Rain, rain take a hike. Erik wants to ride his bike.
This was the refrain going through my head this morning as we woke up to varying intensities of precipitation that continued until 10 am, delaying our start. The sky spits at us as we mount our bikes, coasting down to the LVRT. We take it slow, not wanting to spin out given the slippery conditions.
A corn field appears in front of us leading to mountains in the background whose tops are obscured by the mist and clouds. Nary a bird is chirping leaving us in relative silence. We ride though good bottom land as crops grow around the Lamoille River, which winds serpentine-like around the trail.
Thunder emerges in the background, the sky opens up. But we pedal on. In a few minutes beyond the fog of my glasses, an open shed emerges and we head right to it for shelter. It is Lamoille Valley Bike Tours in Johnson and it becomes our home for the next hour as we wait for the rain to stop. It is noon and we have biked only 7 miles; we have over 40 to go.
The rain has nearly stopped so its time to push on. It’s not as cold as one might think, biking in the rain, as long as you keep moving. Stop and that is when the shivers can take over. But it is not the cold I am worried about but our lunch. We change plans and head for Jeffersonville for a good sit-down lunch at 158 Main. We are not disappointed.
After finishing lunch, the sun decides to emerge and the day heats up quickly. We shed our rain gear and are down to shortsleeved shirts. We still have 30 miles to go.
With a slight breeze in our face, we move north away from towns and people. The only sounds are that of the wind and the neighborhood birds. The current stretch we are on is straight as an arrow causing us not to move our front wheels for well over 10 minutes. The creek to our right has multiple beaver dams transforming the adjoining land into a small pond.
The heat and sun have made a stop at the Puddledock Grill & Scoop mandatory. Three scoops of ice cream for me, a maple sundae for Ted. The proprietress works milking cows at her family’s dairy farm; the ice cream comes from Kingdom Creamery in Hardwick.
Thick fields of white clover surround us upon our departure. Their existence and that of the many weeds along the ditches is encouraging as it implies that herbicides are not being used locally. Tiny and neat rows of 9-inch feed corn line and spiral their way in the distance. We are in a valley surrounded by crops.
We finally reach the Missisquoi River and the corresponding trail (MVRT). We take a hard left seeing that the M in MVRT should perhaps stand for mud as the trail does not have the same quality of its intersecting cousin. It is in the process of being resurfaced and much of the next section of the trail is closed because of it. The workers are off for the weekend so Ted and I go gangster and pedal on some of the unfinished sections. They are a vast improvement.
Approaching St. Albans, we are struck by the abject beauty of a local wetlands populated with phragmites and dead, bark-less trees reaching toward the sky. We linger, but not too long as we seek the end of the trail, a shower, a hot meal and a soft bed.
