White River Junction Loop--Trip Report

[Sparky]

This Labour Day Weekend I did a 500 mile loop through upstate New York and Vermont. My mid-point was the Hotel Coolidge, one of two remaining Hostelling International hostels left in the state.

Naturally it was raining as I woke up on Saturday. I puttered around the house on the Internet until I was sure the early morning shower was over. Stopping at a bank machine to get some US cash, I was out on the road to NY by 11am. The sky was full of scudding clouds and patches of sunlight as I wended down to the Hemmingford border point. There was quite the line-up at this small customs station; I couldn't imagine what it was like at the main crossing at Champlain a couple kilometers east.

I got dowsed by a small shower in line. Yet, once through customs, the sun broke out as I headed south to Plattsburgh. I followed Route 22 through the outlying neighborhoods of New York's northernmost "major city", not wanting to deal with the traffic going through Route 9 that went through the center of the town. Route 22 offered a nicer, calmer path through cute, old fashioned suburban houses. Leaving Plattsburgh's outskirts I hooked east to Route 9 to follow the shore of Lake Champlain down to Keesville.

The eastern section of Adirondack State Park is a mix of mountains and shoreline. 22 and 9 cross over each other at several points, so you have to be careful which one is actually heading down the way you want. As well, the pavement between Keesville and Willsboro is *rough*. I once lost an insecurely fastened sleeping bag on that stretch! Still, it's a damn good ride. The broad expanse of the Lake appears in glimpses through the trees, and the mountain roads offer a nice selection of curves.

I finally made it to the Champlain Bridge at Point Henry. It is one of the few crossing points between New York and Vermont that doesn't involve a ferry. The Crown Point historical site is right by the bridge. I wanted to stop, maybe check out the fort...but I had a schedule to keep. The morning's delay promised a late arrival in White River as it was. And getting caught in the dark on lonely mountain roads on a weekend known for people getting their drunk on isn't of the good.

I hooked a bit south on 125 east, heading for Middlebury. This section was a lot calmer. Sweepers, the shoreline of the lake, the rolling plains of Vermont west of the Green Mountains, and the pleasant campus of Middlebury College were the sights as I headed towards the Green Mountain National Forest. I even saw a college cutie wearing a tie-died T shirt--a definite sign I was in Vermont!

By chance I stopped to fuel at a gas station in town. The stretch of 125 through the mountains looked a little desolate. The last thing I needed to be was a hero, testing Kermit's reserve tank. I got into conversation with a black biker who was coming out of the gas station. I've had good experiences with African-American riders. All three were very friendly and quite accepting to be chatting with a "lowly scooterist". Possibly it may be that black riders are still somewhat on the outside of the mainly white and Hispanic riding population here; they may more open to a brother...well, in my case, not a "brother"!...on the road as a person rather than pre-concieved categories.

After some pleasantries he told me the bridge to Route 125 was out just east of Middlebury. Massive rains had washed it out. Okay, maybe not so friendly. But it wasn't his fault!

It turns out his information was slightly wrong. It was the bridge to East Middlebury that had collapsed. Route 125 proper was accessible. On a chance I flicked east instead of south on Route 7 to check out the situation for myself. A good thing I did, because the road through the Middlebury Gap is one of the funnest roads I've encountered. You know a road is going to be good when you see repeated "20 MPH Advised" signs posted on the curves, a moose crossing warning, and yellow curvy arrow signs that look like an epileptic boa constrictor. The section heading up into the gap beyond Middlebury is a particularly technical and probably dangerous as hell corkscrew of a run.

My usual enthusiasm for such sections was tempered by the numerous wash outs and unpaved areas. Mountain streams running along the road at some points had clearly flooded in the previous week. I later found out this section had just opened last Thursday. Still, it was a damn fine bit of wild riding until I got to my secondary destination of the day: the Old Hancock Hotel. I had eaten there before a few years ago, and it was worth braving a road posted "Extreme Caution". The Hotel is a small lodging/restaurant/gift shop located in an old wooden building right at the corner of Route 100 and Route 125. The food is *very* good and reasonably priced. I had a big ass cheeseburger topped with bacon and other fixings--called a Hotel Burger--and some pie for thirteen bucks. My appetite had definitely sharpened during six hours of nearly-constant riding.

The sun was setting. Time to head down to White River and fast. This meant Route 100. Route 100 is one of the most famed riding roads in New England. It is a twisty state two-laner that runs right down the spine of the Green Mountains. The speed advisories on the curves should be regarded with respect. I managed not to cross the center line with my somewhat rusty cornering skills at some of the tighter turns...but definitely had to force myself to look through the apex and use a bit of throttle-and-brake to avoid wiping out on "Dragon North". I sped through narrow mountain valleys with the setting sun limning the peaks at a constant 50mph. The light slowly faded until it was definitely evening when I reached US 4.

US 4 crosses the Green Mountains between Rutland and White River Junction. It is the main access route to Killington (one of Vermont's major ski resorts) and one of the few major roads to cross from one side of the state to the other in this area. I'd managed to avoid the precarious grades just to the west, but 4 is a pretty busy road for a two-laner. Combined with continuous "no passing" warnings and the possibility of drivers bunching up behind me, I was hard on the throttle. I had to be damn aware of my tiredness, the sharp curves, and the twilllight gloom.

I rolled into White River Junction as the clock hit 7:30pm. White River is a slightly down-at-the-heels town that survives because it is still a transport hub. Buses and Amtrak have stations there because it is bang on a river crossing between New Hampshire and Vermont; I-91 passes right by. Anyone coming from Canada or upstate New England is bound to pass through White River if they're heading to Boston.

The Hotel Coolidge is an old fashioned railway hotel in a 19th/early 20th century vintage brick building in downtown White River. In fact, that building pretty much *is* downtown! Like the town, the Coolidge has an air of genteel poverty while still being eminently habitable. It has a down-at-the-heels quirkiness that I enjoy. Plus, *real* cheap hostel rooms. After the ravaging my credit card got while staying at a so-called inexpensive motel during a rally in Burlington, twenty seven for a spartan single-bed room with a sink was an excellent deal. One reason I always renew my HI membership.

And that was the first day. The return home will come later as I collect my thoughts.

[MarkTur]

Cool story! Post some pix, please!

[siobhan]

Aww man, you're bringing up some good memories of Middlebury. Sounds like you're having a blast. Safe trip back.

[pugbuddy]

Very nice! Looking forward to part 2!

[BeetleGoose]

Indeed a good read! For some odd reason, I kept thinking of the TV series Northern Exposure. Perhaps it's because I have this romantic if not crazy idea that one day, I'll take a ride (or drive) somewhere like fictional Cicely, Alaska, and never leave.

[PasadenaSue]

Sparky -

Enjoyable part one, looking forward to part two. (Ah but your post does bring back some great memories of bicycling in Quebec!! One of the undiscovered areas to cycle for 'Mercans.)

I'm going to have to think about a long trip to make this fall.

PasadenaSue

[Sparky]

I had a somewhat sleepless night in the wee hours of the morning. The adrenaline from Saturday's long ride and the hostel's less-than-firm bed made me snap awake repeatedly. I managed to get enough rest so that I was functional at 6:30 in the morning. Yawning, I padded down the hall to one of the bath/shower units and COLD AIGGHH COLD water came from the showerhead. White River is up in the mountains, and even in late August it gets fairly cool. It took a good five minutes for the hot water from the boiler to make it to the second floor.

A road breakfast at the Polka Dot Diner across the street raised my mental condition from "awake" to "resembling human". I had a classic pre-ride dinner: eggs, toast, sausage patties, hash browns, and corned beef hash. No wimpy corn flakes and milk for this scooterist! I also instructed the waitress to "keep the coffee coming". I wasted a half hour on the free Internet station in the Coolidge's lobby before checking out. I checked Kermit's vitals--tires and lights--before letting it warm up. I also noted I would be a few hundred kilometers past my intended oil change when I got back to Montreal. No worries, since I had full synthetic in the transmission and crankcase.

My route back was an entirely new route for me: Route 5 north of White River Junction to the border point at Derby Line/Stanstead. I had traveled 5 south of WRJ and it had been a rather calm, scenic ride down to the NH border. North of White River was an unknown. I crossed beneath the train tracks into the sister town of Hanover and onto Route 5 proper. A gas stop and oil check later I wound my way north. The scenery was rather what I expected from what I had seen on the southern portion of the highway. The road curved gently along the valley formed between the Green Mountains of Vermont on the west and the White Mountains of New Hampshire on the east. Flashes of the White River itself that formed the border between the two states appeared every so often.

Gradually, the route changed character. I realized I was heading north into the more mountainous areas of Vermont. I was entering "the Kingdom"--the Northeast Kingdom, a rather sparsely populated area in the selfsame section of Vermont. 5 climbed up into the hills, leaving behind the White River for the narrower valleys typical of the Appalachian Range. Not quite as curvy or technical as Routes 100 or 125, it still became a journey of sharp turns and long stretches through unpopulated hills covered with forests just beginning to turn the colours of autumn. North of St Johnsbury I entered true frontier country, making me glad I was careful to refill before the needle hit the bottom of the red zone on my fuel gauge.

With a final push I crept through the town of Derby Line to Stanstead/Beebe Plain. This is an odd border town where houses and (in one case) the town library are literally bisected by the border. On a previous visit I had taken a book out of the stacks in the US and read it on a couch in Canada. This time, though, I was not interested in sightseeing. I had to make it home to Montreal to take care of my sister's cats while she and her partner were in Maine. I turned left just north of the border on 247 to head towards Magog. The headwinds I had been fighting all day turned vicious, slowing me down ten kilometers below the speed limit. I was crouched between the mirrors just to keep my velocity up while climbing the Eastern Township hills.

Magog was a bit of a madhouse. A former textile mill town, it is now the center of a tourist industry centered around Mount Orford and Lake Mephramagog. On a hot, sunny Labour Day weekend it was crammed with tourists. I was lucky enough to be heading out of town, which proceeded at a crawl. Those trying to get into town were right out of luck. With a relief, I dodged through some road construction onto Route 112, a provincial route paralleling Autoroute 10 that heads straight to Montreal.

The ride home was a slog. The scenery between Magog and the gateway city of Granby was nice enough. But I was exhausted and eager to collapse at my sister's. I was accidentally detoured away from 112 in Granby by choosing the wrong street; luckily it hooked up south of town with a north/south highway that brought me back to my intended route. The rest of the ride was a routine slog through the flat Monteregie plains and a hair-raising ride over the Jacques Cartier. When I finally got to my sister's newly-bought house, I was a sweat soaked mess. Thankfully, she had thoughtfully left beer in the fridge! I catsitted and chilled out watching satellite TV until I toddled home after dark.

By the time my wheels hit the driveway of my apartment building, there were 6380 kilometers on the odometer. Since I'd started at 3550 leaving Montreal on Saturday, it meant I had driven the metric equivalent of 500 miles in two days.

Epilogue:

On Monday I finally got around to changing the oil. Given that I had never personally dealt with the spin on filter before, it wasn't as much a hassle as expected. I had taken the precaution of buying a 21mm deep socket for the external filter on the Friday before I left; a good thing since every store was closed that day. It took me an hour and a half, but by two o'clock Kermit had fresh synthetic 15W40, a new filter, and clean 75W140 in the transmission case.

And yes, I tightened the spin on filter quite firmly...and obsessively checking it and the drain bolts at every stop! So far everything seems firm....

[MarkTur]

Wow...leaves starting to change! Something us Floridians easily forget. Sounds like you had a great adventure!

I will try and do a nice trip like that maybe in Nov/Dec. when it starts to cool off for us...but since I read part 1, I can't stop thinking about a nice roadtrip with a few friends...oh, and maybe a new MC to take it on.

I think I'll pop in "Wild Hogs" a little later...yep, that's me, 43 and ready to pull out the "midlife crisis card" so I can take a trip with my boyz...

[kmetta]

Great write up.
I took a trip up to White River Junction in early August--you really captured the area for what it is.

We did some camping on Quechee Gorge along the border.


I'm glad someone else thought these roads were rather complicated to maneuver at speed.

Thanks again for the read.