Loading up the bike and gear is easy since I’ve done it so many times. One fat FOX backpack from my childhood holds everything: helmet, water bottles, blinking lights, sunglasses and more. I have a route in mind I want to ride, past Franconia notch. Unconstrained now that I have a car, I can explore some roads I only dreamed of as a kid.
The route starts near Twin Mountain, where we used to camp as a family, and ends near Crawford Notch. The real fun is an insane 13% grade hill that drops me off at the Willey House, a favorite ice cream destination when we were kids. After pushing 45mph down the canyon, I stop to gaze up at the mountain ridge above. A few motorcycles pass. A few people feed the ducks at the pond.
There is so much beauty in New Hampshire and the roads cut right through it. This summer I rode about 1,000 miles in total, covering the Kancamagus, Waterville Valley, Franconia Notch, Easton/Sugar Hill, Warren, and more, all of them multiple times. It never gets old to stop and stare for a moment at the surrounding landscape and then quietly roll along. In Franconia, gliders are lined up at a small airport with mountains rising in the background - truly sublime. On the Kanc, every lookout is a painting. The jagged cliffs of Canon Mountain rise menacingly in Franconia Notch. There is always somewhere to explore.
A bit of exploring down the road, then a steep hillclimb back up the hill, and I notice the GPS re-routes me off the main route. Why? I just rode down the opposite direction, so I don’t have a clue what it’s doing. I ignore it and keep pedaling. It’s adamant: turn right ahead. I shrug. I have plenty of time, and the mystery route will take me back to my destination, so the worst case scenario is that it’s some sort of rocky mountain road that my road bike can’t handle.
A moment passes. I take the risk and slice a turn up the road.
Fresh blacktop greets me. It must have just been paved this summer. Between my breaths I feel the silence of the surrounding valley, the absence of cars, the quiet rubber of bike tires swooshing along. The breeze filters through the trees, whose leaves wave back at me. The GPS says about 3 miles to go before I reach the base station road to Mt. Washington. I recognize where I am and how this detour is going to work.
My legs spin around, my feet smoosh into the pedals on the downturn, my fingers click the shifter up and down as I scale and descend the terrain. It’s just me out here. I drop my hands to the banana bars to go fast down a hill, then straighten my body to climb up the other side of the bowl. The stillness of the road is met by my pounding heart.
A few miles pass. A big breath in, a breath out, the bike smiling underneath me, gulping the fresh pavement like an energy drink. I find stillness, the way a waterfall is still, yet powerful. Each turn is a mystery, each swing of the pedals is ambitious, each moment feels new and exciting.
Suddenly, a blazing red stop sign appears in the distance. I coast to a stop and look around. Perhaps the finest 4 miles I’ve ever ridden just passed, and for a moment, I consider turning around and doing it again. But I look ahead at the road before me and take off. Such is the magic of cycling. The destination is here, right now.
