Day 6, The Final: Boonville to Rome, NY, 26 miles

(Note that this map is interactive. You can zoom in, show contours.)

I write this from the dry comfort of the Amtrak train taking me back to my car in Rochester. Although I changed my plans out of wimpiness, I'm still feeling pretty smart because it is raining steadily, and it's supposed to rain for the next two days. So the weather is helping make me feel better about quitting early.

And in my defense, I should say that my original thought for this trip was to do exactly what I'm doing, namely train to Maine, bike to Utica (or, in actuality, Rome, which has a more convenient train schedule.) Riding all the way back to Rochester was simply a late change that would have allowed me to technically ride across the country if I picked up the trip in Buffalo, since I had already ridden the Buffalo-Rochester segment. But you know what? That's a stupid reason to ride more than I want to (in the rain, no less). The cross-country-by-installments model is hereby defunct, but it wasn't really a good plan, anyway. Doing the whole thing in one shot for the sake of accomplishing it, well, that's one thing. This leg through spectacular country was reasonable. But why would I spend a week riding across North Dakota just to say I did it? I'm sure North Dakota is nice, but I think I can find a better place to spend a week riding.

So this change of plans does feel reasonable. I didn't catch the train two days ago in Ticonderoga (even though that was seeming like a mistake when I was in the middle of my long long day in the wilderness), so I'm not a total wimp. And, although not the motivation, the rain today and tomorrow helps.

And, in an unexpected bonus, today's short ride (I ended as I began, off the route guide) was absolutely lovely. The road was basically downhill all the way from Boonville to just outside Rome, through the gorgeous Black River Valley. Wow! It felt like a victory lap or something. I left very early, just because I didn't want to feel rushed packing up my bike, I wanted to avoid the morning rush hour traffic, and I wanted to miss the rain. I reached the Rome train station with two and half hours to spare, but that was fine. (It's a beautiful station, which made it pleasant to spend time in.) I will reach Rochester in time to drive home today.

Before packing up in the Rome, NY, train station

After the transformation. Ready to jump on the train.

I have now followed the ACA (Adventure Cycling Association) route guides for many miles, on several routes. They are very good, very accurate, very complete. But I am not convinced that they are good for me. There's something about being able to keep track of the route seemingly foot by foot that takes away from the general sense of where I am. Only seeing a tiny slice of the map, often pointed in the wrong direction (relative to north) can be disorienting. More than once, when I took out a normal map and looked at where I had been, I couldn't believe it. The distances and directions looked wrong. 

I think I may prefer relying on conventional maps, even just the state maps, using gray roads, or, even better, nice county maps, referring to GPS in problem situations. I don't know. Future trips may be circle tours of different areas, in which I improvise the route and find my own accommodations. The ACA guide is only marginally useful in recommending services, restaurants, hotels, and campgrounds. A grocery store is anything from Safeway to Mable's Beer and Cig Stop. Fred's Corner Motel was listed as one of the choices in Long Lake. One of hotels listed for Boonville was beyond scary looking. It's not really ACA's fault. They can't update every guide every year, although they try with regular addenda based on user comments (a few of which I'll be contributing). 

But I think future tours are going to need to be more carefully planned in advance by me; I'll create my own route guide. I'll make reservations, and not fret during the day about where I'm going to stay or eat. This is exactly the opposite of a Ken Kifer tour. Fine. I'm not Ken Kifer.

May I say a few words in praise of my "clown bike?" My Bike Friday New World Tourist was a marvel. It carried 35 pounds (at least) with no problem at all. With Schwalbe Marathon tires (also the best, the touring standard), the bike rode wonderfully. It didn't feel slow (in fact, this morning I was averaging 15 mph on my admittedly downhill run), it was wobbly in back, but every loaded touring bike wobbles. And, really, it was more stable than my touring trek has been when loaded in a goofy way. The Bike Friday never shimmied, always tracked true, and felt completely stable even going more than 30 mph.I loved having the step-through frame. If I were buying a full-sized touring bike, I would buy a Riv Mixte in a heartbeat. And at the end of the tour to be able to take the pedals off, fold up the bike, pop it into its soft case (which I carried with me the whole trip), and jump on the train, well, that's quite miraculous.

 

In the photo above, notice the handlebar bag. It is a Velo Orange bag for which I have crafted a "rackaleur" out of a 1/4" aluminum rod. The bag support wraps under the stem, over the bars, then forms a little shelf for the bag to rest on. Works great. 

So, that's that for now. I'll be refining these posts in the future, adding pictures, so if you were interested, check back for the more official edition.

(By the way, in case you're wondering, these posts were typed on a small Amazon Basics bluetooth keyboard into my iphone running the Blogger app. The keyboard fits perfectly into my handlebar bag, and the hard clicky keys (as opposed to rubbery squishy ones) are close enough to full size to make full-speed touch typing possible. Highly recommended.)

Day 5: Long Lake to Boonville, 76 miles

After a lovely night in the Corner Motel (which I would give -1 star to, but I would still recommend for its, um, character (both in the person of Fred, the proprietor, and in the general character of the place), I walked over to the Stewart's convenience store and got a cup of coffee and a still slightly frozen apple fritter. Frozen? Hm. Usually one thinks of baked goods as being baked. No matter. It fueled the engine.

I was on the road by 7:00. I'm glad I was in the motel last night, because the temperature was 32˚ when I got up. My sleeping bags are only warm down to about 42. (How do you plan for a trip that starts in the 90s and ends in the 30s?)

It was a lovely, if chilly, morning, and the riding was lovely. I was mostly heading down out of the mountains, so the road was mostly flat, with a few significant hills (but nothing like yesterday). This was more populated country, so there were towns every ten miles or so; that is, there were a few houses, some outboard motor repair businesses, and a couple of gas stations.

On the way to Inlet, NY

But it got progressively more developed as I headed down. The town of Inlet felt downright resort-like, and the town of Old Forge felt like Coney Island, complete with theme parks and knick-knack shops. Not really an improvement, except the quality of the convenience stores took a marked leap. The two slices of pizza I had for lunch were outstanding.

This was to be my last day on the route guide, which took me south to Boonville before turning west and heading for Lake Ontario. Becuase I had decided to end two days early, I would be continuing south to Rome, where I could catch Amtrak at noon tomorrow. I was tempted to go all the way to Rome and stay there, but I decided the extra 25 miles served no useful purpose, assuming I could find a place to stay in Boonville.

From Old Forge to the turnoff to Boonville (9 miles), the ride was fast, mostly a steady downhill. I barreled along at 20 mph much of the time. The road to Boonville was hillier. (Again: backroads don't try to minimize hills.)

I had two choices in Boonville: A tidy looking private canpground that was 3 miles outside of town, or the Headwaters Motor Lodge, which had mixed, leaning to very negative, reviews on Trip Advisor. I really didn't want to spend another night with Fred or his equivalent. But I also didn't want to be three miles outside of town, or camp in the rain (which was predicted).

So I took a chance on the Headwaters Motor Lodge. The fact that the large lawn was neat and tidy, and they had just taken the time to plant marigolds along the front walk, suggested that maybe the proprietors cared at least a little about the place (unlike Fred, who seemed to be planning on not fixing a thing before he died.) 

The price was right (in the $50s, again), and the room was . . . acceptable. Slight cigarette smell, but you know, as long as you allow smokers to rent rooms, you're going to have that smell  because, well, because they stink. You notice it on a bike. When a car of a smoker goes by with its window open, you smell the stink EVEN WHEN THEY'RE NOT SMOKING.

Do I sound prejudiced against smokers? Sure. They can help it. If they quit smoking and burned all their clothes and their car and their house, they wouldn't stink any more.

Anyway, this motel made sense to me when I saw the signs in the lobby directed at snowmobilers. That's what this palce was: A snowmobile motel. I've stayed in them before when I was a skier.  I'm sure they're hard on motels. (One sign said, "Snowmobilers: You're renting a room not a party barn." Oi.

But there was TV and a powerful shower and a tiled bathroom floor (with a real bathmat!). It was OK. Dinner at the Boonville Hotel. Lovely place, nice people, so-so chicken and biscuits. I think I just ordered the wrong thing.

This was a perfectly good 76-mile day, considering that my butt hurt. Nice weather, no wind, lots of downhill, adequate service stops. Actually, the pizza in Old Forge was the culinary highlight of the trip.

I was well positioned to head to Rome and Amtrak, and thence to Rochester and my car. I hope it hasn't been towed.

Day 4: Middlebury, VT to Long Lake, NY, 85 miles

As the title of the post suggests, I opted to go for it, to set off into the Adirondacks. I got to Ticonderoga, after a beautiful ride through the last of Vermont, and had to make my decision. There was a giant hill out of town, which I could see from the McDonald's where I was deciding. I opted to ride up the hill, and decide from the top, since going back down wouldn't be a problem.

Outside Ticonderoga

At the top, I hated to waste the effort, so I continued on.

The Green Mountains, where came from

The Adirondacks, where I was headed

May I just say from the truly scary squalor of the "Corner Motel" in Long Lake where I currently reside, that I'm sorry I did? Once committed, I had no choice but to bike all the way through the Adirondacks. There's no turning back once you're in. (Actually, I did consider turning back, riding back down to Ticonderoga, but that seemed too unlikely. No. My best option was to do a heroic day today, positioning myself for a descent out of the wilderness tomorrow. In fact, I've had enough of this trip, so I'm going to jump ship when the route guide puts me within 25 miles of Amtrak. I'll catch the train to Rochester on Thursday, two days early. Enough is enough. 

Anyway, one of the problems with biking through the Adirondacks is that they are devoid of people in the off season. I rode on Blue  Ridge Rd (which also had a number from North Hudson to Newcomb. Totally beautiful scenery, beautiful road. But I got sick of it. Just trees and mountains and burbling brooks. What's to like? No traffic. Almost literally no traffic. One car every 10 minutes, maybe. Even that was a little desolate.

The thing about biking, for me at least, is that it's not always a great sight-seeing medium. First thing in the day as the fog is rising from the lake and the birds are twittering, the sun is just lighting up the tops of the mountains, my butt boils haven't started hurting, sure, that's nice and fun. But later in the day, bike touring is about biking. Actually, it's about surviving, reaching the destination. It's just hard to have fun when your butt boils are killing you. Or when you keep hitting granny-gear hill after granny gear hill, as it was on Blue Ridge Mountain Rd. with many many hills, some quite formidable, and there are no distractions, well, it becomes work. It's hard to sight-see when you are slogging. In NH and VT, I didn't experience this, despite the heat. There was variety, there were towns, there were people. I could go from town to town, river valley to river valley. The bike was a good way to get about. But today? Oi. Just hard work. 

So there's not much to report for this day. I rode and rode and rode. My butt hurt. There were no towns, literally no gas stations or convenience stores. Just trees and mountains, all very beautiful, but not very appreciated by the end of the day.

The high point of the day was lunch at the Jellystone Park camp store in North Hudson. A touch of civilization in the wilderness. (Obviously, under any other circumstances, I wouldn't call a Jellystone Park campground civilized. But today it was heaven.) I probably should have just spent the night there. I had done 50 miles or so. I was tired, but not whipped. I could have taken a dip in the pool. Gotten a milkshake from the camp store. Then, another 50 miles through the beautiful but desolate Adirondacks, stopping at Blue Mountain Lake, perhaps, at a state campground (which would have showers. Then, once out of the Adirondacks, I could have gone back to 70 miles days. That would have been fine. But it's not what I did.

I just kept on keeping on. When I finally rolled in to Long Lake, it felt like it was 8:00 pm. It was only 5:30, a perfectly reasonable time to be done. But it had been a long long day. I literally stopped at the first motel I saw, right in the heart of town: The Corner Motel, run by stooped over, legally blind, 90-year-old Fred. The place was a shambles. Hadn't been painted in many years, gutters falling off, screen doors that had no screens or even the original door handles. I even had a look at a room before agreeing to stay. It was horrific. But somehow, I wanted to give Fred the business, and it was close to a restaurant and a quite nice convenience store, and he gave me the biker's deal of $50. Worth at least one penny of that.

The Corner Motel, Long Lake, NY

At least it had a nice setting.

 As with all old scary motels, it had a persistent background stink of stale cigarette. Note to self: If I buy the Corner Motel to run in my retirement, tear out EVERYTHING that might harbor a cigarette stink: Carpets, bedspreads, mattresses, paneling, acoustic ceiling. A cigarette stink is a killer these days. Everyone has gotten used to things NOT smelling of stale cigarettes, and we've come to like it.

What a barbaric society back then, when we thought it was OK to smoke indoors. What else could we have done in the same spirit? Fire up the barbie and having a cookout in your room? Set up a little campfire ring? Bring your dog into the room and let him pee on the bed?

Anyway, these old motels are doomed if they can't solve the cig prob.

So I walked over to the Long Lake Tavern (maybe it was called that) and had a Philly Cheesesteak. The bun was particularly good. As were the two beers.

Fred told me that there was no cable TV because he had been fighting with the cable company. So I didn't get to watch TV on the 12" portable. But I was highly amused to find that the motel has WiFi! The sign out front said "Open All Year!" (not true) and "Free Coffee!" (not true), and "Cable TV" (also not true), but it didn't mention WiFi. The best thing about the motel was the convenience store just around the corner.

Oh! One more thing! Instead of a bath mat, there were paper "bath mats" on which was printed: "Dear Guest: For your convenience we offer you these sanitary bath mats! Just place them on the floor next to the tub or shower." But they were paper! Not even very thick paper. Fred Fred Fred.

Day 3: Orford, NH to Middlebury, VT, 78 miles

Now that's more like it! What a beautiful day! Temps in the low 70s, fluffy clouds, lots of sunshine, low humidity. It was a day of big climbs, but they were MUCH easier in the cool.

It was foggy and damp when I left The Pastures at 7:00 am. The wet clothes and shoes were exactly as wet this morning as they had been when I went to bed. Sigh. The best way to dry clothes on a bike tour is to wear them, so I pulled on the squishy shoes and dripping socks, wet arm covers, and wet long sleeved hi-viz shirt (over a dry short sleeved shirt and dry shorts), and set out. 

I followed the routine that Jon and I have always preferred, namely riding for 10 miles or so, to the first breakfast place or convenience store. Today it was a convenience store on the Vermont side of the Connecticut River. The ride along the river was quite lovely, even including some dirt road, which I liked. I passed some pretty fancy houses; probably Boston fat cats avoiding paying taxes. After my passable convenience store coffee and unspeakable donuts (I bought six and threw five away) I set off, up out of the river valley and into the start of the Green Mountains. The first climb up to Thetford Hill was a good warm up. Five hundred feet or so, some which required my granny gear. But I was feeling pretty good.

After some lovely riding along rivers, the climbing started again before South Strafford. I eventually gained 1000 feet in about five miles. As usual, the downhill was fun. Right before Sharon, it got REALLY steep. I was glad I was heading west not east. Many of these climbs are steeper on the western side. Note to self, don't go west to east.

Road art in the Green Mountains

At Sharon, I hit the White River, which I would follow for much of the day. It got smaller and smaller as I went higher and higher. It's always fun to get to know a river that way.

I had a quite tasty chicken salad sandwich at a convenience (where I learned the storms yesterday had been much more severe in Vermont than where I had been in NH, knocking out power all over the place. I saw armies of utility trucks, literally dozens in a row, presumably heading to the various power outages.

The roads along the White River were both awful and nice. In spots, they were the main route to somewhere, so there was lots of truck traffic. But after that route peeled off, it quieted down. Just lots of steady climbing, with occasional quick steeps, until Rochester. This is obviously tourist country, if not tourist season, yet. I was lucky, because I missed the crowds, which must be formidable, in order to support all the coffee shops and B and Bs. I bought pasta salad and a quart of sports drink, found a park bench, took off my still squishyt shoes, released my wrinkled feet from their wet encasement, and had a little picnic in the park, getting up my energy for the last climb of the day up Middlebury Gap.

The White River in VT

It was as bad as I feared, but much better than it would have been if still hot (or if I were going west-east). It was four miles of gentle climbing followed by two miles of straight up. I plodded along in my granny gear (which on the clown bike is absurdly easy). I was going so slowly that walking would have been as fast. Although I did stop several times on that final push, I never walked. In fact, when I slowed my pace down to the point where the bike nearly fell over, I found that it wasn't so bad. Agonizingly slow, but doable. Summiting was a triumph, particularly because I knew that I was done climbing for the day. Just 12 miles down hill remained.

This time, as was enjoying the downhill ride, I judged that most of the west-east ascent was not too much steeper than what I had come up, except for the very first part out of the valley, which was absurdly steep. I really don't know if I could have made it up that initial 15% (according the sign, but it seemed steeper) incline.

I felt a little sad leaving the mountains for the last time. I love mountains, and I hate leaving them. Particularly for the noisy, trafficky Lake Champlain valley.

I think riding on the busy loweland highway discouraged me. I was suddenly feeling ready to chuck it all, to catch a train in Ticonderoga and head back to Rochester and my car. And the thought of heading out into the wild and wooly Adirondaks was equally daunting. I know how empty they are, at least this time of year, when there are no tourists. Perhaps I should just declare victory and end the trip?

I decided to put off deciding until Ticonderoga in the morning. The train was scheduled to go through at 2:30 pm, so I had plenty of time to decide.

Delicious "Michigan Style" chili dog at the A and W next door to my motel. (The motel had signs plastered everywhere: "Absolutely no bikes in your room! And that means you, Bruce Taggart, PhD." I decided to play dumb and put my bike in my room. Even more delicious than the chili dog was the chocolate milk shake. OMG it was good. Jon would have had a root beer float. I opted not to honor him by having one.

As I was reviewing the trip and thinking about ways of doing it without a route guide, I noticed in Trip Advisor that several people had raised the alarm about BED BUGS in this Middlebury motel. I noticed the plastic mattress cover (part of a bed bug treatment), but I didn't make the connection. I didn't notice any bed bugs . . . but just to be safe, I quarantined all my gear in the garage when I got home. No bed bugs in a campground, at least none that you didn't bring yourself. Note to self.

Day 2. Conway to Orford, NH. 77 miles.

STILL HOT! Ugh. It got up to 90˚ today. Better than 93˚, but not much.

The started beautifully, after a lovely muffin and coffee from the Conway Quicki Mart (or whatever it's called). The first 7 miles were up a little used road that parallel the state highway (on the other side of the Swift River). Lovely start to the day.

Covered bridge over the Swift River on Passaconaway Rd.

The first order of business was to be Kancamagus Pass, the highest on the trip. I figured doing first thing, when it's relatively cool and I'm relatively fresh would be a breeze. Oh I could have used more breeze. The first 18 miles were great. Either gradually up, or even stretches of flat. But the last five were serious mountain pass action. I was able to do it in middle chainring/easy rear cog, so not nearly my easiest gear (which was lucky, because I couldn't get the front derailer to pull the chain onto the small granny gear.) But it was a long slog. And pretty darn warm. The views were great, and the ride down the other side was outstanding. Three miles of 9% grade, followed by 9 miles of steady down, to Lincoln.

Crossing the summit after a long climb.

I learned that people take offense when I insult their towns (see my discussion of Ohiopyle, PA), so I won't insult Conway. But I could. But Lincoln was better. Seemed more vibrant. Maybe it's just more touristy. And it had a McDonald's! I installed myself and started drinking diet Cokes. I also had a Filet O Fish sandwich and a blizzard or flurry or flizzard or whatever they call them. I felt rested and refreshed when I left. And I hadn't looked at the elevation profile on my route guide, so I was able to kid myself that it would be mostly flat to North Haverhill. I mean, it looked like it went along a river . . . that could be a nice meandering river valley, couldn't it?

Not quite. This not-called-a-pass pass was shorter than Kancamagus, but significantly steeper. And hotter. I was suffering, at least until I managed to bend the front derailer and rediscover my lowest gears. That was a relief. But this "pass" was perhaps even more spectacular, since it goes up the flank of a nearly 5000' mountain, which is big around here. (Mount Washington, the highest in these parts, is 6200 or so.) This pass was where the Appalachian Trail crosses the route, after it goes over said 5000˚ mountain. That must be quite a hike.

From the top of the not-pass, I could see that the sky was darkening. I knew that there were storms moving through the area as a cold front moved in (please!), but there was no way of predicting when that would be. So I set out at the beginning of the day and hoped for the best. So there was the ominous sky in the west, obviously moving my way. Could I make to to North Haverhill before the storm did? I gave it my best shot. 

It was lots of downhill, of course, as I descending into the Connecticut River valley. Not all downhill, however. There were a few nuisance climbs as I wound around for the final plunge.

I had about 13 miles to the "town" of North Haverhill, which my route guide promised had full services.  Figured I'd be safe there. So I hurried. The storm hurried. I hurried. The storm hurried more and won the race. I was one mile short of "town"  when it hit. The rain came a pummeling down, and I needed a place to hole up. And there it was! The sheltered side of a bus repair service garage. Just an overhanging roof, really, but it was enough for me. I cowered in the shelter and watched the storm rage. Not a lot of wind, but lots and lots of rain. Copious amounts. Torrential amounts.

It did let up, and I did venture out, hoping to find a place to sit and ponder my next move. I didn't find it. Just a convenience store. I bought orange juice and was on my way. Maybe the rain was done.

Not.

Why did I hole up during the storm? As I was riding south toward the only port in the storm, The Pastures (odd name) campground, the sky opened up again.

By the time I arrived I was totally soaked. But I have to say, that last 15 miles in the dusky rainstorm along the Connecticut River was very pleasant.  It was a blessed relief to be cool (if wet). When I rolled in to The Pastures, the nice owner charged me only $10 and said I could pitch my tent under the pavillion, a covered area that is used as a little performance space in summer (complete with glitter ball!).

So as the rain pounded on the metal roof of the pavillion, I set up my tent, using chair legs instead of tent pegs. It was perfect. All of my clothes (at least what I had been wearing) were soaked, but my tent and sleeping gear were dry.

The Pastures was a typical private "residential" campground. Lots of parked RVs, many with decks, most with party lights, serving as summer homes. But why there, on the not very beautiful banks of the Connecticut River in a not very beautiful campground? Don't get me wrong: It was a typical private campground of its sort. Perfectly usable restroom, quite nice showers, but not where I'd want to spend my summer.

I went to the "store" up the road and bought their finest baked beans. (Actually, I bought Campbell's, instead of the much better Bush's) and a 24 oz PBR. Cooked it up on my little alcohol stove, went to bed dry and happy. Luckily, my air mattress made the hard wood floor of the pavillion as soft as a feather bed. (I always sleep very well in my lightweight mummy bag on my full length Big Agnes air mattress. Highly recommended.

So what did I learn on this day? I can ride the mountains, but I don't like heat. My little clown bike (OK: Bike Friday, New World Tourist) rides great. It even carries quite a heavy load in panniers.

I didn't learn this today, but I remembered it from previous trips: I don't like that feeling at the end of the day of not knowing where I'm going to sleep that night.  To be honest, I was hoping for a cheap motel, where I could dry off, drink PBR, and watch TV. The Pastures was fine, I slept great in my tent, but it's not exactly getting out into the great outdoors.

So in this way, the shorter days that Jon prefers are ideal: You set a modest goal, and when you get there you quit. None of the end of the day scramble for a place to stay and its nagging anxiety. You go 50 miles and you stop. But that's not in my nature.

 I know that I could always do a Ken Kifer and stealth camp, but that just doesn't sound fun. I admire Ken Kifer's style of bike touring, but it's not for me.

Really, what I like about these trips is the biking. Camping is fine, but it's hard to call it camping when you're in a pitty private campground surrounded by party lights and satellite dishes. I enjoyed going 77 miles today, over a couple of whopping passes, and being in the middle of the beautiful White Mountains. Perhaps I should just do loop tours through beautiful areas: Green Mountains, Adirondacks, Rockies, Cascades, staying in Inns and motels at predetermined distances. Hm. 

Summer Tour, 2013: Day 1, 60 miles

Oh brother was it hot. 93˚ by mid afternoon. Here it was snowing two weeks ago, and now it's in the nineties.

From the comfort of my air-conditioned motel room in Conway, NH, I can say that it was awful but I survived. I wasn't sure I would, though.

Because I was leaving from Portland, I had to improvise the route until I rejoined the Northern Tier guide in Freyburg. I picked a reasonably direct route that used a combination of state roads and back roads. Both have their advantages and disadvantages. Back roads are quiet and pass by interesting local scenes, but they have the bad habit of going straight over hills. This is true around the country, and I normally don't mind, but IT WAS HOT! I was baking on those slow slogs. And my front granny gear doesn't want to catch. (Actually, there's something going on with the cable; either it's too loose . . . Actually, that's probably it.)

State highways, on the other hand, tend to go around hills, following river valleys when possible. But they are loaded with traffic. Many of them in Maine have wide shoulders, which makes the traffic irrelevant. But many don't. The last half of the day was on those roads.

But the riding would have been totally fine, even the roller coaster hills, if it hadn't been 93˚.That was just too hot. Getting out of Portland was easy (after a tasty breakfast at this bike tourist's favorite restaurant: McDonald's. (Ask me about the $1 soft drinks. No need. I'll tell you when I get to the second HOT day.)

I didn't hardly get lost (thanks to GPS, of course). And, once on the state highway, I slogged along, stopping frequently whenever a small patch of shade appeared.

I do know better, but I just didn't feel like eating, and I didn't have the usual snacks. This part of Maine is not exactly a riot of convenience stores. I bought OJ and caramel corn from a campground store on Lake Sebago. But I didn't even eat the caramel corn. Too hot. And I certainly didn't drink enough. Don't ask about my urine.

As I neared Freyburg, I stumbled on a new rail trial, less than a year old, which took me around, not through, town. It was a risk I was willing to take, because there was a visitor's center at the end of the trail, four miles away. I figured it would be air conditioned, and they'd let me sit. It was, and they did. Nice folks, in a Welcome to Maine (from NH) tourism deal. I drank lots of cold water and cooled off in their air conditioning. My plan still was to go to Conway, get something to eat (or buy groceries, then push on for the first National Forest campground, which was sure to be nice. (They usually are.)

But after seven miles in the still brutal heat, I was ready to vomit when I reached Conway. Riding another seven miles up the Swift River valley seemed impossible. If there had been a McDonald's (or its fast-food equivalent) where I could have vegged out and rehydrated (and had dinner) and cooled off, I could have made it. But there wasn't. There was a Mexican restaurant and an ice cream stand. (Even that didn'ty sound good. That's how far gone I was.) So I stretched out on the grass, in the shade, and considered my options. 

The best one seemed to be to go back to the Scenic View Motel, which I passed on the way into town. So I went back, hoping that it wouldn't be $150. It wasn't: $70. All the air conditioning (courtesy of a wheezy Heier window AC unit) I could want. For dinner? Jonathon's Seafood Restaurant. It looked like fried clams were the specialty. My clam chowder and haddock were fine. I was in and out in about 15 minutes. I should have taken a book. Or a friend.

Blissful sleep in a quite comfortable bed.

What I learned this first day of my solo tour: I hate hot. I wasn't prepared for it, with my ultra light shirts that I soak in water and then wear wet for blissful airconditioning. That would have helped. I still could have done it with the T-shirt I was wearing. Why didn't I? Note to self.

I also learned that motels are quite nice. Although Jon and I don't interact very much in the camp site, his company is nice to have and makes a camp site in a dingy private campground a little less pathetic. When I'm alone, air conditioning, wi-fi, and cable TV look pretty good.

So that was day one. I was not looking forward to another day of heat, particularly going over the passes in the White Mountains of NH.