Over the River and through the Woods

Day 54

Our morning began, again, with wonderful dark roast, dog petting and chats with Colleen. We get up early enough today to watch the fog from the river cover the farm, then slowly lift, revealing a bright blue sky and a perfectly sunny day. When the weather is like this, I chomp at the bit to get on the road. It's a type of high, I think, to glide through the countryside on the back of the Girl when the weather is just so.

We leave Cobb Hill with gratitude to Colleen and her family for hosting us so beautifully; sharing this rare Utopia with us. We hope to come back one day soon. Our ride this morning is along Rt. 5 south, snaking back and forth between New Hampshire and Vermont following what I think is the Connecticut River. In Brattleboro we hang a right and ride directly west on Rt. 9 through the famed Green Mountains. Now, truly, these beauties are green. This is where people who mix paint colors come for inspiration when it's “green day”. Rt. 9 lifts us way up into the peaks where the air is cold, and I am grateful for the sunshine on my back. We pass many, many shops selling cheese and maple syrup specifically.

In Bennington, we decide to stop before we head south into New York. In no time we see that this is an AT town, as through-hikers with their obvious backpacks and well defined calves are peppered along the sidewalks. The fashion of the through-hikers has seriously evolved away from Goretex, hiking shorts and those long sleeve shirts with the mesh armpits. For instance, we see girls with bright pink hair wearing all black who hike, apparently, in mini skirts. Maybe it's punk rock to hike the AT these days, who knows.

We end up at the Madison Brew Pub and have a surprisingly fabulous lunch. We get the “Triple Treat” which is three types of sausages on a bed of “beer drenched sour kraut” and also a salad with brie and eggplant. The Pirate goes for one of their house beers, and I go for their house root beer. Now, root beer, I can drink. Just call me Shirley Temple. Anyway, the lunch is so surprisingly hearty that I'm afraid we've accidentally ruined out appetite for dinner.

Back on the road, we ride south for awhile on Rt. 22, then we pick up the Taconic Parkway, developed for folks commuting to and from NYC, which we ride for probably 50 miles or so. Only later are we informed that motorcycles are not allowed on this lovely thoroughfare. How we avoided a cop for 50 miles is a miracle for which I am beyond grateful. We had no clue. It did occur to us later that we didn't see any other bikes...oh well.

After our illegal cruise, we pull off at Clinton Corners in the Hudson Valley and begin our visit with Elizabeth Cunningham and her husband Douglas Smyth. I met Elizabeth years ago, just as she was launching The Passion of Mary Magdalen. If you have not yet read this, run, don't walk, and get a copy. It is a beautiful story. I am not being dramatic by saying that it changed my life.

Elizabeth and I have been visiting one another for maybe about six years. She often comes to Asheville to read at Malaprops, and I come up with excuses to come up here and see her. She and Douglas live now at High Valley, a former school that Douglas' mother and father began in 60's. It is a now a quiet collection of aging buildings surrounding a lovely spring fed lake. To get here, you ride along roads lined in low rock walls that snake along for miles beside the roads or through the woods. These rock walls have come to define the Hudson Valley for me.

Since we arrive right at cocktail hour, the party gets started right away. We gather on a stone patio near the lake and start with soft brie and herb covered goat cheese, red and white wine, and lots of conversation. We last saw these two in Asheville in mid May, but even so we have a lot of catching up to do and stories to tell. For dinner, we move inside to their apartment which is the top floor of the “big house” and former dorm for the kids who boarded here. We have a savory vegetable stir fry with produce straight from their garden and quinoa. We also have garden fresh corn on the cob. I am liking this trend of friends feeding us from their gardens.

When we've all finally all had our fill, we retire to our little guest room just off the big kitchen downstairs. We will sleep well tonight, grateful for the hospitality of these dear friends.