I Tried Not To Cry. Michael Beattie
a friendly place to me, with everyone greeting everyone else. You always wore your better clothes into town because you needed to try and make a statement about yourself. It was a bit of a faster-paced lifestyle in the city, compared to that of the village. Sometimes a shop owner who was familiar with my grandmother would hand me a treat, penny candy possibly. Being nice to others in that time meant loyal customers, as we would shop for meats in one store and vegetables in another. Each shop owner would almost know exactly what Gram would need. Gram always carried a small notepad and pencil to write on in case others couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. She seemed to know exactly which small shops to buy from, as they all seemed to greet her as she walked in. “Hi, Caroline, how is Bill?” they would ask as she smiled a big smile. Gram would write down exactly what she wanted at each shop and hand the note to the clerk. They all knew her and treated her with a great show of appreciation for her business. The butcher cut and wrapped the meats in paper neatly, writing the contents on the paper wrapper, before thanking her. They all seemed to know money was very tight for my grandparents, as with many during the fifties in these mill towns, and they were happy for the business. The larger grocery store called the A&P had moved into town, and was slowly putting an end to the individual produce and butcher stores with their lower prices. “He’s getting big,” the butcher said of me, as he greeted my grandmother, she smiling back. “Have a good day, Caroline,” he said as we departed down the front step. “Come back again.” We pushed the load of food in a small cart which folded up for travel back home to the village. Country folks going to the city!
I shed layers and put layers back on as I struggle up and down the hills of this northwestern part of Connecticut. Traffic is light on the mostly backcountry roads after passing through the town of Granby, as I head along the Farmington River section of Pleasant Valley past the Barkhamsted Reservoir. Riverton and Colebrook are some of the quaint small New England towns which pass me by, with their beautiful stone walls and manicured farm estates. I stop several times at the friendly small general stores, enabling me to pick up snacks and fluids. The uphill climbs get harder as I enter areas of Norfolk and Canaan, then into Salisbury along Route 44. This is an area that I’m very familiar with, as I’ve made my way here to hike Bear Mountain (the highest peak in Connecticut) many times, including winter hikes. This is a most beautiful area of the state to visit, but a very expensive area to live in, at least from what I’ve heard from others. Resembling a picture-perfect postcard of New England, Salisbury is home to many dignitaries as well as movie celebrities such as Meryl Streep and the former Margaret Hamilton, to name only a couple. I pass by the Scoville Library, which was the first free public library in the United States. Its beautiful stone construction is a tribute to the craftsmanship of old. The oldest Methodist church in New England is also on my route, being established in 1789. The Lakeville Methodist Church still stands proud on the main street that I ride along. The temperature has climbed into the fifties as I continue to shed and add layers as I climb then descend back down. The trees look lonely as they’ve shed their leaves for the winter, making way for new buds that will soon appear. My hopes are that the March winds will slowly give way to April, but not so today, as I have a constant westerly headwind. I’m somewhat sheltered by the trees on the back roads, not being too exposed to the wind until I reached Canaan where I’m put on Route 44, which runs along much open farm areas, hence more wind blowing down off the surrounding mountains. After I pass through the most beautiful main areas of Salisbury, I drop down into Lakeville. This is yet another magical picture-perfect town, which looks as though it was meant for a Norman Rockwell painting. Quaint would be a word to describe this area, where many of its citizens commute by train to New York City for work. I feel as though I’ve traveled into a different part of the world, from a trailer in the over fifty-five park which I just left this morning, to this wealthy area of beautiful homes and shops, all in one day on a bike. I pass by the Lime Rock auto racetrack where Paul Newman had once raced, before I cross into New York State by way of a small town called Millerton.
I’m truly exhausted at this point as I search for the Harlem Valley Rail trail which my map indicates will take me to the small New York town of Amenia, where I have scheduled a motel prior to my start yesterday. The rail trail is a welcome sight as it takes me off the busy Route 44 onto a fairly level grade for the last nine miles of today’s ride. Darkness is nearly upon me, as it’s taken me the entire twelve hours of daylight to finally reach the small motel called the Willows, just a short distance off the rail trail. I’m exhausted as I reach the tiny roadside motel, but satisfied that I made it, and my lungs feel no worse for wear. My legs are very weary, having never ridden this far (ninety-two miles) with so much weight. I wobble as I dismount the bike to walk up to the office door of the 1940s-looking one-level roadside motel. A note on the door directs me to a phone number to call upon arrival, which I do. I’m not quite sure what to expect at this point, but this is the only lodging near my route. The person who answers the call instructs me to my assigned room, number two, and states the door is open. I’m told to leave the key locked inside the room when I leave. There’s no one else in this place as it’s vacant of any cars. I enter the room, taking my bike and gear inside, to find the interior to be like something out of the 1950s, small and dated, but clean and priced reasonably. All I want at this point is a clean bed and a hot shower, and I have both. My daily budget which I’ll try to stay at is one hundred dollars for both food and lodging, although I know it may be hard to meet in some areas of the country. Day one, I have fared well. I send Sue a message that I’ve arrived at the motel and will contact her after I get cleaned up. She has a complete set of my itinerary and map systems so she can monitor my route. She also has emergency contact information for each area to call if need be. I set this all up prior to my departure so she will have control of my whereabouts. Oh my God, the hot shower feels wonderful on my sore body as I close my eyes and hang my head down. How will I ever make it feeling this drained on day one of a six-month journey? I wonder. I know how fortunate I am to have the ability to attempt this mission, but now nearly sixty-seven years old, my broken body is fighting me every mile.
After a change of clothes, I walk into the little town where a Greek-style restaurant named the Amenia Steak House is located. I consume a large chicken and pasta meal along with a couple of beers and a small loaf of garlic bread. Although I ate often during my ride today, I can’t believe how hungry I still am. My butt is a bit sore from the day’s ride, and I hope that all the sweating I do under my clothes won’t develop into sores. As I’m eating my meal, I study my maps, trying to line up a riding distance and motel for tomorrow. The motel choices are few along my planned route which will require me doing another long ninety-mile ride. My second day target location is Port Jervis, New York. I’m experiencing some knee discomfort today, and hope I can make it that distance. I’ve done it before, but not carrying this much weight, plus the fact that I’m still on medication for my lungs. There’s no ice back at my room, so I just keep applying Icy Hot ointment on the knees and hope for the best. My hands and elbows are also sore on this first day, as I consume ibuprofen for the discomfort. I carry a good supply of it, just in case. Maybe I haven’t let them heal enough prior to this ride, but I’m not overly concerned. When back at my motel room, I’m able to book a motel room in Port Jervis, New York, at a cost above my budget, but I take it. My nervousness seemed to disappear quickly after I left this morning, being replaced with the reality of my mission and its length. This is only day one of a long journey, and my mind is fighting thoughts of crazy expectations all day long. My plan for tomorrow will be the same as today, rise early, eat well, and ride at a steady pace in order to make my destination. I know this isn’t a race, but rather, a long, continual marathon type of ride.
My fear of not being able to sleep on a different bed each night was erased away last night as I sleep like an exhausted baby. Relying on my research for a good diet, I try to consume the type of foods that will fuel me for the ride. I make oatmeal in my room prior to leaving, knowing there’s a convenience store only a few blocks down the road from the motel. In the dark, I ride to the store where I have a coffee and a hand breakfast sandwich before I head out to the road. I replenish my fluids and snacks before I ride off, just as the sun’s starting to rise to lighten my way. My rear strobe lights seem to be working well as I can hear cars slow down as they approach me from behind. This seems to be working well so far, but I have such a long way to go. I know I have to stop thinking of the overall picture and try to only think of what I have in store each day, or I won’t make it. My butt