DAY 1 (Steven):

Coming up with the idea of riding a bike 300 miles from Canada to Norwood , MA always seems like a great idea when you’re hanging out with the guys in a testosterone induced state of confidence and perhaps a lack of better judgment.  However, when it later begins to come to fruition, reality sets in and a few things are inevitable.   

First, there is the collect sigh of, “Crap… what did I get myself into this time”.  Next, no longer provoked by the powers of group manliness, most come to their senses and gracefully come up with excuses for why they can’t participate in what earlier seemed like an outstanding scheme.  (“Gee… I really hate the idea of missing out on four days of burning quads while being exposed to all kinds of weather, but Wheel of Fortune will be having a 48 hour marathon that weekend.”)  Finally, those who can not come up with plausible excuses begin talking the proposed event up like it was the grandest idea while secretly envying those that will be left behind. 

So it was that Christopher, Dan, Erick, and I found ourselves driving up to Canada , late one Friday night in mid-September.  We had met in Norwood after work and loaded 4 bikes and all our cycling and camping gear into my double-cab truck.  As 3 of the 4 of us are well over 6 feet tall, it was a tight squeeze for a 6 hour drive.  The only way to manage was to put everything in the bed of the truck and cover it with a tarp.  Naturally, about half-way up it began to rain.  Regardless, most of our stuff avoided saturation.

We exposed each other to our music on the ride up, and aside from being accused of having “iPod ADHD”, it was uneventful.  On such a long drive, various discussions ensue.  At one point, there was consensus that our wives/fiancé would be completely fine with us being with gorgeous celebrities of our choosing in the event that we found ourselves stranded on an island with them.  In hind-sight, this may have been another case of testosterone induced confidence.

Our destination for Friday evening was the Warner land on Holland Pond, VT.  We arrived just before midnight and were soon snoring away in the oversized shed that was our shelter for the night.  At one point, I had to go outside to relieve myself and decided that I would be a stand-up guy and leave my headlamp off so as not to wake anyone.  After bumping into Erick’s cot and stepping on Dan’s foot, I spent the next 10 minutes trying to figure out the right way to put on my jacket (which sounded much like someone trying to inconspicuously unwrap a candy cane at a funeral) before heading out in the rain.  Once back in the shed, I removed my jacket (dumping a pint of water on Chris’ sleeping bag), then proceeded to my comfy bed… but, not before stepping on Dan’s foot and bumping into Erick’s cot a second time.

DAY 2 (Steven):

We woke Saturday morning to a cold and raw rain.  Before heading out, we had to determine who would be driving for the day.  The plan was to take half-day shifts so that 2 would split the days driving (each cycling a half-day) while the other two cycled the entire day.  The next day, the two that cycled the entire previous day would split the driving.  As most folks who engage in outdoor group activities know, party-wide decisions like this must be managed with delicacy and tact.  There are certain protocols that must be followed to ensure that everyone is comfortable with the decision and that everyone has fair input.   Therefore, a quick exchange of Rock/Paper/Scissors concluded that Erick and Chris would take the first day.  We packed up our gear and headed into town to scrounge up some breakfast which we found at a small diner named Jennifer’s.

Before hopping on our bikes, we needed to take some pictures of ourselves at the Canadian border as proof of our starting point.  As we posed under the sign welcoming us to Canada , a uniformed gentleman approached us from the side of our northern neighbor and informed us that we were, at that moment, on foreign soil.

So, having yet to officially begin our excursion, we were already being detained.  The Border Officer brought us back to the Canadian Border Station and nicely proceeded with the formalities.  Once done, we asked for a group photo with him and were surprised when he announced he could do better.  He popped back into the station and I was positive he was calling up reinforcements.  However, he returned with his partner Stephanie who happened to be a cute young girl.  If she wasn’t already horrified by this motley crew of boisterous Americans, she most certainly was when Chris announced, “Somebody’s been eating Corn nuts…. Stephanie knows what I’m talking about.”  Once again I reached for my wallet, preparing to surrender my license, but discovered that Stephanie’s English was less than stellar and we were soon on our way back to the US .

Since every time you cross an international border you must check in with the local authorities, we concluded that we then had to go see the US Border Patrol.  Even though we had to walk by the truck to do so, I suggested that we go straight to the Border Station to avoid any conflicts.  Unfortunately, Erick tossed his tripod in the back of the truck as he passed by.  Apparently, this is a serious violation of international law and once again we were detained as the officers made sure we weren’t terrorists posing as clueless and incredibly disorganized cyclists.  Once Sgt. Bilko deduced that no group of terrorist would go to such lengths to deceive, we were free to proceed.

So, the inevitable could be postponed no longer.  We geared-up, saddled our rides, and proceeded to get lost less than 1 mile from the start.  Thankfully, we realized our mistake early enough to avoid much inconvenience and were soon on the right route.  It wasn’t long after that the sky opened up and dumped gallons of water on us over the next few hours.  It was cold, wet and miserable, but the anticipation was finally over and we were finally starting the adventure we had been talking about for months prior.

As we rode it became colder the later in the day it became.  We were thankful, when Erick informed us of a small sandwich shop he had found in a tiny little backwoods village.  We were finally able to get out of the elements and into a warm environment.  The shop seemed like an old-fashioned soda fountain shop and was part of another store.  It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was quaint in a simple way.  It was obviously a popular spot for the Townies and one particular older and disheveled woman seemed intently interested in our conversation… so much so that it was bordering on eerie.  Finally, she spoke up… “Are you boys doing a bike ride?”

“Yes, we are”

“On your bikes?”

It was at this moment that the dueling “Deliverance” banjos started playing in my heads.

As we had been riding, Erick had been making good use of his driving time and scouting out alternative routes and scenery.  We had been following Route 5.  However, Erick learned that the parallel 5A route was more scenic.  There was a 10 mile cross-over that connected the two routes nearby.  So, after making such a big to-do about our cycling prowesses in the sub shop, we loaded our bikes on the truck and drove to 5A in order to avoid any unneeded time in the saddle.  Truth be known, it was getting really cold and after sitting around in our sweaty clothes for lunch, the warm truck was a nice delay.  In the end, we still road more miles than we would have if we had stayed on Route 5.  On the positive side, the rain had stopped and it would be the last of it for the remainder of the trip.

Erick’s information was spot on.  Route 5A winds around lakes, by cascading falls and impressively steep rock walls creating deep gorges that the road cuts through.  Although it was cold, the scenery lifted our spirits and we were driven by the potential of what could be around each bend in the road.  However, what lifted our spirits more was rolling into St. Johnsbury, where the campground for the night was, and deciding to stop at Dunkin Donuts.

Moose River Campground is your typical RV park.  However, they have a nice little spot next to the river for a few tents.  It didn’t provide any privacy, but the sound of the rapids drowned out everything around us.  It was fine for a place to lay our heads for one night.  It also gave us a chuckle when, on more than one occasion, we were warned by RV’ers that it was going to be cold overnight as they shook their heads in dismay.

We had Dinner at a local brick-oven pizzeria.  We ordered two larges and they were more than 4 hungry grown men could handle.  The local beer was tasty as well.  I found myself in that comfort zone when you are absolutely spent and you are staring off into space, but you feel good and your mind never felt clearer. 

By the time we got back to the Campground, there was a roaring bonfire of flaming pallets in the middle of a common field and folks were standing around with bottles of beer and glasses of wine, having a Saturday night social.  Being no fools, we took the opportunity to get warm before hitting our tents.  An observation about RV’ers is that they are into small, yippee dogs  Just about every couple there had one.  The only exception was a gentleman standing near us with a huge German Shepard.  Being a dog lover, I started petting the beast only to discover that she was more interested in taking my entire fist, up to my wrist, in her mouth.  The gentleman noted that she was looking to play.  Not feeling up to being treated as a chew toy, I chose to go back to my tent and read before calling it a day.

DAY 3 (Erick):

The soft patter of rain drops on my face was how I was roused from my peaceful slumber at the start of day 2. I was disoriented at first because to start, I was inside my tent and second because it wasn’t raining. Steve had gotten up at some ungodly hour to do what ever crazy people do at that hour, so he designated himself our alarm clock. To gently wake Chris and I up he shook our tent and promptly dislodged all the condensed water vapor down on us. Having a nights worth of stale breath rained down on you at 6 am is not the best way to start the day.

Stepping outside the tent was a treat though. It was a little on the chilly side but the mist rolling off the river was spectacular. It looked like it was going to be a nice day for riding. The first order of business after we all crawled out of our tents was breakfast. We learned that there was a nice little diner in town so we packed into the truck and headed out. I have never been much of a breakfast person in the past but the 80 miles of blacktop was looming large ahead of me, so I decided to carb up. After we were all stuffed full of pancakes and eggs we headed back to the camp to pack up all our stuff and head out on the road. I was very excited to get back in the saddle, having only done the last leg of day 1, but I knew it was going to be a challenging day. 80 miles was about three times the longest single day ride I had ever done.

Steve was driving this morning so Dan, Chris and I headed out at about 8:00 . After a short ride through St. Johnsbury we passed into the Vermont countryside. I must say that early morning ride was probably my favorite of the whole trip. Around every bend was a beautiful vista or a rustic red farmhouse. It was like riding through a Norman Rockwell painting. Even though Steve was driving that morning I think he was having a great time as well. As an avid photographer he had plenty of subjects to pick from along the route. The pattern we seem to fall into was the driver would head up the road two or three miles and find some scenic spot and wait for the cyclists to catch up. Then he could snap some photos as we passed by. Some of the best photos from the trip were taken by Steve that morning. We were all feeling good and our spirits were high after the rainy start yesterday. There were times when I would look around at the scenery unfolding before us and say to myself “this is what it is all about”. We tried to keep a fairly tight pack as we rode so we could talk and benefit from the draft of the lead rider. We learned quickly that Dan was the best leader because he kept the best pace. Chris and I tended to go as fast as was comfortable, but quickly learned that you can not sustain that over 8 hours.

By lunch time I was ready for a break. The legs were starting to complain and I am sure we had all burned up what energy we had gained from breakfast. Steve found us a nice spot for lunch in a quaint little town. The restaurant we ate in was nicer than we probably needed but the food was great and it had a nice view. After lunch Chris drew the short straw and had to stretch out Steve’s legs in the parking lot. I am sure it was as entertaining for the locals as it was for us.

For the second part of the day Dan drove the truck and Steve got to cycle with us. Unfortunately for me the second part of the day did not go well. Only a few miles into it I was plagued with terrible leg cramps. I don’t know if it was from the long break at lunch or not enough water but it was not fun. I was pulling at the time so I had to drop back and let Chris and Steve go ahead. I found if I took it easy and drastically dropped my pace I could continue, but as soon as I tried to pick it up and catch up to the group it would cramp up again. We made the decision to have Chris and Steve continue on ahead at their own pace and I would do the best I could. They would let Dan know of my troubles when they caught up to him in a few miles and have him circle back to make sure I wasn’t dead yet. They all said there was no shame in calling it quits for the day and switching off with Dan in the truck. That is nice to say but I was a little crushed to be honest with you. I still felt good physically and mentally but my legs did not agree. So I pulled of the road for about ten minutes and drank a lot of water and Gatorade (hoping it was dehydration) and then continued at a slow pace. My goal was to go as far as I could for as long as I could, even if it was at half speed. I found that if I kept it at about 11 to 13 MPH (on flat ground) and took a break every half an hour I could continue on without to much pain.

After awhile the kinks seemed to work themselves out and the riding became a little easier, though I still had to keep the slow pace. Dan would swing by to check on me and let me know how my progress was. I guess the rest of the guys were not too far ahead of me (3 to 4 miles) so it wasn’t too bad. I have to say that after awhile I kind of enjoyed riding alone. With just my own pace to think of I could stop and take a picture or rest without worrying about holding up the group. At one point I stopped at a farm stand and bought an apple to eat as I rode. It was a surprisingly satisfying experience. To be riding along past farms and bucolic towns while snacking on my apple. I felt a little renewed energy actually, not that it lasted long. After a few hours I actually caught up to Chris and Dan at a gas station. I guess Steve had continued on with his fresh legs, but Chris and I were feeling the brunt of the miles. We continued the rest of the afternoon together and it was a tough afternoon. The hills were crazy and we didn’t have a lot left in the tank. At one point (it must have been close to 5:00 ) Dan drove up to tell us he had found the camp site ahead, but it was another 10 or 11 miles. He thought we would be crushed since we had already done close to 70, but we were relieved. Up to this point we had been forging ahead with no idea how far we had to go or how long it would take us. With an actual distance we could pace ourselves with a goal in mind. That said it was a HARD 10 miles. At every hill Chris and I would say “OK I am going to walk up this one, I don’t have anything left”. But each time we would both keep peddling and eventually find ourselves at the top. I think our legs just didn’t know how to stop even though our minds told us to. We told Dan to give us an hour and if he didn’t see us at the camp by then to come out looking for us. We were just pulling in to the site when he was pulling onto the road. The rest of the night is kind of a blur to me but I do recall setting up the tent and grabbing some dinner at a local sub shop before slipping into a coma at about 9:00 . It was a tough day but I have to say I am proud of myself for pushing through to the end.

DAY 4 (Steven):

Up early… It’s still dark… there is frost on the ground and the air is crisp.  The day starts with Breakfast at Dan’s Diner (owned by Fred, who bought it from Dan).  We are there when it opens and have to wait for Fred to heat-up the stoves and get the coffee brewing.  But, the food is worth the wait and the eclectic atmosphere has a nice touch.

On this day, Dan and I had a full day of riding, while Erick and Chris split the driving.  Erick started the day in the truck.  I was a bit envious as I dressed in every conceivable warm garment I had with me (including neoprene booties)…. It was going to be a cold one.

The morning started out much like the day before.  We were riding through gorgeous farmland that was nestled in the Connecticut River Valley and the scenery kept our minds off, if not the bone-chilling wind, at least the aching muscles.  That is, until we crossed over the River into New Hampshire in North Westminster , where we hooked up with Rt. 12. 

Almost immediately, the ride became a monotonous grind of rolling hills, with no scenery to speak of.  We later agreed that this was the worse leg of the trip.   Especially as we neared Keene , when we found ourselves riding a 4 lane highway with barely enough room in the breakdown lane to keep our minds off the multitude of vehicles barreling down on us.  To avoid nervous breakdowns, we decided that Keene would be a good place to stop for lunch, collect ourselves, and take stock of the situation.  Contrary to the later part of the trip, there were plenty of choices for lunch.  However, none of them had the charm that we had enjoyed up to this point.  We settled for a Greek Sub shop.

While eating, we discussed our options and decided that we would venture on a bit further to see what the conditions were like.  If they continued to be unsafe, then we would load the bikes on the truck and skip the Keene section.  Within 10 minutes of being back on the road, we found ourselves on the Rotary from hell, with cars flying around and entering and exiting from all directions.  I thought for sure we would be cutting the trip short.  But, somehow we managed to get through the rotary all in one piece and the road afterwards was more reasonable.  Again, not very scenic.  But, at least it was safer.

I had estimated this day to be about 80 miles.  However, as we were riding through Fitchburg on 2A and my odometer was reading 90 miles, I knew we were going to be logging a Century (plus).  Surprisingly, Dan and I were both feeling good and were cranking along at an 18+ mph pace (not bad for the 3^rd day of riding).  Erick had drawn the second half of the day to ride and every time Chris came by in the truck he said that Erick was keeping a steady pace and wasn’t too far behind us.  Considering the struggle he had the day previous, this was pretty amazing.

I felt like a bike courier as we road with the city traffic of Fitchburg .  The difference being that we had racing tires and came dangerously close to becoming road kill on many occasions.  The potholes were ridiculous.

Once out of Fitchburg , things settled down again as we hooked onto 2A and we were able to maintain a steady pace without fearing for our lives.  After 102 miles, we finally found Minuteman Campground in Littleton , MA .  However, for the 2^nd day in a row, we had to climb a nearly vertical driveway to get to the actual campground.  We signed in and found our site.  As we stood there looking at the slab of dirt where we were suppose to be pitching our tents, versus the log cabin teasing us on the site next door, it didn’t take much convincing to come to the consensus of trading up for a comfortable bed and heat under an already established shelter.

DAY 5 (Steven)

After breakfast at yet another Dan’s Restaurant, we had the luxury of taking our time getting started.  The final leg was only 44 miles and we had no problem waiting for the morning chill to subside.  The ride itself was pretty uneventful.  The closer we got to the finish, the more we began to recognize landmarks and roadways.  We were sore, but it was obvious that we were all feeling content and ready to end what had been a great trip. Apparently, our minds were suffering a bit from fatigue, as well.  At one point, Chris, Erick, and I stopped and waited for Dan to come up with the truck so we could refill our bottles.  After waiting for nearly 15 minutes we called him only to learn that he had already passed us and was waiting for us a few miles up the road.  How this escaped the attention of 3 of us is beyond me. 

After a great lunch in Natick (awesome chili), we had only 15 miles to reach our destination in Norwood .  I couldn’t help but notice that this last stretch along Route 27 was actually pretty scenic in its own right. 

We pulled into Chris’ parents house in the early afternoon.  Personally, I had mixed feelings.  I felt a sense of accomplishment in what we had done.  I was glad it was over.  Yet, at the same time, I regretted having it end.  It was nice being able to focus all my energy on one goal and not having to worry about all the issues of my everyday life.  But, it was time to get back to our normal lives. I consoled myself with the thought that without our normal lives, we wouldn't appreciate these little adventures as much.