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Several days ago, Suzanne and I mapped out an alternate route to the beach, to go along the Merrimac River. This is where we trained, and I thought it would be a prettier ride than the one we took through New Hampshire. (And I was right.) But I didn't know where the junior high school was in Rye, where we were supposed to meet our police escort. So in the end, we stayed on the official route. Today and the last two days were an eye-opener about what the tour chooses to show you, versus what you go see on your own. The ride to Albany (day 49) also drove that one home, where we went to the Revolutionary re-enactment site, and Julie and Sandy went off-route to follow the Erie Canal. Today's official route wasn't without its own charms. I wouldn't have taken a tour group through downtown Lowell, even though it's part of my bike commute to work. But there we were, and we went past the American Textile History Museum and Jack Kerouac Park. Lowell is where the American Industrial Revolution started. Seeing the English experiece of wood-powered (and later coal-powered) mills, and the attendant immigrant slums, American industrialists set up water-powered mills along river-banks, and built dormitories for the largely young, unmarried work-force. This model spread throughout the Northeast, and the industry peaked in the mid-19th century. In the early 20th century, the textile industry went South (literally). Now the remaining mill buildings are used for everything from condominiums to office space to outlet stores. Here's more information on Lowell's history.
On the way through New Hampshire, we took a detour to America's Stonehenge, a "maze of man-made chambers, walls and ceremonial meeting places, ... one of the oldest man-made construction in the United States (over 4000 years old)." However, we didn't tour the site, because there was a 10-minute introductory film, followed by about a hour of walking around. But I'll get up there again some other time. After a coffee break in Exeter (nice town), we met the group at the junior high, and waited. And waited. For about 25 minutes. Of course, some people were using their time wisely, getting everyone to sign their shirts for them, or taking pictures. Eventually, two police cruisers showed up, and we paraded down the road to the beach. As we were approaching the beach, I just wept. There was this great upswelling of emotion, and I just let it all come out. I didn't try to analyze it at the time, but it contained relief at finishing this enormous project, pride in my family of fellow riders, grief that were about to be parted, and joy at seeing the ocean, the great Atlantic ocean, knowing that it was really the end of the line, and we couldn't go any farther to go in that direction if we wanted. We (the group as a whole, not just me and Andy, as I usually mean when I say "we") spent another long time at the beach, dipping our wheels, and taking each other pictures, individually and in all combinations. Finally, we headed up to Portsmouth, with another diversion to cross the bridge into Maine. Make that 14 states for the trip.
Would you believe that America By Bike didn't schedule any official post-ride event? Suzanne took it upon herself to organize a clambake on the beach. Unfortunately, we couldn't get the permits in time, so we had a "clambake" at Warren's Lobster House in Kittery, Maine. We had salad bar (it wouldn't be an ABB dinner without a salad bar), excellent clam chowder, steamers (clams, if you didn't know), and lobster. The food was good, but I was really there for the people. This was my family for the last two months, and I didn't want to leave them. A couple people had already left - Michael was staying down in Boston, and Jim was staying in Manchester. But there we were, as many as possible, as late as possible, until I had to leave and go back to my other life. If I'd been staying at the hotel, I'd have been in the bar until closing time with Andy and Dan. But I know I'll see them again, individually if not together. When I left for San Francisco, I was expecting a challenge, and I got it. I was expecting to have fun, and I got it. I was expecting to see more of the country than I'd seen before, and got that too. I've travelled the coasts, but I'd never spent much time in between. On flights to and from California, I'd always look down, and try to imagine what it would be like to be down there, riding a bicycle along the long, straight roads of the Plains, or the crumpled terrain of the Sierras. Now I know. What I wasn't expecting was the level of cameraderie and bonding that evolved over the trip. I saw two "old farts" fall in love. Myself, I made at least two really good, hopefully life-long friends, and I'm blessed for it. It's not about what you expect to happen, but about what happens, and what you allow to happen. It's about Being There. And I was there, and I wouldn't trade even the bad days for anything.
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This route into New Hampshire snuck in along a back road, and we never
got a Welcome-to-New-Hampshire sign. Also the roads were in generally
poor repair, and the drivers unsympathetic. But that may be my
Massachusetts bias showing.
After showering in Andy's room, I went out behind the hotel, to where
people were boxing up their bikes to ship them home. Because that's
where the action was. I'm normally something of a loner, but after
spending two months in the company of these great people, two months
of never being alone, I wanted to stay with them as long as possible,
even though the act of boxing up bikes really put the mark of finality
on the whole event.
Paul Selkirk, July 30, 2003.