It was fallishly (that's a word, right?) brisk as I began the ride around 9am this morning. The ride today would be entirely along roads. No railroad trails in sight. And I knew there would be some hills. The roads were all pretty good, except for one (more on that later). The shoulder width varied, but in most cases I felt pretty safe.
After three days of silent contemplation while I rode, I decided to return to listening to music I hadn't heard for a while. I began with Buckwheat Zydeco's "Taking it Home." I like Zydeco music, but can't say this was a favorite album. Maybe that's why I hadn't listened to it for quite a while. Next I listened to "The Best of Cher." I have to confess I was pretty taken with Cher at one time — pre-nose-job. I like Lyle Lovett quite a bit and hadn't listened to "I Love Everybody" for some time, but his voice isn't the best for accompanying a ride, especially with traffic noise. I'd forgotten about having an album by the Cluster Pluckers called "Unplucked." This was probably my favorite rediscovery today. It's a fun combination of folk, country, bluegrass, and gospel, played by some very good musicians. "I'd give it a nine, Mr. Clark, because it's got a good beat and easy to ride to."
I didn't take many photos today, but this sign did catch my eye.
I had to wonder if it was a direct route to Seattle.
We had decided to meet in Dover for lunch and to check out a cemetery where Rose Stoughton Otis is buried. If our genealogy is correct she's Dee's 7th Great Grandmother on her Father's side of the family. We found the cemetery, but many of the headstones — as we'd been forewarned by a site on the internet — had been destroyed, including Rose's apparently. Here's a photo of Dee at the cemetery.
The town was abuzz with a fall harvest festival. Traffic was incredible and finding our way through the morass was a bit frustrating. Dee remarked "why did they have this festival today, didn't they know we were coming?"
A short way from the cemetery we found a place called Patty B's, an Italian restaurant where I had a great meatball sub and a nice pale ale, and Dee had a caprese pizza. Once sated we drove through the downtown melee to the edge of town where I picked up the ride again. And, just as I began, so did the rain. I got a chance to practice the Art of Riding in the Rain (sorry Garth). I think I've mentioned before that I hesitate to begin a ride in the rain, but don't mind so much being rained on once I'm out. That's good, since it rained for quite a while. Luckily, I had a wide shoulder on route 9, which I was on for some distance. I should mention that in New Hampshire route 9 has been designated the Franklin Pierce Highway and the route traces nearly his entire life from birth, through college and law school, to Concord where he practiced law for years.
Google's GPS always tries to be helpful, and today was no exception. I was happily cruising along on route nine, wide shoulder and all, when the voice in my head said "turn right on Dennett road." If one looks at a map, the turn makes sense. It bypasses the village of Berwick and likely saves a mile or two on the process. However, when I first turned and saw some less-than-smooth asphalt, I thought "maybe this wasn't such a great idea." I should have listened to myself. I continued on as the road got no better and then suddenly became this.
The road had been scarified , probably in preparation for resurfacing. This photo doesn't even do justice to the condition of the road with large chunks of asphalt. About a mile into the ride and unsure of what might lie ahead I turned around and returned to the familiar wide shoulder of route 9.
Farther along the road the voice returned, urging me to take another "shortcut." This time I thought "fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me." I stuck to route 9.
Just as I turned onto route 9b (not a shortcut this time, but a route to our campground) I spotted this wonderful mailbox stand.
It's also the point at which I began to see fog ahead of me, coming in off the Atlantic. As I joined U.S. 1 it looked a bit like a parking lot. It was stop and go traffic for the mile or so to the campground.
I'm in the last state of this ride — Maine. That's the 9th on this year's ride, and twelfth altogether for the two-stage cross-country ride. Dee hadn't been in Maine before and I'd only been in Portland and the vicinity for some meetings a few years ago. It's Dee's 50th state (it was my 49th the first time here, but I've since been in Alaska for all 50).
Ride Day Thirty-One by the numbers:
61.7 — miles ridden
2726.4 — feet in elevation gained
6126.98 — calories burned
4 — fall-free days
0 — dogs
Thanks to Beth Golay, who does the blog "Books and Whatnot," you can also follow the journey on Story Map.
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