July 11, 2010 — PASSACONAWAY CAMPGROUND, N.H.
Light came too early. I kept my eyes closed and tried to
savor the last bit of sleep.
Then the inevitable. I packed up. The rainfly was damp from
sprinkles during the night, but everything else went onto the bike in quick
order.
I was on the highway by 8:30. I wanted the early start
because I knew this would probably be a little bit longer day than most. I
didn’t know how long.
I missed a turn and continued around the north side of Lake
Sebago rather than heading west toward Conway, N.H. The mistake probably added
10 miles to my ride, which is like an extra hour in human years. Getting back
on the right path, I had to go over two fairly steep mountain roads. One of
them was called Long Hill Road, and the name was neither metaphorical nor ironic
save for the use of the term “road.” The “roads” in Newton County
put Long Hill Road to shame. While I’m on the subject, many of the secondary roads in
Maine are really bad. I understand the economy of not providing shoulders, but
many of these roads could just use lanes.
Anyway, I made it into New Hampshire not long after noon and
found much better roads. From the state line to Conway, the shoulders were
about three feet wide. The morning hills had worn on me, though, and there were
a few points where I thought my legs might cramp. I began weighing whether to
stop in Conway for the night.
The thought of a hotel room and restaurant food were nearly
overwhelming, but I got into Conway a little faster than I expected. The legs
weren’t perfect but had done much better since I had been on the wider
shoulders and could pedal at an easier pace.
So I kept going.
Out of Conway, I followed the Kancamagus Highway. (A quieter
road called Passaconaway Road paralleled the highway, but I couldn’t find it on
the state maps, and my iPhone lost service once I got out of Conway.)
Nevertheless, the Kankamagus Highway proved a nice ride. It follows the Swift
River upstream, slowly gaining elevation as it climbs into the White Mountains National
Forest.
Along the way are historic sites, hiking trails, picnic
areas and beautiful views of the Swift River. I stopped at several places, once
to plop down in the river and cool off.
My favorite spot, though, was the Albany Covered Bridge,
built in 1857. It’s gorgeous and still used for traffic. A brief rainstorm sent
me scurrying for its cover, and soon I was joined by four motorcyclists trying
to avoid the rain. After about a half hour the rain stopped, and I headed back
out on the highway.
I’ve come to rest at Passaconaway Campground. It is nearly
empty and quiet and shady. I can hear dozens of birds in the trees, chirping chipmunks
on the forest floor, and the occasional snapping of tree limbs as a black bear
wanders through. OK, I can’t really hear the bear, but the campground hosts
stopped by my campsite to ask whether I had any food a bear might like.
Is there any food a bear does not like? My response was not
taken in the vein of good humor that I had intended.
Apparently there’s a black bear that likes my campsite and
was rummaging through it and a couple adjoining campsites yesterday, scaring
the living daylights out of the families who were here for the weekend.
Truth be told, I don’t have much food a bear would want. I
barely have food that I want.
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