New England

In mid-summer my boxed bicycle and I arrived at the Greyhound bus station in Boston, Massachusetts. I was quite impressed with the clean, efficient terminal because it had numerous places to eat, a friendly staff, and an appropriate place to assemble my two-wheeler. There was even an elevator in which I could transport my bike to street level.
Boston is one of my favorite American cities. I like the spacious waterfront, the pretty parks, the historic buildings, the museums and art galleries, and the seafood restaurants. I knew my way around Boston because I had taught English as a Second Language for two summers at Harvard University in nearby Cambridge. I pedaled through Boston, past the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Harvard, and reached Watertown where my friend Wilga lives in a beautiful home.

My friend, Wilga

Wilga is a well-known Professor Emerita of Harvard where she taught courses in French and foreign language education for many years. She played a key role in helping me to get a job as a Teaching Fellow at that famous university. One summer she threw a wonderful 50th birthday party for me at her lovely home.
After taking a three-mile stroll along the Charles River, Wilga and I went to Dino's Sea Grille for a delicious seafood dinner. We chatted about our individual past activities. Currently, Wilga is writing an autobiography. "I've done so many things in my long life that it may take two volumes to describe it all," Wilga said.
The following day we visited the Isabella Stewart Garden Museum in Boston. Located in a charming old home designed in the style of a 15th-century Venetian palace, the museum combines architecture, paintings, sculpture, and other decorative arts. The color and fragrance of a flowering interior courtyard of the museum created a unique atmosphere and experience. The museum displays over 2,500 art works spanning 30 centuries and many different cultures. We saw 14th to 16th century Italian and 17th century Dutch paintings, Greco-Roman sculptures, and a large assortment of furniture, textiles, tapestries, rare books, bindings, and autographs.
On a sunny Sunday morning I accompanied Wilga to Good Shephard Episcopal Church where we attended a service and enjoyed breakfast with her friends. Her minister gave me a blue and white apron with the name of the church printed on it. I wasn't sure what I would do with that gracious gift because I know how to prepare only two kinds of food: spaghetti and waffles.
To prevent hunger pains on the first full day of my bicycle tour through New England, Wilga gave me a bag filled with kiwi fruit, bananas, apples, and four small banana-nut muffins in addition to several bottles of fresh spring water. We had a short but wonderful visit which was the first of four reunions on my trip.
I mounted my touring bike and retraced my route to downtown Boston, then headed south through Quinsy where I got lost momentarily. Once I found my way through town, I began pedaling down Highway 3A South. The temperature was about 90 degrees Fahrenheit but the humidity was relatively low.
I spun my pedals for 35 miles until I reached Duxbury, a beautiful community situated on the Atlantic coast. The town was a center of shipbuilding until the mid-nineteenth century when ships became too large for Duxbury's shallow bay.
I easily found my way to the cottage of Scott and Ann who are members of Servas, an international hospitality organization. They have two adopted girls: Rima of Mayan descent, and Paige, an African-American. Recently, Ann had given birth to a little
boy, Noel.

Ann reads to Paige and Rima.

This was the second reunion on my New England tour; I had stayed with the family several years ago on a cross-country bicycle trip. Scott and Ann have worked for the Massachusetts Audubon Society for many years. As Director of the Coastal Waterbird Program, Scott protects rare coastal birds, terns, and plovers. Ann is an editor for the Society's magazine.

Scott preparing a fruity smoothy

"Recently, Mister Rogers of the famous television series, donated a large property on Nantucket Island," Ann told me. "He wanted to preserve it as a natural environment for future generations." I thought that kind gesture was quite appropriate because Mister Rogers loves children very much.

Paige playing with a garden hose

I stayed with my friends for two days, then pedaled just 20 miles to East Bridgewater to visit John and Peggy who are also Servas hosts. Together we celebrated my third reunion on this trip. They invited me for lunch at Christo's, an excellent Greek restaurant. Over one hundred cars were parked outside, which seemed to testify to the popularity of the place. I ordered broiled haddock with French fries and coleslaw -- all washed down with iced tea. Delicious! "Christo arrived in America from Greece with only $12 in his pocket," John said as we ate. "Now he's worth millions."
After lunch we went for a pleasant drive along the coast and visited the villages of Cosshaset and Hingham. I love those small places not only because their New England architecture is so simple and elegant, but also because the region is seeped in early American history.
From East Bridgewater I pedaled northward through Brockton and into downtown Boston. I easily found my way to The Commons and Park Plaza where my book publisher, Heinle & Heinle, was located. It was a weekday so the Plaza area was crowded with motor traffic and pedestrians.
Suddenly, I had a wild idea: Rather than leaving my bicycle outside for potential thieves to steal, why not bring the entire rig with me up to Heinle's offices located on the 14th floor? I dared myself to do it.
The instant I wheeled my bicycle into the main lobby of the Park Plaza Building, a security guard stopped me. I explained to him that I was a well-known author of many Heinle books, and that I wanted to visit the staff members with whom I had been working for several years. "I can't let you and your bike go up in any of these elevators," he said. "But you could take the freight elevator behind the building."
That's precisely what I did. When the elevator door opened high up on the 14th floor, I pushed my bicycle out, then entered the double doors that led into the headquarters of Heinle & Heinle Publishers. My bike was loaded with four panniers, a tent, air mattress, sleeping bag, and three water bottles. The receptionist took one look at me and my bike, then dropped her jaw. The astonished look on her face could have won a Pulitzer prize-winning photograph.
Several Heinle employees, whom I knew, greeted me with handshakes and hugs. "Just leave your bike and gear right here next to the reception desk," Stan, the vice-president of the company told me. "Then come in and say hi to everybody." That's precisely what I did. Talk about chutzpah!
And so began the fourth reunion on my bicycle journey in New England, right there on the 14th floor of an elegant building in the middle of downtown Boston. I chatted with my editor about my newest textbook project, "Intercambios," and saw the beautiful silk screen painting whose image would appear later on the book's cover. I also met many staff members who were hard at work on the production of "Intercambios." Afterwards, we all went out for a delicious seafood lunch.
I said good-bye to my colleagues at Heinle & Heinle, then pushed my loaded bicycle into the freight elevator, descended to street level, and pedaled across the Charles River. I cycled northwards through very heavy traffic and was extra cautious so I would avoid becoming a fatal statistic in a local newspaper.
Eventually I reached Salem, a small city best known for the witch trials that took place there in 1692. I stopped briefly at the Visitor's Center to pick up some tourist brochures, then I pedaled to the home of Servas hosts Rob, Wendi, and their baby daughter, Sylvie. I also met Stefi, a young German girl who was working there as an au pair. Rob is a psychotherapist specializing in relationship issues, and Wendi is a bioengineer specializing in habitat restoration. The family was quite busy with many responsibilities so they weren't able to spend much time
with me.

A New England resident

The next morning I left Salem in a light drizzle that soon became a downpour. I followed Route 1A North to Beverly, turned onto Route 127 North, and began pedaling over many potholes all the way to Gloucester. This is a fishing town where the movie "The Perfect Storm" was filmed. The entire town has an awful fishy smell about it. I went there solely to pick up my forwarded mail, after which I returned to Salem where I spent the rest of the day walking around town.
I left Salem the following day and pedaled westward to Littleton. There was a considerable amount of traffic on the highway because it was the Fourth of July: Independence Day. I arrived at the hostel which is located in the countryside about four miles out of town. No one was around there, so I relaxed and ate a submarine sandwich that I bought at a nearby convenience store.
Later I met some interesting people at the hostel. There were two young couples from Slovakia who were touring the United States by car, a middle-aged man from Hawaii who collected old books and antiques, and his female companion who worked as a housekeeper in Connecticut. I commented favorably about the pretty angel brooch pinned to her blouse. "Oh, thank you. I believe in angels," she said proudly. "Angels are everywhere around us. We all have a guardian angel, you know. I really love angels."
I wished that all hostel guests were angels, assuming that angels sleep quietly if they sleep at all or (if one believes in angels). Although there were about 20 beds in the men's dormitory, only one fellow shared it with me. And that one guy snored like a hog. I enjoy staying at hostels because they are wonderful places to meet people, to obtain travel information, and to save money on lodging expenses. But hostels are terrible places to sleep in, even if only one person snores. And there almost always seems to be at least ONE snorer in the hostel dorms where I have stayed.
I left the next morning quite tired because the snoring hog had disturbed my sleep. I followed Route 110 to Ayer, Route 111 to Groton, and Route 119 up and down many hills all the way to Fitzwilliam, New Hampshire. Very little traffic was on the road, the scenery was lovely, and I was able to meditate which is one of my favorite activities while pedaling along peaceful country lanes.

The general store in Fitzwilliam

In Fitzwilliam I stayed with Servas hosts Steve, Edith, and their black spotted dog, Tricks. They live in a large white colonial house surrounded by tall trees and manicured gardens of colorful flowers. Steve and Edith, who are retired, enjoy living in Fitzwilliam which is a classic New England community down to the village green. "We moved here twenty-five years ago from New York City," Steve said. "And we'll stay here forever."

Steve and Edith, my Servas' hosts

After lunch Steve drove me around Fitzwilliam which is a clean, friendly town of 2,000 people. We passed the village hall, the village general store, the village hotel, the village cemetery, and the village church with is tall, slender white steeple. Fitzwilliam is picture postcard New England in
miniature.

The church in Fitzwilliam

I attended service at the Congregational Meetinghouse where Lynda, the minister, asked me to stand up and introduce myself. The parishioners responded by applauding my presence. After the service, they invited me for coffee and pastries, and asked me many questions about my bicycle trip.
Lynda gave me a book entitled "Peace Pilgrim," which describes the travels of an elderly woman who walked for peace more than 25,000 miles all over America between 1953 and 1981. Her message was simple: "Overcome evil with good, falsehood with truth, and hatred with love."
Peace Pilgrim talked with people on dusty roads and city streets as well as to church, college, and civic groups, on television and radio. Tragically, when she was being driven to a speaking engagement, she was killed instantly in a head-on collision. Her work continues, however, through an organization called "Friends of Peace Pilgrim."
I left Fitzwilliam following Route 119 to Brattleboro. The sky was sunny, traffic was light, and the 28-mile ride was mostly downhill. I pedaled to the house of Servas host Pierre but he was not at home. On the porch table was a carefully-wrapped dish of pastries and fruit along with an envelope with my name on it. I opened it and took out a short note: "Jim, here are some snacks for you. I'll be back at 11:30 am. -- Pierre"
He returned home from a bookstore which he owns and manages in Brattleboro. As we got acquainted, he prepared a delicious breakfast of whole grain pancakes with real Vermont maple syrup, grapefruit and strawberries. "I eat breakfast at home and take a brown bag lunch to work. But I usually go out for dinner," Pierre said.
Pierre told me that a few years ago his wife died quite suddenly. "Her heart just stopped," he said. "And she never had any heart trouble." Pierre showed me many condolence cards that he had received from relatives and friends. For a half-hour he read aloud to me eloquent notes that people had written on the cards. I felt very sorry for my new friend because he seemed so lonely. It was obvious that Pierre loved his wife dearly and that he missed her very much.
Pierre took me on a tour of his 100-year-old house that has two front parlors and four bedrooms -- all furnished with valuable antiques. His two daughters are grown now so he shares the mini-mansion with his friendly 8-year-old dog, Oliver, and an occasional Servas visitor like me.
I spent the following day sightseeing in and around Brattleboro, population 12,000. It reminded me of my hometown Bellingham, Washington because it has many coffee houses, brew pubs, funky cafes, antique shops, art galleries, several theaters, and over a half-dozen bookstores.
I had my bicycle tuned up at one of the local bike shops, then pedaled several miles to the School for International Training where my friends Al and Beatriz Fantini work as program administrators. One summer many years ago I worked with them as a group leader of junior high school students in a language camp in central Mexico.
I left Brattleboro and rode up Route 5 North along the Connecticut River. The terrain was more hilly than I thought it would be but I managed quite well. The occasional sprinkle felt refreshing as I pedaled over a debris-free shoulder in light traffic.

New England countryside

In the town of Walpole I was slowing for a stop sign when a car almost hit me. The hurried driver squeezed between several stopped cars and trucks at the intersection, but apparently he didn't see me cycling along the shoulder of the road. When the driver parked at a nearby building, I thought of riding over and expressing my anger, but I decided it wasn't worth the stress so I continued pedaling northwards.
I reached Norwich and easily found the home of Servas hosts Sue and Chas. We got acquainted over a delicious supper at AJ's Restaurant in White River Junction. I ordered the succulent shrimp scampi with a huge helping from the salad bar. Afterwards, we bought some Ben and Jerry's ice cream and ate it at the house. I had never tried that famous Vermont brand. I chose the "Cherry Garcia" flavor which has become my favorite.
The eating continued the following morning when Chas prepared homemade waffles smothered with maple syrup that he made himself. We ate a large breakfast because we had a full day of sightseeing before us.
Chas drove me in his truck to see four amazing sights in or near Norwich. First was the ultra-modern Recycling Center where I saw neat rows of waste product bins standing in a dozen categories such as cardboard, white paper, aluminum cans, and clear glass. The center had a room where children learn about how and why garbage is recycled.
Second, we visited the massive Dartmouth Medical Center which looked like a hotel and shopping center complex. The Center included many food shops, a gift shop, a large bookstore, and a florist.
The third sight on our tour was largest food cooperative that I have ever seen. The concrete-block building was huge but simple. The Co-op employed 144 people, had over 18,000 members, and stocked more than 30,000 items on its shelves. Moreover, the Co-op's prices were one-third the cost of items in the area's retail stores.
Chas drove to the fourth amazing place that was very special to him: his maple sugar operation. We walked around the hills forested with maple sugar trees which Chas taps for their precious sap. Ten miles away is his sugar shack where he processes the sap into syrup. I helped him stick address labels on many syrup-filled bottles which he planned to sell that weekend at the Norwich Fair.

Chas holds a key of his maple syrup.

After breakfast the following day I left Norwich, returned to White River Junction via Route 5 South, then followed Route 14 North along the White River. It was a bright sunny day, the terrain was quite hilly, and the road had a clean shoulder. I was feeling great physically and emotionally.
At South Royalton I passed an important spiritual site for Mormons: the birthplace of Joseph Smith Jr., the first prophet and president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and translator of the Book of Mormon. In December 1905 a granite monument was dedicated on the one-hundredth anniversary of Smith's birth. The shaft was sculpted from a single granite block, and is one of the largest polished shafts in the world. It stands 38 1/2 feet tall, one foot for every year of the Prophet Joseph Smith's life, and weighs 40 tons.
As I cycled toward South Barre, a cyclist on a racer bike zoomed up beside me. He was visiting Vermont from New Mexico. We rode and chatted together for about ten minutes, then he tore off down the road and, within minutes, disappeared from my view.
Soon I arrived in Montpelier, located in a picturesque valley along the Winooski River in Central Vermont. Montpelier, the smallest state capital in the United States, has a population of approximately 8,500 people. I pedaled past the State Capitol with its impressive gold leaf dome, and rode to the home of Servas hosts Harlan, Esther, and their old black dog, Onyx.

The Capitol Building in Montpelier

Esther had recently returned from China where she attended a women's conference on equality and development. We watched an interesting video that she had made there. "Women who live in many developing countries are treated like second-class citizens," Esther said. "The members of our organization are working hard to change that situation." We continued chatting on the back porch where we enjoyed a picnic of tasty tacos and strawberry shortcake.
I rode my bicycle around Montpelier to visit its many pretty residential areas. I also took a tour of the Capitol called the Vermont State House, a magnificent building located in downtown Montpelier. The gold leaf dome offers a spectacular contrast with the wooded hillside of Hubbard Park in the background. The interior of the building is adorned with marble floors, spiral staircases, and finely-carved wood trim.
In the evening Harlan, Esther and I went to the Lost Nation Theater where we saw a play entitled "A Delicate Balance." The actors were good but I didn't enjoy the performance because it contained many arguments between family members and
friends.

Harlan at work on his house

In the morning Harlan, an avid cyclist, accompanied me on his bicycle. We followed Highway 2 westward along the beautiful Winoski River. Interestingly, we saw more bicyclists and joggers than motor traffic, which was a treat for me. At Jonesville I said good-bye to Harlan who wished me well. I continued pedaling along Highway 2 until I reached the Burlington Airport.
I cycled right up to the entrance of the small terminal, dismounted, and pushed my bike to the US Airways counter. Although I had no reservation, the agent there sold me a one-way ticket to Bellingham, Washington. He also gave me at no charge a large box for my bicycle and a smaller one for my panniers.
On the flights back home to Bellingham, I thought about the beautiful places that I had visited in New England as well as the wonderful friends I had visited and made there. Like the Pacific Northwest, the Atlantic Northeast is a cycle tourist's paradise, one to which I hope to return again soon.