This excerpt from an 1795 map printed by Mathew Carey and Samuel Lewis shows the southwestern part of the Province of Maine, the area through which I bicycled in 2010. The map was part of the first printing of an atlas of American by an American printer.
Portland is near lower center; Lake Sebago, unnamed just above it; the "White Hills" of New Hampshire to the left; and Pemaquid Point and Monhegan Island are to the right.
Ten tombstones, their owners sent to heaven;
As tired as Charlie is, will he become eleven?
July 15 — HAINES CORNER CEMETERY, Maine
I bicycled out of Gorham under sunny skies and skipped off the main highway, crossed the Androscoggin River and followed the North Road, which parallels U.S. Highway 2 but is a small, shady road with almost no traffic. The woman at the visitor center also said I would have a better chance of seeing moose. I saw a woodchuck.
The Androscoggin River meanders southeasterly, the same direction I was going and it means that my path is downhill on the whole, but there's only 700 feet to lose between here and the coast, so it's not like I'm on a superslide.
I quickly passed the Maine border and eventually reconnected with U.S. 2 at Bethel. The legs are firming up and pedaling seemed to go well. Like usual, my shoulders still suffer, but everything else seems good.
I had planned to stop at Rumford Falls for the night. There was a motel on the west side, well before the downtown of the city, so I kept going thinking surely I would find a hotel or motel closer to downtown. No luck. I kept pedaling assuming I would find a hotel at the next large town, Livermore Falls. No luck again.
Both Rumford and Livermore seemed to be built upon the lumber industry. The smell of paper mills was the same as what I had encountered in Pine Bluff and Nashville, Ark., many years earlier.
I kept going. I rode through Mexico and Peru. Really. I kept on until I was too tired to keep going. I pulled over and pitched the tent between a vacant house and a graveyard.
And I fell asleep after eating a Quaker Chewy Granola Bar.
The Gorham city commons, train depot and the Coos County court building.
July 14, 2010 — GORHAM, N.H.
Another short day of riding coming up the valley of the Israel River, over a slight divide at Bowman and down the valley of Moose River. To the south of me, somewhere swallowed by the clouds were the Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Eisenhower and Washington mountains.
A front moved through last night, brought rain overnight and low, dark clouds for most of my ride today. The rain held off until late in the day by which time I was happily ensconced at the Top Notch Inn.
I just finished piling a bowl of pasta into me. The pasta. Not the bowl. So I'm pretty happy.
The scenery here is simply gorgeous. The White Mountains seem to mix the luscious green of the Ozarks with the granite ruggedness of the Rockies. The highway followed some rolling hills before dropping into the Israel valley. I must have passed two dozen or so bicyclists riding west in four or five groups. Never saw anyone going my direction today. Too bad for them.
Almost forgot. Santa's Village. It's not at the North Pole. The North Pole is here in New Hampshire, on U.S. Highway 2. I stopped at the parking lot, which was packed. I was surprised to find that it was as humid as the rest of New Hampshire. I won't stop there again. It took me 15 miles to get "The Little Drummer Boy" out of my head.
July 13, 2010 — LANCASTER, N.H.
I took a rest day of sorts. Monday was such a long, hot and tiresome day that I decided to forego my plans to head north to Island Pond and instead took a short ride up the Connecticut River from Littleton to Lancaster, about 30 miles. I did take the time to cross the river on an old covered bridge just so I could ride in Vermont for a short spell.
It was also the flatter route.
My occasional posts by iPhone will cease, unfortunately. I lost the phone somewhere along the way today. So don't bother texting me at the moment. Or calling. I'll be running silent for a little bit. I needed a new iPhone anyway.
As a result, I'll try to hit wifi spots along the rest of my route back toward Maine to add updates. The weather here is quite warm and as humid as Arkansas at the moment. So I'm fairly glad to have made the option for shorter days, and hopefully easier roads.
The last six miles, I rode into Lancaster with a local named Tom who told me where to find groceries, get pizza, and directions for tomorrow's ride.
The White Mountains of northern New Hampshire.
July 12, 2010 — LITTLETON, N.H.
Overnight, the bear came back, but I slept right through it.
And apparently none of my food did appeal to it.
I headed back onto Kancamagus Highway under blazing blue skies. Soon, I arrived at Sabbaday Falls and made the short hike to see them. They reminded me of Indian Creek near Kyle’s Landing, except even prettier. Legend is that the falls were named by workers who were building on the original road. The named it after the Sabbath Day, but it got shortened to Sabbaday.
Just after the hike to falls, the roadway kicked up to a 9 percent grade and I slowed down to 3.6 miles per hour for the next hour or so until I made it over Kancamagus Pass, elevation 2,855. The ride down into Lincoln was a blur. I hit 40 mph at some point on the long downhill stretch.
From Loon Mountain ski area, I found a bike path paralleling the highway into Lincoln. I grabbed some lunch at Lincoln. The temperatures had been so hot and the sun so bright, though, that food didn’t really feel very good on the stomach.
Lincoln seemed like a town built mostly on tourism, summer sports like hiking, bicycling, kayaking; winter sports like skiing, snow-shoeing and ice skating; and fall and spring touring through the mountains by car or motorcycle. Lots of shops welcoming bikers. About half the people at Kancamagus Highway overlooks seemed to be from Canada. Guess that's what happens when one country's economy takes a dip and another swims above the current.
I headed out from Lincoln west toward Woodsville, a slight diversion since my goal for the end of the day was Littleton to the north. But there was a rail-trail between Woodsville and Littleton that I wanted to ride if it was suitable. I had read about the trail but couldn’t find out whether it was paved or not.
It turned out to be the wrong day for diversion.
The road between Lincoln and Woodsville went straight up the valley of Lost River and over Kinsman Notch (sounds like the storyboard for a Johnny Quest cartoon, yes?) By straight up, I mean it had a grade that made the Kancamagus seem as flat as Kansas. The last mile or so,
which was somewhere around 11 or 12 percent, I had to push the bike. I simply
couldn’t pedal anymore. The heat didn’t help, but the grade was just too much.
The long ride downhill to the Wild Ammonoosuc River valley was pretty but not worth the pushing on the back side. I stopped at Scooter’s Mini-Golf and Grill for a cup of vanilla ice cream. That was almost worth the push.
Sadly, the rail trail from Woodsville to Littleton wasn’t suitable for a touring bicycle. A mountain bike would probably handle it, but the old railroad bed still had lots of sections over which large gravel and ballast were left over from the railroad days. Highway 2, which followed the same valley, proved to be a nice ride and even a little shady by the end of the day.
I needed the shade by the end of the day. The sun and the mountains took their toll on me.
I’m booked into the Littleton Motel, the oldest motel in New Hampshire, a dubious brag. Thayer’s Hotel just down the street opened about a century earlier, so perhaps every year means something for a motor hotel. The little motel was really quite nice: knotty pine paneling, a view of the Dunkin Donuts, close proximity to downtown.
Sleep. Now sleep. Dream of donuts.
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.
On the Kancamagus Highway through the White Mountains National Forest, I stopped off to see the Albany Covered Bridge on Sunday. A thundershower meant that I got to inspect the bridge thoroughly while waiting for the rain to clear.
The national forest had no Wifi, so I'm a bit behind on posts.
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