I had a three day weekend and wasn’t sure where to go for a new adventure. The end of March in New Hampshire is a transitional time into Spring affectionately known as “Mud Season.” Conditions in the mountains are still somewhat snowy but only along the trails where the hikers had packed down the snow. Most of the surrounding snow begins to melt, giving way to mud – all except for the monorail. Hiking in the Adirondacks would be no different and maybe worse. Huiyeng had suggested we get the bikes out and go for the first ride of the season. But where? I’ve been thinking of Maine, because we hadn’t been to Maine much, outside of the kayak camping trip back in September to Richardson Lake. I’ve been thinking a lot about Maine too, since one of my new hires at work had mentioned needing a weekend off to go on a Puffin cruise. It’s like a whale watch but for puffins! I have an artistic goal of photographing puffins in the wild, so my interest was piqued. I remembered a photographer friend telling me about a boat in Northern Maine that would take you to an island where there are blinds set up for photographers to take photos. The service is offered all summer, but you have to schedule in January before they are all sold out, and I checked – They are all sold out this year. Maybe next year. Huiyeng suggested the temperatures in Maine might not be the best for cycling, but if we went further south, they might be better. She suggested Newport, and I remembered having been interested in exploring Block Island several years ago, but I wasn’t able to do it at the time. It was settled. Friday we would drive down and do the Cliff Walk. Saturday we would take out bikes on the ferry to Block Island, and Sunday walk around Providence and spend some time at the RISD art museum.
We took the ferry from Point Judith to Block Island. The boat was warm, and it wasn’t crowded at all in March. It was slated to be in the upper 40’s that day, so we were dressed warm, but not too warm, since cycling would build up some heat. We brought one set of paneers, which Huiyeng should graciously haul around the Island on her bike. Upon arriving on the island, we found it eerily quiet.
We set out right away taking the route clockwise around the island. I hadn’t been on my road bike since October, but I’ve been teaching a lot of indoor cycling classes over the winter, so I felt ready. The road felt like it went straight up. Well maybe it wasn’t that bad, but it did start out immediately on a hill, and it felt rough. It wasn’t long to the top, and then it leveled off, and it felt like all of the sudden we were at the first stop, the Southeast Lighthouse.
The ride around the island was mostly on the main road with rolling hills and historic houses on larger plots of land. It felt like being in the country, yet it was quintessentially New England with rock walls lining the properties, gray cedar shingles on many houses, and little placards at the head of many driveways labeled with the year generally ranging from somewhere in the 1600’s to the 1700’s.
We stopped for pictures whenever we were inspired, and took a ride up to the northern peninsula to see the North Lighthouse. There are two on the island. Block Island is very bicycle friendly. At each point of interest there is a rack to secure your bike. There wasn’t a walking path to the North lighthouse, so we found a driftwood seat to relax for a bit and have a snack.
We ate most of our food by then, and we were still pretty famished, but nothing was open outside of the necessities: liquor and groceries. So we made our way back down to New Shoreham toward the ferry terminal. We still had an hour and a half to kill, because we’d assumed we would find a cute place to sit and have a drink and a bite to each halfway through our ride. We rode around looking for anything that looked open but only saw the local Irish pub. Though I’m mostly of Irish heritage, I’m not a huge fan of the food. We moved on looking for anything but found nothing. I eventually asked a local, who was planting flowers in the large planters at the center of a triangular median at the center of town. She told me that the only restaurants opened were McAloons’s (the Irish pub) and the Old Island Pub. We opted for McAloon’s, and it was actually pretty nice. I had a salad, and we shared some French fries while enjoying a well-earned adult beverage. Overall, the ride was about 18 miles, plus the ride to and from the ferry terminal from our motel room.
POEM TO THE BUCCANEER, by RICHARD HENRY DANA (1787-1879)
THE ISLAND lies nine leagues away.
Along its solitary shore,
Of craggy rock and sandy bay,
No sound but ocean’s roar,
Save where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home,
Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam.
But when the light winds lie at rest,
And on the glassy, heaving sea,
The black duck, with her glossy breast,
Sits swinging silently,
How beautiful! no ripples break the reach,
And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach.
And inland rests the green, warm dell;
The brook comes tinkling down its side;
From out the trees the sabbath bell
Rings cheerful, far and wide,
Mingling its sounds with bleatings of the flocks,
That feed about the vale amongst the rocks.
Nor holy bell nor pastoral bleat
In former days within the vale;
Flapped in the bay the pirate’s sheet;
Curses were on the gale;
Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men;
Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then.
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