ECG Day 5: Connecticut Friendly

 Note: This entry is for Saturday, September 11

The speed at which you can ride your bike and the average speed you make by the end of the day are two substantially different things when touring. Under normal conditions., we can cruise comfortably at 12-15 MPH on the flats.  That drops below 10 on moderate inclines, and below 6 on really tough hills. Occasionally we’ll get off and push the bikes (which is surprisingly difficult to do, by the way), typically when crossing a narrow bridge on a pedestrian walkway.  Downhill we tend to bomb along at 20 MPH - anything more than that starts to feel unstable, like you’re steering a runaway truck, just hoping for the best.  By the end of the day - after all the stops for water, snacks, lunch, pictures, traffic lights, and trying to figure out where you are on the map - you’ve made 7 MPH.

So when I tell you that we averaged over 11 MPH today, across some 65 miles, you know we were flyin’.  That included a couple of climbs in the last few miles that were so steep you could have walked right passed us and we would have felt the breeze. But most of the day was wonderfully, gloriously flat, and we cruised along with grateful smiles on our faces.

The first thirty miles or so were along the picturesque coastline of Long Island Sound, heading towards New Haven, Connecticut. A crystal clear day, with sailboats dotting the waters, wide, sandy beaches exposed at low tide, and the occasional lighthouse perched on an offshore rock. It was a living art gallery, as seen from a moving bicycle.

Right out of the gate we were on a mission to track down breakfast, since none was available at our hotel.  Rounding some comely, Monet-inspiring point of land, we synced up with an older guy out for his morning constitutional ride.  Bill and I chatted with him for some distance, as he narrated the local points of interest and history.  “Any good breakfast around here?” I asked.  “Er-Yup,” he said. “Follow me.”

He navigated to the locals’ favorite coffee and bake shop, said goodbye with a friendly wave, and left us to feast on muffins and Portuguese breakfast sandwiches. The locals, meanwhile, took this opportunity to heap abuse on each other. “Hey, Chahley, now look at these guys heah. They got real bikes, not like that trap of yours. Now these guys know what they’re doin.’  Where you headed?” the lead local asked. “Boston,” we said. “Bahstan? You hear that, Chahley, they’re headed to Bahstan. They got padded shorts and everything.  Now these guys know what they’re doin.’” We chatted for a bit, then headed outside with our food, while they kept slinging the friendly fire. “Man, people in Connecticut are so friendly!” Bill remarked as we saddled up and headed out.

This being Saturday, cyclists and runners were out in force. We synched up with some sort of big charity riding event, were cheered on with whoops and cowbells by the enthusiastic but confused volunteers at a checkpoint, and soon after skirted by the start of a 5k race raising money for a village in Uganda.  The miles flew by quickly, and before we knew it, we were passing through New Haven and the stately surrounds of Yale University.

We left the coast behind and headed north on the Farmington Canal Heritage Trail, which no longer has any waterway associated with it but is a wonderfully paved surface that makes its way all the way to Farmington, Connecticut.  Bikers were out in gaggles here as well, most wearing the green jerseys of the “Closer to Free” charity event for cancer patients.  People greeted us and waved and asked about our trip the entire way.  

We had just pulled over for a lunch break of peanut butter and applesauce when a lone fellow biker came screeching to a halt for a chat.    I could not place him, given the combination of swarthy looks and unusual accent. When he commented on our German-made bags, I took my shot. “Are you from Germany?” I asked.  “No, I’m Greek, but I was born in South Africa. It’s probably the Dutch accent you’re hearing.”  Now here was a guy who could talk. First about bikes, then about bikes and professional bikers in Europe, then about traveling in Europe, then about his interest in the economic banking systems of various countries in Europe.  He wanted to review all the places we’ve been and the languages we speak. It was just the sort of conversation you’d expect to have riding through, say, Yale.  “You know, you really should visit France and Belgium,” he suggested. “The air there is brilliant. It’s because of the soil.”  Uh-huh. Huh.  “That’s why they have the best everything - wines, chocolate - everything. And the best motorcycle jackets. It’s because of the air, it conditions the leather. And the air in Paris… it’s brilliant.” Uh-huh. Huh. I glanced at Bill and began plotting our escape strategy, knowing it wasn’t going to be easy. “Well, hey, thanks for stopping for the chat, but the air here is full of mosquitoes, so I think we better get moving.” Okay, I didn’t actually say that, but I was tempted.

We capped off the day with a stop at the Witchdoctor Brewing Company, where we sampled a flight of their best ales and followed up with a pint of Pilsner, all the while continuing to chat with other bikers who were coming and going. From there it was a short couple of miles to the hotel (our best one yet).  Dinner was not far down the road from there, so we walked, but it was along one of those quintessentially American speedways built for cars, not pedestrians, and we trudged on the verge and in the gutter.  A woman rolled down her window at a corner intersection. “Do you guys need a ride?” she asked, “You don’t usually see people walking around here.”

 “Man, people in Connecticut are so friendly!” Bill remarked again, as we declined and she left with a wave.