From New England to La nouvelle France (Comments: 3)

I owe RocBike a follow-up post about my biking in Italy – but for now I want to write about a follow-up bike trip I took with Ian, my son, in New England and Québec.

Ian’s living in Providence, so we arranged to meet in Boston and head north from there. I chose to, or made the mistake of, going from Rochester to Beantown by plane, mostly because I had a leftover credit from AirTran. The credit reduced my fare to a staggering 10 bucks! But… the airline charged me $69 to take my boxed bike along. (I could have taken my folder in a large suitcase for nothing, but I wanted to ride my hybridized Kona, which has a gear range more suitable for the kind of “mountaineering” the route entailed.) Lemme tell ya: there’s nothing pleasant about standing outside the busy terminal at Logan Int’l and reassembling a full-sized bike, especially in the dark, and most especially when your bike-mechanical skills are as basic as mine. But this prefatory transpo-adventure had a happy ending. I got the bike together, made my way to a subway station a mile or so from the airport, and got to downtown Boston without entirely losing my sense of direction or my cool, such as it is.

Ian had an easier time: he took his bike aboard the commuter train from Providence and met up with me in the heart of Boston. Then, after a stop at an excellent Back Bay bikeshop for some last-minute adjustments, we boarded Amtrak bound for Portland, ME.

On this route, Amtrak accommodates bikes the right and proper way: for a $10 surcharge, you can roll your bike aboard (loaded with panniers or not) and stow it in the oversized luggage area. I can’t see why this service couldn’t be added to every Amtrak run, but as a rail enthusiast and member of the Empire State Passengers Association, I understand the train folks have got bigger fish to fry.

Portland, which I hadn’t visited in 35+ years, is a fine city indeed. Ian and I enjoyed the waterfront and restaurants, and frankly, I could have been persuaded to stay seaside for a few more days. But the Open Road beckoned… at least till it became clear that the road we’d chosen, largely because in this region there are practically no viable alternative routes that actually get you where you’re going without unreasonable “detours,” was not beckoning but in effect hollering, “Watch out, stupid.” In short, Route 302 north from Portland is not a cyclist’s dream: it’s got incessant heavy truck traffic, plus in the summer, an endless stream of moto-vacationers seeking fresh air even as they foul it.

The part of our route that took us through central and northern New Hampshire was much better in terms of road conditions – but of course we were hauling loaded bikes over some serious hills and mountains, too. I do love riding in hill country – the flats can get pretty boring, and besides, steady headwinds in the lowlands or plains can be mighty discouraging, much more so than even demanding ups-and-downs. Overall, I think NH is prime biking territory. Especially prime is the Dixville Notch area. Ian and I went through this high pass during a series of thunderstorms; we kept ourselves safely away from lightning (which should be one of the bike traveler’s biggest concerns) but we couldn’t dodge the raindrops.

After an exciting but wet descent, we holed up at The Balsams, a historic hotel complex, set on a mere 15,000 acres, that “donated” us a gazebo for shelter. When the storm cleared, we pushed on through a wetland plateau that gave us the best wildlife sighting of the trip: a moose that was browsing at roadside jumped and ran through the spruce thickets as we zipped by. We hadn’t noticed this fine specimen of the natural SUV of the North (maybe the label does a disservice to a noble animal) until it moved – and luckily the movement was not in our direction. You’ve got to take “moose crossing” signs seriously in this neighborhood, even if you’re nonmotorized.

When we left NH, via a seriously short trespass into the extreme NE tip of Vermont, we thought we’d conquered our quota of hills. Not so. This past of southern Québec, which despite many Anglo names on the map is a solidly Francophone region, is similar to the Southern Tier/Finger Lakes in the quality and quantity of long, long inclines. And even the major roads, which are wondrously free of heavy traffic, can be challenging when you’re packing lots of gear.

We went through towns like East Hereford, a sawmill town that’s surrounded by forests (duh!), lots of Xmas tree plantations (destined for, among other places, Long Island and Westchester, one local farmer told us when we stopped in St. Malo for lunch) and a dwindling supply of dairy farms. We also stopped for libations in the college city of Sherbrooke, from which we accessed La Route Verte, the newish Québec system of bike trails and designated roadways. (Check it out online – maps, etc.)

You notice how different the ambience is in Québec from that of NH and even VT, even though both the latter are heavily populated by descendants and relatives of Québécois/Québécoises. Ian posits that Québec Francophones are more European in their vehicle choices: smaller, more efficient and cheaper cars and trucks overall. What we saw on the roads, and what we didn’t see, tended to confirm the theory. I do hope that this and other aspects of what various commentators see as the province’s ongoing “Europeanization” drift down our way against the prevailing winds, both meteorological and political…

To be continued… with short notes about cycling in Québec City, hearing Paul McCartney almost by accident, tenting among the Vanbagos in a surprisingly (amazingly) quiet and pleasant private mega-campsite (again, that Québec ambience), and other stuff.

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