A: Every Time! What is an unexpected terminus, but a new beginning? What is a river but a quest for a ford? What is a right, but three subsequent lefts?
Take today, for example, I grabbed a water bottle (this is key...), rode with my second grade daughter to her school. Was required to dismount at no less than two stop guard crossings, and was asked to step back until the "all Clear" was sounded, at the last. After successfully delivering my little girl into the dry decorum of the Walker School...I was free.
I had previously explored the west side of the Merrimack River, near Concord NH, as far north as Sewall's Falls but had not yet landed the east. I set my bars northward and threw three miles behind me as I made for the Sewall's Falls crossing. An easy plunge greeted me to the left of the old one-lane bridge over the falls and I ditched the stark, bright pavement for the dappled-dim of the riverside undergrowth. Soon back on the trail I had not had the time to complete before, I geared high and cut a fine breeze through the cool, river laden morning air--turning, bouncing and hopping it up.
A sudden, sharp left-hand hook dumped me way too soon onto the old rusty track of the disused Boston and Maine, leaving me twitching for more grind. Now I have logged many miles of track riding over the course of time, and not one foot of it brings a smile to my mind. Looking what seemed a straight two miles through an enshrouded gravel and track covered path did not sate the burn of the last mile of great New Hampshire trail riding.
At this juncture, a decision was presented, simple and true: Go on or back. There is no shame in retracing a good trail from it's end, I just don't willingly do it. I hitched up my seat and set a course for a hoped short shot to an underpass. This was a good day, within a mile a dirt path swung in from a corn field and I left the rear bashing endurance for the cool field-side run. Within minutes I heard automobile sounds and recognized the the terrain: Exit 17 off 93 North, the trestle, and Hannah Dustin Memorial statue. Riding the rickety old train trestle was unnerving but do-able and I left Hannah standing westward watch over the graves of the braves she slew.
Now committed to threading my way some 8 miles southward toward Concord I gladly forded the river by bridge and was leaf-slapping and grit-toothing within minutes. My location was the east bank of the Merrimack river, southbound from exit 17, west of the freeway. A narrow corridor exists or varying widths from this point all the six miles down to exit 16, east Concord, NH. I was greeted by another set of train tracks almost instantly, but my trail veered away from them and cast me ever closer to the cool, quiet river's flow.
On other days, a white-tail deer, covey of partridge or at least a Blue Heron or two accompany me (at least within eye shot) on these bush treks, but today a deepening silence gripped the shore line. To my disappointment the next three westward trail spurs terminated in sheer cliffs, deep cloven chasms or jungle-like thatches and re-tracing became common place. after the third abrupt donut-hole, I resigned myself to the mile or two return to the bridge and a long, if hotter southward ride down Mountain road, in Pennacook, NH.
Fact is, not every thrash is blessed--but I hold that there is a charm to be found--on a spur of the moment ride, and today's high was definitely the 3 mile race down the backside of Mountain Road and into Concord proper. I'll admit the write up is fun, the review sometimes lives before my eyes, but the clock is already ticking down until I shoot the overland route over to Bear Brook State Forest and spin some trails out that way...The call will never be silenced.
I ride the heck out of a TREK 8900, hardtail with Rockshox, and Shimano XTR components, a touch of style is captured in my ICON cranks, post and stubs. Fire-engine red with black and silver highlights. Best bike I have ever owned.
No comments:
Post a Comment