This is the story of July 9th, the day my brother and I tried to bike to Boston.
Before I start talking, I have to confess one thing. Honestly, the whole idea and experience stressed me out so much that it affected my memory. Unfortunately, it isn’t as clear as I would hope it to be, but I will try my best to remember.
My alarm was set to ring at 4:30AM. I opened my eyes and saw a fuzzy blur of white. The streetlight glowed in the darkness through my window. I turned over and my clock read, “4:00 AM”. Oh no… I really need this extra 30 minutes… Please fall back asleep. The next time I woke up, it was 4:37AM, and I woke my brother up to start packing.
Alan and I began to pack the pannier. We had the patch kit, LUNA bars, bandages, and portable chargers. For clothes, we looked for the lightest clothes in our closets and packed those. I tossed in several granola bars as well, and two apples, even though my brother didn’t want to carry the “extra weight”.
While we half-asleepedly packed the bag, I kept trying to convince myself that we could just slide back under the sheets and wake up to a more normal, calm day. But the next thing I knew, we were closing the door to my room and walking down the stairs of Chapman toward the front door. We stepped outside into a world of blue. By the time we were done packing, the sun had begun to rise, and light began to pour into the sky. We loaded the pannier onto the rack and put our water bottles in place. With a click, the bikes were unlocked from the bike rack.
We were on our way. For the first few pedals, I thought, “And this is what I’ll be doing for the whole day.” Our first stop was the dining hall, Valentine, just a quick three minute ride. We stopped to fill our water bottles, but we debated about whether this water would be necessary or more weight. Two filled bottles each was the resulting compromise.
Little water droplets and bursts of air crashed into my face as we cruised down Route 9. We passed Campus Police and soon I felt the distance grow between me and my comfort zone. We passed Lake Holland and Arcadia Lake, both of which were stunning sights. My brother kept paper pages of a map and directions that we printed out in his shirt pocket, so he pulled it out every so often to check that we were going the right way. (Neither of us had Internet data on our phones, so we had to rely on this.) Thankfully, my phone decided that its GPS function would work today, so I would pull that out to check for the blinking blue light as well.
40 minutes into this trip, it started to rain. We biked through it, thinking (and hoping) that the rain would take pity on us and stop. Unfortunately, it didn’t. Maybe this is another chance for us to change our minds and turn back. Just as I was thinking this, through my squinting eyes, I noticed a place that looked friendly to wanderers, so we biked over for cover. I realized that it was a mini golf course, and decided that this temporary stop would be a good photo-op. After taking some selfies, like magic, the rain softened up all of a sudden. The raindrops gradually lulled, and we were soon back on the road.
We got to a point where the directions told us to get off Route 9 and turn into Blue Meadow road. I wondered why we couldn’t stay on the road, but we decided to go with the given route and turned. After going up and down several hills, I saw that the road ahead was closed off with overgrown plants. There was a sign in the center of the path, so I walked closer to read the words: NO TRESPASSING. PUBLIC WATER SUPPLY OF AMHERST.
Well, okay then, Google. We turned our bikes back and rode the “ride of shame”. We curved around the Quabbin Resevoir on Route 9 and soon found ourselves cutting through the town of Belchertown. I checked the time, and realized that it had been about 2 hours. We had not eaten anything yet. Time to lighten the load by one LUNA bar. We stopped by the side of the road, and shared a bar. Food tastes so much better when you’re hungry. As cars whizzed by us and we munched slowly on the bars, I still couldn’t believe that we were going to make this happen.
The next picture might explain our pose.
"THE TOWN THAT CAN'T BE LICKED"? We had to.
By the time we had gotten into the cute town of Ware, we were still on a good time track. It was only 8AM. For some reason, Google instructed us to turn onto Church Street. Even though I wondered why we were getting off Route 9, we ultimately decided that Google deserved a second chance. We started going north on Church St and got onto Gilbertville Rd. We kept going until the directions told us to turn onto Miller Rd. There was a sign posted that said that the road was not a through one, but the route highlighted Miller Rd for another two miles. Geez! I felt so lied to. I had to take a break and recollect myself. We decided to lay down on the ground by a small lake, ignoring the wet grass. I remember how refreshing it was to stop pedaling. I stretched my feet out, then my legs, my torso, my chest, and lastly my arms and fingers. I felt so whole. It was my body and the dewy grass. Even though I wanted to stay there forever, Alan reminded me that the day was still moving, so we had to get going, too. It took a couple breaths to peel myself off from the ground, and picked up my bike once again.
Mass Central Rail Trail in Hardwick
We couldn’t follow the directions anymore, so it was up to me and my phone’s GPS. The roads on my screen were unlabelled, so we had to stop frequently to make sure no entrances or turns were missed. As we pedaled along, I tried to focus on both the center and the side of the road. The mailboxes offered a hint for the street name. The path started to feel bumpier, and I looked down to see that the paved road had turned into a dirt path. Like always, on dirt paths, I was so afraid that the wheels would get blown out by something sharp. It was about 10:30AM. Without street names, we were beginning to get lost. A couple of horseback riders noticed that we weren’t moving, so they helped us. They pointed us to the right direction to get back onto Gilbertville Rd.Cruising along Gilbertville Rd, I felt at peace. The sun was hidden behind overcast clouds, and the road was relatively even and flat, with very natural vertical sways. We got to the end of the road, and faced a fork in the road. I pulled out my phone to see which direction was right. That’s when my GPS had decided to stop working.
Just before I began to get nervous, a lady rode her bike towards us. We learned that her name was Chris. It turned out that we had gone 10 extraneous miles off-course. Of course, beginner's luck. Chris was heading back from her usual 12-mile bike ride, and we were going the same direction, so she let us follow her for a bit. With the gear on and our youthful appearance, anyone would be easily deceived to believe that we would be much faster cyclists. She soon learned that we were not fast at all. When we first started following Chris, we were right behind her, but she sped up very quickly and we lost sight of her. We kept straight to the road, and I saw a bright green blob coming closer. As she pedalled back to us, her bright green shirt materialized before me.
We stopped at the side of the road for a quick breath. She took this chance to ask a couple questions about us. What were our names? Hello! Where were we from? Wow! Where we trying to get to? Oh my goodness! How long have you been biking? Woah! She invited us over to her house for a short break to stretch and use the bathroom, and told us that her house was 3 miles away, in West Brookfield. I gladly accepted her kind offer.
It was not a breeze riding down New Braintree Rd, but eventually we found ourselves pulling up on her driveway. There were two men standing in front of the garage. Soon, I met Chris’ husband and his friend. Both of them had the same reaction as Chris when I told them our trip thus far. John, her husband, was apparently the better cook between the two, and he offered to cook us brunch. As we walked into her house, we met her adorable dog. We were told about the dog’s previous car accident, the couple’s children and their college experiences, and many more personal details. As we shared life stories, it amazed me how open I felt and how good-natured this conversation was. Even though I had only met these people half an hour ago, it felt as if I was catching up with old friends.
John was indeed an amazing cook. He fried an egg, melted a slice of cheese in it, and placed it in the middle of an English muffin. The kitchen smelled wonderful, and it only got better when Chris toasted a cinnamon crunch bagel from Panera. As John was waiting for the second egg to fry, he went out to his garden and brought back a pepper, which he then invited Alan to try with his egg. We were so happy that we crossed paths with Chris. Compared to the LUNA bar and Nature Valley granola bar, this meal was phenomenal. I would have never expected something this nice from strangers.
After letting us use her laptop to check Google Maps, Chris had to get back to setting up for an event she was hosting later that day. It was time for us to go. We buckled up our helmets, which she adjusted for me. She told my brother that his seat needed to be higher for a more comfortable ride. She said our goodbyes, and then got back on the road. It was noon by now, but we still had a ways to go.
