The day began with another New England hill: short (well, relatively short at only four miles... looking back now when I'm not in shape, I doubt it would have seemed so short) but fairly steep. We crossed into New Hampshire late in the morning, then wove back into Vermont a few miles down the road for a second breakfast. After breakfast, we returned to New Hampshire, for good this time.
That afternoon we came to an intersection flanked by fair trucks and orange tape. They were directing traffic away to the left because the flood had damaged the road ahead of us. "There was another cyclist earlier," one of the firemen told us, "he just rode straight through... he didn't even stop to ask for directions." All four of us (Jerry was still eating his second sandwich at a sub shop back up the road) shared a knowing glance: this could only be Steve's handi-work. The detour, though a bit longer, was also much gentler than the road we avoided (which the map said was quite steep.) We rolled along for the extra mile and a half before coming to the real climb... and the rain. As we began the ascent, the sky darkened, then began to spit lightly. We made our way to a shallow valley between two hills before the rain really struck.
The ground was already soaked, and within minutes there was standing water on the road. The rain fell harder. Suddenly, Michael, then Rick, and then dad veered off to the left. Instinctively I followed. Ahead of us was a the yellow opening of a battered old garage, with a car up on stilts blocking most of the entrance. Rick rolled up to one of the mechanics, "Mind if we watch you work on that truck?" he asked dryly.
The mechanic shook his head and grinned, "Nope. Ya can come in all the way if ya want." A woman appeared around the side of the car and beckoned us all further into the garage. Our coats dripping on the floor, we watched the mechanics work replacing a wheel. At one point I dug out my bag of goldfish from my panniers and I heard the mechanics joking with dad, "Yeah, lookit that one. Eatin' his goldfish!"
"I would be too." A second mechanic said.
When the rain seemed to have slackened as much as we could hope for, we set off up the other said of the valley. The rain stopped entirely, and the sky stayed a murky gray for the rest of the climb. The sky grew progressively darker as we rode down the other side, and by the time we reached the bottom, it began to rain again. As we began frantically searching for a hotel in Lincoln, Michael got a call on from Jerry, "Hello, this is Jerry and I don't want to camp!" Michael assured him that we didn't either, and that we'd have a hotel by the time he arrived in Lincoln.
Surprisingly, most of the hotels were already full, and we were just checking into a condo (not too expensive when split five ways) when Jerry arrived. The rain kicked up to full throttle as we stashed out bikes on the porch and hauled our bags into the living area. The dripping, muddy pile on the floor looked like something from a refugee camp. We all showered, and I made myself a cup of hot chocolate, then we ordered pizza. "I'll have a small garlic and anchovy." Rick said. My dad gave him a disbelieving look, "No really, I'm serious. It's delicious! That's how my wife and I knew we were meant for each other: I took her out for pizza on our first date, and she said, 'It's sort of weird, but I want a garlic and anchovy.' and I said, 'Me too!'" The rest of us ordered pizzas and salads. As we ate, the TV got switched to some old Clint Eastwood western... none of us really watched, but it added to the masculine mood. After dinner, a couple of Michael and Rick's friends stopped by; they had been taking a chocolate making class in Vermont, and as dad said in his journal, "they brought free samples!"
P.S. Sorry for the quality above writing... so far after the fact, everything seems rather surreal and vague. Sometimes it seems hard to remember that all of this actually happened to me. I remember the images and settings quite clearly, but only the occasional dialogue. This is also the part of the trip that I gave up keeping a journal on because I'd just cover it in the blog as soon as I got home... well, three months later it's a lot harder to do that than I imagined. So, my apologies if it feels rushed or vague, and my apologies for taking so long to get this far (I can't imagine anyone has really put up with me procrastinating this long...). Hopefully (but no promises) I can finish the last four days by the end of the month(?).
~Seth
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