beside me in a U-Haul truck. I couldn't help but laugh. Apparently renting a U-Haul is cheaper than renting a car by a considerable amount. That's one of those things that I'm going to have to remember. After lunch (and a bit of a rain delay) I threw my bags in the back of the truck and rode on without them. It actually felt like someone was pushing me after I got rid of the bags. It was amazing to feel how quickly I move with each pedal stroke after ditching all of the gear. A headwind did pick up, and it reminded me that the plains states are coming, and they're not that much easier than the mountains. No amount of climbing can prepare you for a headwind, and no amount of headwind can train you for climbing. The particularly irritating thing about a headwind is that you can't even psychologically prepare for it. I know when I'm going to hit a mountain range. Wind is one of those things you find out after you're in the saddle.

At this pace, I think we will get to Niagra Falls in two days, at which point I will cross into Canada for a couple of days. Hopefully everything stays working and I can keep making up the ground that I was behind. By the way, in the last 7 days, I've covered 568.4 miles, including crossing the Green Mountains. Forgive me for not blogging sooner, I've been busy. Again, have patience on the pictures. Right now I need sleep, so you all have to wait on those a little longer.