From a Campground near Canada..

Today I drove upstate a little ways, to the Groton State Forest. It contains Lake Groton, and several ponds, and is located sort of between St. Johnsbury and Montpelier.

There is a rail trail that runs through the forest. Rail trails used to be railways. This particular one was decommissioned as a railway a long long time ago, because it was more dangerous than a new one that accomplished the same thing nearby. (That's what I gather from a website called crossvermont.org.)

Even though I had directions from Vermont Magazine that Heather had given me, as soon as I happened on the beginning of the rail trail, I parked and got on it. I could have followed the complicated directions in the magazine and ended up riding partly on highways, etc. But...I wasn't interested in traffic, and I didn't have any.

Although I knew the trail was gravel, I figured it would be pretty hard packed, like the Katy Trail in Missouri. Even though I loaded up both bikes just in case, I really wanted to ride the Centurion. It fits me better, still had the computer on it and the pedals, and it can handle gravel. I was wrong about the trail. It was sometimes soft Redfield-like sand, sometimes big boulders, sometimes lotsa rocks, all of which the mountain bike would have taken in stride. The Centurion did all right, though, thanks to my superior bike handling skills.

Seriously, though, I had no mishaps, but I did have to watch carefully for big boulders. You know the kind--the ones buried half way out of the ground in the middle of path and you don't see them in the dappled shade until you're giving it the death stare. You know the death stare--on a bike, anything you stare at you'll hit, no doubt. Sometimes that can mean certain death! That's why, especially when mountain biking (and on gravel roads) it's a good idea to look far ahead of your wheel and pick your line and DON'T DON'T DON'T look at that knob sticking up off that root, or that giant boulder buried in the path, or the goose-poop lying innocently in the middle of the bike path. The goose-poop will fly up on your leg and gross you to death.

No goose poop on this trip. I did take some pictures, though. Here's a slide show.



I read somewhere this week that it is moose mating season. I really really wanted to see a moose! Not too close, but you know, up there on the trail, passing across while I approach--like deer. I didn't see any, but I did see wild turkeys (they are hard to photograph), and quite a few butterflies, and I think I scared up some quail or something, but I never got a good look.

Apparently I also stumbled upon a vast network of snowmobile trails. (I think they call them snow machines, now, but that makes me think of ski slope grooming equipment, so I'll continue to call them snowmobiles, just like I still call "ATV's" 4-wheelers.) I came across a big sign with a map and the spidery snowmobile trails all over it. I tried to figure out where I was, but it didn't have roads so I couldn't orient myself. Along the trail, there were lots and lots of warnings about upcoming junctions and how to get back to Hwy 302 and speed limit 35. There was no danger of me going close to 35, though. I did get up to 15 at one point, then I realized how sad it would be to lose my teeth on one of those hidden boulders, so I slowed back down to around 10.

It was nice and flat, but gravel, so I had to be careful. I was alone for so long I started singing out loud. That got me to whistling. Whistling helps me get my breath back when I'm exerting myself. I do it when I'm singing and when I'm riding and when I'm at my exercise class. I've never considered whether that bothers anyone in class, but who cares? Some of them don't brush their teeth before they come at 6:00 a.m., and that bothers me!

So all that singing and whistling reminded me of all those hours and miles I spent on my bike in Conway when I lived there in high school. I rode my bike all over the place for hours on end. Singing and whistling and cruising around corners with no hands. The handlebar bag on my Centurion prohibits that--makes it unstable--but I can still ride for hundreds of yards and turn corners with no hands on my road bike and mountain bike like I was 15 again! I told you--superior bike handling skills!

But back to today--singing and whistling and COASTING. The rail trail was a false flat up on the way out. That means it wasn't really flat, but it looked that way. I was slowly climbing at maybe a 1% grade for about 5 miles. Then I crossed some kind of barrier and it was the same grade but in reverse, and I was able to coast and coast and coast. Not really fast, like on a real hill. Just enough gravity to make pedaling unnecessary, so long as you didn't mind going at gravity's pace. I didn't, because I was already whistling and singing. On the way back, I climbed for a few miles on the false flat in the other direction and then coasted part of the way after the barrier, and then I pedaled hard the rest of the way back, with gravity on my side.

Today, I came to know something that will forever be true, and always has been. My favorite part of cycling is coasting. All those miles in Conway when I was a teenager, and all those miles today. If I could just coast along with a whistle on my lips, I'd never get off the bike.