The past couple of years I’ve headed west - south gets
too hot and north too lonely so there was no other direction but east and I
love the Atlantic coast. I said my good-byes and headed east planning on
crossing into the US at Johnston but Garmin Dan mentioned Cornwall. I ignored
him for a bit then began to believe it might actually be a shorter route. Turns out
the machine was just playing with my head’ cause he suddenly, but oh so politely suggested that I
cross where I had originally planned at the Ogdensburg-Prescott International
bridge. The border traffic was light, and though I managed to put myself in the
slowest line it took less than 15 minutes to cross.
My route threw me back into childhood when I would stay with
my Aunt and Uncle in Fort Covington NY during fair week in Malone. If I’d had
more time I might have tried to find the farm where Cameron knocked me out of
the second story barn window into the bull pen. When you land in a yard full of
bovine droppings (aka cow shit) nothing gets hurt but your pride. After a quick
trip home and a check by the doctor I still got to go to the fair.
The gentle, tree covered eastern mountains were before me as I
crossed the bridge at Champlain into Vermont. I travelled highway 7 as it snuggled the meandering river for a bit. The eastern
mountains aren’t like the Rockies. They’re soft and rolling and somehow
inviting and you can’t tell when you've switched from looking at them to being
surrounded by them, and then, there I was rolling down the interstate through the
mountains.
Vermont! It must be the moose capital of the US. Every 10 k or so there was another ”moose crossing” sign coupled with “stay alert, stay alive signs.” Then nearing my destination they threw in a “bear crossing” sign just for good measure. Now, if you’ve ever read one of my adventures before you know how I feel about bear. The good news is, in Vermont one could mostly expect to encounter black bear which we all know are herbivores and, unlike their western grizzly counterparts, not likely to eat tourists. Just the same my eyes were wide open and I made several extra pit stops to ensure I would be ALERT!
Vermont! It must be the moose capital of the US. Every 10 k or so there was another ”moose crossing” sign coupled with “stay alert, stay alive signs.” Then nearing my destination they threw in a “bear crossing” sign just for good measure. Now, if you’ve ever read one of my adventures before you know how I feel about bear. The good news is, in Vermont one could mostly expect to encounter black bear which we all know are herbivores and, unlike their western grizzly counterparts, not likely to eat tourists. Just the same my eyes were wide open and I made several extra pit stops to ensure I would be ALERT!
I arrived safely, no bear or moose encountered, at a gem of
a campground nestled in the woods on the side of a mountain. Across the road
from the campground is the Route 4 Diner and Chocolatier, out front a giant
smoker running round the clock preparing
pork and brisket and serving, according to several folks I’ve met here, the
best ice cream in the state.
I may have to have ice cream for breakfast ‘cause
the pulled pork sandwich was a meal more than fit for a queen.
Tonight that’s
me – queen of the hill, my little tent is pitched on the highest freaking spot
in the whole darn place. And yes, the Star and I had to climb gravel to get here!
