Day 33 – Nashua, NH

The day started out cool and sunny in Brattleboro, VT. It was a quick ride down a very steep hill to the bridge crossing the Connecticut River into New Hampshire. I decided that, for the most part, I would just follow NH119 east. It was a good choice, the road surface was excellent, with plenty of shoulder room. Unfortunately, until I reached Fitzwilliam, NH it was very much like the road out of Bennington, VT, lots of climbing and running out of breath.

About 13 miles along, I spotted a fellow on the other side of the road standing next to his vehicle and waving his arms at me. For whatever reason, I somehow suspected it was a ham radio friend that I had never met in person, Jack, W1PFZ. Sure enough, he had been following my postings here and calculated where he thought I might be. He drove up with Ann (sp?) from Ashburnham, MA just to be my personal welcoming party to the east coast. How cool is that? Hams are like that, I wonder if there is a medication for it?

After Fitzwilliam, I continued east on NH119 and the road became more level. Of course, by then, my energy was sapped. A typical ride on level ground with just the weight of the bike is around 3400 calories for a 70-mile ride. I would venture that the first twenty miles of today’s ride burned that much. Judging by my serious weight loss, I suspect I’m not too far off the mark. By the end of the day, my legs are rubber. These New England hills are the toughest part of the coast-to-coast ride. My daughter, Aine, said the same thing when she did this ride.

When I was a kid in Connecticut, I rarely saw any wild turkeys. They were practically extinct in the region. Through care and concern, they have been brought back, and they have certainly recovered. In NY and New England, I am seeing them everywhere, in huge numbers. I would venture that on today’s ride I’ve seen at least 2000 birds. I laughed when, a few weeks back, I saw a bear chasing a turkey, to no avail. The wild turkey, unlike its domestic relative, is very cagey and smart, the bear never had a chance.

NH119 turned into MA119 in Massachusetts. It became a pothole hell. It was actually dangerous on a bicycle, motorcycle, or in a small car with narrow tires. Some of the holes were a foot deep and I really had to watch for them. Going 40 MPH (65 km/h) downhill, with tearing eyes, it became a dangerous game. At one point, as a car was passing, I had to revert to my old mountain bike talents and force the bicycle to “jump” over a very deep hole at top speed. I just cleared the pothole. Had I gone into it there would have been serious rim damage, or worse. I should have taken a photo. The pothole, one of the thousands, was at least a 3-4 feet (1 m) across and a foot (.33 m) deep.

Later, in a restaurant, I saw a politician in a campaign ad claiming to have cut taxes in Massachusetts (I think it was the current governor, Charlie Baker). I’d love to invite him to ride MA119 with me across the state. If he survived it, he’d be less inclined to brag about cutting taxes and subsequently, cutting road maintenance. Sorry if I vent on this, but this is outright dangerous and when they cut taxes, they should explain what else gets cut…there is no free lunch. I’ll bet automobile front-end business is thriving.

I really wanted to make it to the Nashua, NH area for the evening. This would put me in a good spot to finish the next day in Newburyport, MA. I pushed on as the sun got lower and lower. It finally started getting dark enough that I had to turn on my headlamp and three rear lights. At around 19:15 I rolled into a Motel 6 on Spit Brook Rd, Nashua, NH and found that they did in fact, “Leave the light on,” for me. I don’t know what the temperature was, but several folks asked me if I was cold, the locals thought it was cold. When working that hard, I must admit, I didn’t even notice.

It was a 72 mile (120 km) day. I was spent, but happy. I put the bike in the room, walked out for an evening meal and was asleep by 22:00. In all, it was a good day. Tomorrow, it is on to Newburyport.

Author: Dennis Blanchard

Dennis Blanchard was born in Bristol, Connecticut. He and his wife Jane moved to New Hampshire in 1980 where he has climbed thirty 4000-foot mountains, biked the trails and enjoyed the wilderness. Never living very far from the Appalachian Trail, Dennis was always aware of the seductive siren’s call to hike it. Dennis is an electronics engineer who has freelanced for amateur radio, technical and motorcycle adventure magazines. He now lives in Sarasota, Florida. View all posts by Dennis Blanchard