The Awkward Pose

Miles Today: 82

Miles to Date: 622

May 15, 2015 – Sunny, 60 degrees

I had a big task today: 82 miles plus over 4,000 feet in elevation change. So, I abandoned my custom of a long afternoon break and took short but frequent stops instead. I got a bag of GORP, which I ate every ten miles or so. That, along with a breakfast bagel sandwich, sausage and pepper sub, 2 diet cokes, a quart of Powerade and a big cookie, were all consumed by the time I got to my destination shortly after 4 p.m. This proved a better strategy for long distance days than arriving after five or six.

The first third of my route was a beautiful ride along US Route 5 through the Connecticut River Valley. I passed large farms, rocky waterfalls, and travelled through many lovely towns. Windsor is particularly charming, and was the place where Vermont’s Constitution was signed. I never knew that Vermont was an independent country from 1777 until it joined the union as the fourteenth state in 1791.

Then came a series of rises through Springfield, Chester and Londonderry. The greens were amazing, the yard sculptures odd, and the forest so dense the wind was never a factor.

The last section took me over Bromley Mountain and back down into Manchester. The climb was fine though long. The decent – over three miles of 8% grade – was all the thrill ride I ever need.

My housemate Paul is from this part of Vermont, so I know it well. I stopped at his usual grocery, got take-out for dinner, and was happy to be in my motel room on the far side of town for a relaxing evening.

Miles Today: 37

Miles to Date: 540

May 14, 2015 – Sunny, 70 degrees (eventually)

Like most optimists, I look at the high temperature forecast for the day and figure, oh, that’s good. I need to start looking at the morning temperature as well. It was beautiful today – sunny skies and crisp, but it was only 29 degrees when I went speeding away from D Acres at 6:30 a.m. By the time that I realized my hands were freezing, despite Goretex gloves, I was almost halfway to breakfast and decided against stopping to fish out the hand warmers in the deepest pouch of my ‘wet’ pannier. By the time I pulled up at the diner in Canaan, my fingers were numb. Lesson learned – check the morning temp and keep my hand warmers near the top of my stuff.

The next twenty miles through Enfield and Lebanon were much more pleasant. I arrived at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center by 10:30 a.m. to meet with folks from facilities and their arts program. After a great lunch that included fresh local fiddleheads and wheat berries on my salad, I spent most of the afternoon catching up on writing at a window with a great view of the inpatient pavilion I designed over twenty-five years ago. The pod form is dated, but the building still looks great.

Late afternoon I pedaled through Hanover, where the undergraduates were enjoying the day on the lawns, and crossed the bridge into Vermont.

I stopped at the Appalachian Trail maker to acknowledge that five years ago my son Andy walked across this bridge in the opposite direction on his way from Georgia to Maine. Now I am traveling west on two wheels. That trip shaped much of Andy’s life, and inspired me to be ore adventurous myself. I owe many thanks to Andy.

I spent the night at the home of Marianne and Dave Barthel, and their daughters Fiona and Ophelia. We enjoyed wonderful turkey burritos from Paul Prudhomme’s Fork in the Road Cookbook – low fat versions of his dishes that taste anything but.

Miles Today: 69

Miles to Date: 503

May 13, 2015 – Partly cloudy, 65 degrees

Nature’s first green is gold

Her hardest hue to hold.

Alas, Robert Frost’s words proved true overnight. The budding trees that stood along the side of the road in Maine are flush with leaves; still small, yet soft green and distinctly shaped. Spring is on the move, the earth pulses with energy.

I started the day as a fly on the wall in a local convenience store, devouring an egg and bacon sandwich and coffee cake muffin while locals filtered in, bought their coffee and cigarettes and shot the breeze with the two proprietors, who knew everyone by name and their order preferences without asking. One guy bought three packs and said he was heading for New York. “Be careful not to sell any singles there. They shoot people there for that.” Like all good jokes, the reference to Eric Garner got s laugh, even as it stung. A few miles down the road I passed a Dunkin’ Donuts with a line of cars in the drive-through. The price of getting our coffee without getting out of our vehicle is human distance.

A morning mist turned into passing clouds and then sun, Brilliant rays streamed through the forest as I headed west on a series of lightly travelled roads. Outside Ossipee I stopped by a covered bridge under construction and got a lesson in timber frame restoration. Sandwich is a picturesque village where every building is classic white. The lakes were pristine; a few fishermen braved the cold water.

After lunch at a sandwich shop along Squam Lake, I headed north, through the cool college town of Plymouth. I had reservations to stay at D Acres, an organic demonstration farm and hostel in Dorchester, the next town over. Turning west on the Tenney Mountain Highway the entire scale of my day went skew. Suddenly, I was on a busy road with wide shoulders and the usual assortment of big box stores. Since there were no major towns behind me, and none ahead, I was baffled where all these people and cars came from. But we are bees to honey when it comes to shopping, and for a few miles I was on a shopping strip as busy as any despite being in rural New Hampshire.

Eventually the stores ended, but the road kept on, and on, and on. My GPS directions were off and the headwind was not my friend. After much longer than I anticipated, I took Route 118 south and climbed to D Acres, a fascinating hybrid of counter-culture agriculture and funky retreat. The main house is full of gorgeously detailed rooms and fine crafted furnishings. The double-headed shower room with integral seat and glass blocks is opulent as any spa. Balance that with the composting toilets and hand painted agricultural and political slogans on the walls. Joshua Trought, the titular owner and main farmer, wrote a book about the place, The Community-Scale Permaculture Farm.

D Acres can accommodate up to 100 guests, but was pretty empty this early in spring. A dozen or so staff and visitors shared dinner, an incredible buffet of beef ragout, diced potatoes, parsnips, greens with tahini, and rice with mushrooms and nettles. All I could eat for $12.

Its turkey-hunting season in New Hampshire, and wild turkeys are as rampant around D Acres as they have become in Cambridge. Josh and his crew shot four in and around the property today. After dinner they defeathered, scalded, and gutted the birds prior to freezing. Anything that a half dozen people do together can turn into fun, and I got a very hands-on look at life on a community farm, though I did not stick my mitts in the mix.

Miles Today: 59

Miles to Date: 434

May 12, 2015 – Partly cloudy, 65 degrees

I woke up hungry on the edge of town, unsure where I might find any food heading west. Fortunately I came upon a fresh farm stand where I got a couple of bananas, tangerines, a hunk of cheese and a container of GORP. That put me in good shape to tackle 30 miles of rolling countryside through Maine’s Lake Country.

My fascination with ‘stuff’ in Maine struck a new high today. All along the road from Auburn through Minot people had set giant piles of brush, lumber, old furniture, car parts and mildewed clothing by the curb. At one point I came upon a convoy of four orange dump trucks and a shovel truck. A team of sanitation workers in jump suits put whatever people had piled into the trucks. I am sure that this was not a typical trash day, but it was amazing to see how much stuff was headed to its final resting place buried in a landfill.

The narrow roads of back woods Maine are more like Appalachia than any other area of the East Coast I’ve ever seen. Houses with plastic covered windows and rusted trailer homes are littered with all kinds of yard stuff. Dogs bark loud, but fortunately, they’re tied tight. Towns and lakes with a tourist bent are pristine, but the back roads are cluttered with stuff past use, churches with an evangelical bent, country music references, and American flag motifs.

I stopped at Ricky’s Diner in Bridgton for lunch; patty melt with fries and a brownie sundae dessert. The waitress worked the room like a professional entertainer, brought extra napkins and exclaimed, “If it’s not messy, it’s not good.” Most of the patrons were older than me, and a good deal heftier. But it didn’t take long for folks to talk across tables, and soon I was passing out my card and asking people about tomorrow. Exactly how I imagined engaging people from a different perspective when I planned this trip. One guy with a deep, percussive voice turned out to be a bluegrass guitarist and singer. Jack D. Jolie has a great YouTube rendition of Bill Monroe’s Old, Old House.

The road to Fryeburg is perfect – a wide shoulder and fresh blacktop through a forest of gorgeous golden buds on black-trunked trees. The rise into Conway, NH is gradual. As I left Maine behind I realized what good luck I’ve had in traveling safe, meeting great people, and enjoying good cycling weather. It will be tough for other states to be as accommodating as Maine.

When I pedaled up to the White Mountain Hostel I realized I’d been here before – 40 years ago on a college ski trip. Then, the place buzzed with winter activity. Now, I am between seasons and it’s very quiet. Still, it’s clean and friendlier than a motel. They gave me a prime room. The view out my window shows the sharp silhouette of the mountains. Tomorrow I am going to live in low gear.

Miles Today: 60

Miles to Date: 375

May 10, 2015 – Overcast, 55 degrees

If the early bird gets the worm, I have a belly full of ‘em. My alarm went off – too loud – at 4:30 a.m. I was on the Surly in the early dawn, rolling through Waterville to get to MaineGeneral Medical Center for a 7:00 a.m. tour by CEO Chuck Hays. Most of the route was along a ridge road named Middle Street, which gave the gray morning a Zen quality.

The bulk of my career was in healthcare design, and I was fortunate to be involved in three greenfield hospital projects. Completely new hospitals are uncommon, and for an architect to have a hand in three is rare. During my journey I plan to visit them all: MaineGeneral (Augusta, ME, 2013), Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center (Lebanon, NH 1991) and Bronson Healthcare (Kalamazoo, MI 1999). Each were state-of-the-art when designed and built, so visiting three facilities spaced about a decade apart should give some sense of how healthcare design has evolved.

Chuck showed me the high points of the completed facility, but what struck me most about his tour was that Chuck greeted every employee we met by name. He spent extra attention describing the staff communication systems and the focus on quality food. When we finished, I rushed back to the cafeteria and devoured two bowls of steel cut oats with fresh fruit and brown sugar. After being up more than three hours and riding over twenty miles, I was hungry.

The ride to Lewiston was uneventful. The weather was nippy, Dense trees in every shade of green stood tight to the road, from golden buds to deep evergreens, but the diffuse light softened their variety.

Lewiston is a former mill town. Although Bates College has a beautiful campus and the Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul is remarkable downtown is struggling. I met with Muhidin Libah, Executive Director of SBCMALA (Somali Bantu Community of Lewiston, ME) in the two-room suite on an upper floor of a grimy, aging edifice.

It was after three when I rode to a motel in the direction of tomorrow’s ride. This was my first night in a motel, and my first night staying with proprietor Patel! On my last long trip, I discovered that Indian’s rule the locally owned motel world, and many of them are named Patel. At least in Maine, that has not changed. I was too beat to venture out for dinner, but my steel cut oats were still stuck to my belly.

Miles Today: 43

Miles to Date: 315

May 10, 2015 – Sunny, 65 degrees

Today I turned the first big corner of my trip. Coastal Maine dawned foggy, but by the time Jim Merkel, Susan, and I enjoyed a vegetable omelet, hash browns, oranges, and toast with strawberry jam, the sun was peeking out. Jim rode the first ten miles with me, climbing away from the sea on Route 137 West. After he turned back at the hilltop overlooking Knox Center, the countryside widened out, the swales became more generous. The farms expanded as well – big Holstein operations eclipsed smaller, more locally focused farms. The landscape felt Midwestern, as did the optimistic village names – Freedom, Hope, Union, and Unity.

Maine has a wonderful web of small highways and drivers are very respectful of cyclists. Route 220 from Knox Corner to Unity is a glorious stretch on a perfect road. I stopped at the Unity General Depot for lunch; a hybrid general store, restaurant, and gas station with Subway and Dunkin’ Donut franchises. So far removed from the organic sustainability I just left. What General Depot lacked in charm and nutritional value it made up for in activity – the place was packed on Mother’s Day noon. This was my first of what will likely be many Subway meals. Subway is the most ubiquitous franchise in the United States, and in many small towns like Unity, it is the only lunch option. As fast food goes, it is better than most; you can pile your sandwich with veggies.

The ride from Unity to Waterville was easy. The day grew hot and blackflies swarmed me along marshy stretches. Why do they always fly in your mouth? Coming into Benton I noticed yard sales, many of them on this lovely Sunday afternoon. Then I noticed storage facilities. Larger yard sales, and even more storage facilities. On our morning ride, Jim revealed how difficult it was to keep stuff in check. Since writing Radical Simplicity he had moved in with Susan, combined two households, fathered a child, bought forty acres, built a house, a greenhouse, purchased a car, and a boat. “I don’t know where to put it all, and I wrote a book about it.” Cycling past yards full of junk, stuff for sale, cars, trucks, and rows of storage buildings, the number of objects along this small sliver of Maine boggled my mind.

I stopped at one of the better organized sales. Chuck Norris, or so he called himself, and his wife have run a yard sale every Friday, Saturday and Sunday for over twenty years. They have a big tent with tables full of paraphernalia, and larger items spread on the driveway on this nice day. It’s their hobby and business. They pick up stuff from auctions and wholesales, and then sit in their driveway during the long summer days passing it on to others. I was drawn to an antique metal Shop Rite truck, but of course I didn’t buy anything. I am traveling light.

I rolled into Waterville to visit my friend Gail just after four, and just before afternoon thunderstorms descended. She and her housemate Ruth gave me a wonderful dinner and we speculated on how we will live tomorrow.

Miles Today: 30

Miles to Date: 272

May 9, 2015 – Cloudy, 55 degrees

I opened my eyes and greeted the domed skylight in the center of the yurt’s roof above me. Dozens of rafters splayed out of create this giant circle. The wind outside made the canvas roof pucker. I was cozy in my sleeping bag. My imagination spun at the thrill of adventure. I simultaneously felt far from home.

There is a consciousness to yurt living, Rose and Jeremy style. Jeremy set a fire in the wood stove. Rose chopped piles of fresh vegetables for a frittata. I took a bath in their deep tub. The long bath was luxurious, but like so much of conscious living, it would be time consuming on a daily basis. The yurt sits on a square concrete walkout basement, which creates odd foundation geometries were round meets square. Rose and Jeremy plan to move the yurt to another plot and construct a more conventional house; divided into rooms, including a bathroom with a shower.

 Being round, the yurt invites interaction, which is well suited to Rose’s work. Two days ago she called me on the road. “Can I do a workshop Saturday morning based on your question?” I was planning a short travel day, so decided linger in Union and participate. Ten people gathered beneath the yurt’s dome and Rose led us through a series of explorations that touched on the individual and community, where we are today, where we’d like to be tomorrow, and how to get there. I must confess being a bit skeptic of group process exercises, but the morning was insightful and emotionally powerful.

When I rode away about one o’clock, I needed a few hours of solitude to process the intensity. The ride from Union to Belfast goes through beautiful countryside, forests and farms. The topography is hill after hill after hill. Long, low gear climbs followed by fast, all to quick, descents. I spent my mid-afternoon break at the Hope General Store with a Diet Coke and Whoopie Pie, a ridiculously sweet Maine staple.

The side of the rod was littered with fiddlehead ferns. I rolled into Belfast about 5 p.m. Belfast is a picturesque coastal town that has transitioned out of manufacturing with great spirit. I crossed the Passagasawakeag River on the high bridge on Route 1. Then I turned off the Atlantic Highway for one final time, and climbed the hill on opposite rise to spend the night with Jim Merkel, long-distance cyclist, environmental education, and author of Radical Simplicity, and his family.