I tried to ride to Whigville CT today, mainly because of the name, and mainly because I've never met anyone from there. Having previously worked in telecom, I thought I knew the whole state.
Apparently, there actually is a post office/general store there. I googled some pictures...
If you've ever read "Blue Highways", the mission was to talk to someone there and find out how it got its name.
The thing about New England, though, is often you can't find anybody around to wave at, like a guy out shoveling his steps or walking the dog.
On a beautiful day like this, you'd think someone would venture out for 20 minutes. They were all probably cuddled up, drinking coffee.
Then you have to explain why you want to know why it's named Whigville.
This is often met with a suspicious cold stare, and they'll probably think you're some kind of evil eminent-domain land snatcher , cleverly disguised as a half-frozen winter road cyclist.
New Englanders are known to be quite cantankerous and paranoid, but I think I blogged about the Salem Witch Hunt thing already. I am still doing research on this.
Chances are, they won't invite you in for some cocoa to tell you the great legend, show you the scrapbooks, or watch some 8MM footage, so just keep it short and sweet.
You'll probably get... "Its named Whigville after some Whigs. OKAY???
I have to catch a flight to Paris now...BYE!!!!.."
(Door slams, blam.)
If you go on Wikipedia and search "Whigs", you can refresh your brain on this industrial revolution- based political party. It will bore the crap out of you, like, nobody gets hanged or burned at the stake or anything.
I forgot all my 8th grade history on this. Daniel Webster was an Alpha- Whig, so I guessed he had a little thing going on out there, maybe a boot camp or summer home.
But was he the first Whig? Or did he write some sort of Whig-manual?
I thirsted to know this. It kept me awake most nights. CT is so exciting.
This is about the most incredible thing I've done here in months.
So far, this town's name is the most interesting in CT. I mean, shucks, the next town over is named Plainville.
Scoping it out on with the help of NASA on Google Earth, I surmised it was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, near a couple state forests, below Burlington and northwest of Bristol, two obviously British sounding names.
This is a notoriously weird area of the state. To me, it's kind of like the New Jersey Pine Barrens.
So I jotted down the directions, inhaled a Moe's Southwest Homewrecker Burrito (ok that was an obvious plug) and zoomed off, feeling strong and positive.
Today's sunny temp was 23 degrees, and enough steady wind to make things interesting. Ascending Route 4 into Farmington into a pressing headwind was sheer drudgery. But it was sunny. "Please let it stay sunny", I prayed.
Route 10 south of Farmington is pretty interesting for a couple miles, it's marked "scenic Route".
Gigantic, flat roofed New England houses, and I passed Miss Porter's School, probably the most prestigious girls boarding school in the country. Jackie Kennedy went there, among many others. Graduating from there pretty much guarantees you a ticket to the Ivy Leagues. The campus is really cute. Little bitty buildings.
I stopped at the front porch of the main office for a sec to adjust my waistpack, and watched a young co-ed emerge from the front entrance and proceed to smooch with her square- jawed GQ- boyfriend on the porch.
A friend of mine who taught there said this type of activity is hard to get away with, so the kids duck into nooks and crannies. She was probably allowed one hour before dinnertime curfew.
Recently, I read that a fairly bright girl there who had A.D.D was being harassed pretty seriously, physically and mentally, by a pack of Alpha- girls and had to withdraw. She was so stressed out, she couldn't complete her studies.
Tuition there is the highest in the country. If I had all that money and had a daughter who had to endure that, I would be pretty rip-shit,and would go in there and raise holy hell. I'd call the parents myself, and send my team of lawyers from Trenton NJ.
You'd think a place like that would teach some manners. It's sad. The kid transferred to Boston, I think.
The wide open, flat floodplain along the Farmington River behind the school was quite pretty, and I enjoyed the sun's reflection off the snow for a bit. The road disappeared up a mountain, but the left fork bypassed it.
I found the fork in the road, and continued into the frozen hinterland, with occasional SUV's passing. Amazingly, everybody was pretty courteous today, passing carefully. They even slowed down, wow.
On the satellite map, the road looked like it went through rural farmland,
but it actually ended up going through some fairly boring residential
tracts.
I was entering the Pine Barrens.
I was beggining to see redneck signs, cars on blocks, road signs with bulletholes, beer bottle glass on the shoulder.
And, of course, I never found "Milford Road" marked as such. It all looked so easy from orbit.... I was nowhere near Milford anyway. I think one sign said Samesbury Rd.
Sigh.
I need a GPS for wierd areas like this. It also eliminates endless map fumbling, especially with gloves on.
Winter riding is also best done between 11 AM and 3 PM. After about 3 PM , an aerosol- haze sets in, blocking out the precious sun, and the temp. drops very quickly. You basically have to think one hour ahead...
You can make it home in the dark ok, but it's painful.
It's funny how my feet get cold in the span of two minutes. It's probably from the excess vapor in my Goretex socks. Usually, I'm good for about two hours, then it suddenly hits.
I'm sure there's some complex scientific explanation having to do with my muscle glycogen, but when riding in the cold your mind wanders far away from logic and science.
The really strange thing is you feel far more normal on the bike half frozen than you do huddling inside trying to warm up again. paying attention to road hazards keeps the clock running.
If I was smart, I'd stop and change my socks. But nah... My solution is to find a good hill and crank up it as fast as possible, burning more precious calories for an instant thermal fix.
It's the same mentality as drinking a bloody mary to cure a hangover.
You can literally feel the cold blood starting to drip back in, It's great!!! ("sure Rob, right, ok")
So there I was half-lost, feet getting cold, running out of sunlight, I had not made a successful orbit of Whigville. (Not yet anyway). And it still remained shrouded in mystery.
Wierd movie-parodies begin to play in your brain as glycogen levels fall..
" Uh, Houston we have a problem"...
"Go ahead Rider" (crackle, crackle...beep)
Uhyeah, we, uhh, can't deploy, and uhh, feeling extremity loss, and losing mental capacity, uhhh, (cough) request re-entry, copy?"
" Permision granted. Copy that. Rider, use some duct tape on that right
hub flange and see also if you can patch that toe-hole, copy"?
" Copy, Houston we're go for burn, uhuhuhuh, sorry. I always wanted to say that.... uh, tell my wife to, uh, fire up the jacuzzi, copy? "
"Copy Rider, we got you back up now on the screen".
Roger, we have visual, hey check out those lights!!! like fireflies!!!"...
Mission aborted, but a smart move. I always feel guilty and defeated when riding back on the same road, it's like getting your ass kicked in battle, then marching home , one musket ball buried in your ass cheek.
Back in town, on the main strip, the biggest challenge was trying to convince the Pakistani Mobil-Mart owner that I was not some wayfaring crack-head looking to loiter and steal his powerbars. I just wanted to stand inside as I drank my coffee.
I fully explained that in a nice way, and that I would be leaving in ten minutes, as it was getting dark. But then he started to feign the language barrier thing, after speaking two minutes of perfect english.
"Sir, you must understand, my boss may come by"...
"Aw, man, look, the hell with your boss, I'll argue with him myself, Where is he from? Lookit, If he ever comes to my town and his car breaks down and he's freezing, or there's a terrorist attack, I'll help him out. No biggie. We are in the time of "hope" now. Oh, I'm having a refill. can you give me a discount? What is your best price on refills? You know the Shell station is cheaper, Jesus Christ!!! Three bucks for a powerbar? Are you insane? This coffee was lukewarm BTW."
My patience was wearing thin. But this idiotic mental activity warmed me up for the raging battle ahead. Maybe it was revenge for being on the "receiving end" in my days in telecom, and I just dumped it on the guy. But I felt purged.
There is a dangerous curve on route 4 out of Farmington, "the curve of death". Legend has it that Websters' horse cart overturned there, spilling all his beer into the road.
Many motorized vehicular battles have been fought there. I likened the climb to ascending the Hillary Step. Get over it, and it's downhill all the way home.
As I pondered all this, saddling up, I realized the only other alternative for hot Coffee and mindless conversation would have been Starbucks across the street. I was so not in the mood for the Miss Porter crowd. The parents I mean.
Most cyclists in that area are far more aero-dynamic looking, even in winter. They have skin-tight Gore-tex body suits and ride multi-colored
carbon fiber Cervelos ("oh that's my winter bike, well gotta go, catch a flight..")
And their feet don't get cold.
Well, maybe they do, but they'll never admit it. These guys look like they live on grain and water.
In a sprint through a stoplight near home, I tried to jump a pothole, and heard the dreaded sound of something falling off the bike. (tik-tik-tiktik)
My biggest fear is always jettisoning my frame pump, but I have it well strapped. When I was a kid, I hated it when the thing would fly off and be immediately crushed by a tailgating vehicle.
It was my blinky light.
My precious, precious Taiwanese LED blinky light!!! Oh, noooo!
The screw had come loose.
It ended up facing the other way, still blinking, so chances were good vehicles couldn't really see it . Or maybe they could, but couldn't identify what the hell it was. This was good.
Luckily, it landed right on the dotted lane divider line.
Amazingly, cars slowed, passing it carefully on tippy-toes, as I lept cat-like safely onto the sidewalk, throwing the bike down to run back for it...
I'm sure they were terrified by it, an obvious IED, maybe a nuclear warhead about to explode any second, OMG!!!
I'm telling you, don't do stuff like this in New England. I'm sure 911 got 6 cell calls in 8 seconds.
"uh yes, hello, some guy with a weird looking helmet just dropped a pipe-bomb in the road???"
"yes M'am, the 'copter's already airborne, humvees on the way".
(my brain was still slightly hypothermic, the movie played again...)
This is why I lean toward the cheaper lights, sunglasses etc, These things always fly off, and I get paranoid that motorists see this and will delight in running over your 400 dollar Revo sunglasses any time.
This is their revenge for all the horrible tortures that cyclists reap upon them.
I rescued it, and saved 8 bucks at Wal-mart. It still blinks. God smiled upon me today. So check your blinky before each ride, or you may inadvertently cause a 17 car pile-up and be on channel 3 news.
But if you get a GPS, mount it securely.
And when riding into unknown territory, cover your ass, phone ahead to the local police dept. and explain that you do not require an ambulance, just a cup of coffee and maybe some fig newtons.
But don't ever ask who Miss Porter was.
peace out.
No comments:
Post a Comment