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I lost the GPS tracking data for this day and the next, so the maps are from the routes I plotted out. It's close enough to what we actually did, but I'm still upset about losing the actual data. In addition to not having a complete record of the trip, this means I've lost the elevation data for the impressive ride over the Berkshires, and I can't determine exactly where a picture was taken after the fact. (I do this by matching the time-stamp on the picture with the track-log data.)
I had some trouble in the morning with the GPS. The heavy cloud cover meant that I kept losing satellite reception. i.e. The GPS couldn't figure out where it was. Just when I needed it most. You see, I figured out the route on the computer a couple days ago, and downloaded it to the GPS, but I didn't remember every turn, so I really needed the GPS to tell me where I was going. Today was the most climbing we've had since the approach to the Sierras, back on day 4, and the highest elevation since we left the Rockies. (Actually, western Kansas is higher than the Berkshires, but it's such a long, gradual descent that you don't notice.) We had four big hills - one going over the Taconics in New York, two going over the Berkshires in Massachusetts, and one in what we refer to simply as the "hill towns" of Western Mass. At the top of the highest one, a 2000-foot climb, we found ourselves in the little town of Windsor, MA, where they were in the middle of the annual volunteer fire department barbequeue. $8 bought half a chicken, corn on the cob, baked potato, cole slaw, roll, watermelon, and a drink. They put on quite the feed, and we waddled out of there quite a while later. At the BBQ, we were mistaken for bike racers. Mind you, I ride a touring bike, and Andy rides a low-end hybrid, and furthermore refuses to dress like a biker. But it turns out that the Northampton Cycling Club's Tour of the Hilltowns was that day, starting and ending in Windsor. As we left lunch, and started the long downhill, we saw a couple hundred riders laboring up the hill to the finish. As we got closer and closer to Northampton, and into territory that I recognized, I was almost indescribably happy. I haven't lived there for 15 years, but it's still home. Home is where you're from. Every teenager wants to get away from it, and some adults want to return to it exactly the way it was when they were kids. But one thing I like about Northampton is that it's very dynamic, always changing, but has resisted becoming a strip-mall of new construction of chain stores. I know it's not the same town I left, but it's still recognizable, and the underlying essence is still there. Of course, I noticed the tendency to describe buildings and places in terms of what used to be there. (Dan took a side trip through Vermont, on his way to Greenfield, and experience the same thing. Home is home. He's lived all over the country, recently moved from Oregon to North Carolina, but plans to move back to Vermont at some point.) Anyway, Andy was very patient as I pointed out where I went to Scout camp (up in Chesterfield), where my dad's office is (in Florence), which bits of the high school are new (about a third), etc. We skipped past my parents' house so that I could show him around the Smith College campus and downtown Northampton. I spent a while chatting with the owner of a restaurant I worked at for a year, 15 years ago, but which was still one of my favorite jobs. Finally, we went to the Northampton Brewery, makers and purveyors of fine local brew. Life was very good, until we tried to get beer to go. They sell half-gallon growler jugs, but we had the bad fortune to be there on Sunday. Massachusetts still has "Blue Laws," which forbid retail sale of alcohol on Sundays. In recent years, an exemption has been made for communities within 10 miles of the New Hampshire border, including the town I currently live in. I'm pretty sure there's also a state-wide exemption during Christmas shopping season. Anyway, beerless for the rest of the evening. My older brother Doug came over for dinner, but my youngest brother Neal wasn't feeling well. (My other younger brother Jim lives in Wisconsin, and wasn't expected to show up.) My parents had just gotten back from England, so they had to show us pictures and maps of places Andy was familiar with, or alternately, places he'd never bothered going. It was a fine day. |
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The rest of the group went from Albany to Greenfield, but Andy and I
went about 18 miles downriver to see my parents. We had a few more
miles, and a few more hills, but it was worth it.