I woke up to overcast skies. My motorcycle sat alone in the hotel parking lot near Killington, Vermont. Its a familiar lot that is so often filled with the smiles, bikes and happy faces of my riding friends. Today it was me all alone. I was going to go ride the Mount Washington Auto Road. That would be one more tick off of my life’s To-Do List.

I turned on the Ipod and shoved off at about 6:30 am.

Vermont seems to be a rolling succession of picturesque little towns and villages that proudly line their main street with American flags on every telephone pole. It really harkens to a seemingly long forgotten piece of innocent America.

Between these small towns is a weathered yet charming string of farms and rural homesteads. I quietly wonder how people are so lucky to have the strength to choose a life that appears to be so much less cluttered on the surface. I don’t want to know the reality of what their lives are like, i want my dream.

Meandering east, I cross into New Hampshire.

Sometimes you know you’re walking this world on your own, don’t you?

According to Roadside America, Warren, NH is the only town that apparently has a Redstone Rocket on display. Goshalmighty, if that isn’t reason enough to stop for visit, I don’t know what is!

Fog on the Kanc.
I set the ole self-timer on the camera and also took a pic of myself standing there. But being the buffoon I am, I somehow managed to capture myself doing what appears to be ‘The Robot’ in my raingear. Perhaps if I’m feeling masochistic later I will post it up.

Here it is. My moment of glory!

This is as far as I made it up the Auto Road.

The very nice lady at the tollbooth sheepishly walked over and said, ‘I’m sorry, honey. We’re closed to bikers today.’ It took about 20 seconds for what she was saying to register in my brain. Apparently after Laconia Bike Week, the dirt road had become degraded and unsafe to bikes and was being repaired.

So… I visited Mount Washington from across the street over a turkey sandwich. Typical.

There it is, up in the clouds. So close, yet so far.

I called Kenny and gave him the lowdown on my aborted summit attempt. He kind of chuckled and said, ‘Of Course.’ As i stood there looking at the mountain, the weather began to roll and tumble.

Maximus: ‘At my signal, unleash hell!’
And it did. The rain dogged me all day from this point on. This was the last pic I took trying to escape the onslaught.

There were so many spots I rolled past and said, ‘I’ll snap a pic on the way back.’ It proved to be foolish on my part. The thunder and lightning kept me moving. Lesson learned…maybe.

Moments in time are fleeting. Stop and smell the roses.

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…a little rain must fall.

The steam rolled along the blacktop, slicking up the already treacherous tar-snakes of Mass. Route 23.

Thursday afternoon I packed up my tankbag and headed north to Vermont. I seemed to be chasing the tail of the rain and was thankful I hadn’t caught up to it yet.

Of course, when I go thinking… that’s when things all end up going south. This was pretty much the last I saw of the sun for the next 24 hours.

…to be continued.

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