Participants: Tammy
Walesczyk, Eric Anderson, Bill & Ellie Penn, John & Beth Hankins, Phil
Forzley, Linda Pierce, Dave Jacoboski
Tammy had been nice enough to find us a condo to rent in
Lincoln, near Loon Mountain at the base of the Kancamagus Highway. We had planned a big day of riding on
Saturday, but when we awoke to cold
steady rain no one voiced any enthusiasm for 100 miles of icy road spray in the
face. We were not the kind of group that
stays put, however, so we planned an alternative two-mile hike to a waterfall
to stretch the legs. It was a good plan
. . . but one we were unable to execute due to the unifying adventurous spirit
of Mr. Anderson. Just before we reached
the waterfall we got to a trail junction sign that said – Flume Mountain, 5
miles. The temptation was just too much. We took the turn, and a little over two hours
later seven of us found ourselves at 4300 feet.
Snow was mixing with the rain and the little spruce trees sticking out
of the rocks at the bare summit were covered with icicles. Our clothing and supplies were more suitable
for the 70-degree day that had originally been forecast, so we decided to high-tail
it back to the dry condo before someone became one of those Mt. Washington Valley
statistics.
We spent the rest of Saturday watching it rain. Eric declared that Sunday would be different,
and we’d be getting a ride in. Eric was
right . . .Sunday was different.
When we rolled out of bed on Sunday, we realized that none
of us was ready for Appalachian Trail prime time. The 11 miles and 3000 feet of climbing the
day before had left us all with sore legs and some mangled skin on feet unused
to such abuse. It was still raining, and
the only difference from Saturday was that temperatures in Lincoln were now in
the mid-30s instead of the mid-40s.
Seemed like a perfect day for a bike ride.
With cold rain coming down, we realized we needed to
provide people a bail-out option, so we elected to take turns driving our van
along the route as the official sag vehicle.
Eric took the first driving duty, and drove the van to the top of the
first climb up Kinsman Notch on Rte. 112 eight miles west of Lincoln. Kinsman Notch was a climb we had not done
before. The local cyclists refer to it
as “Gonzo Pass”, and it is the second longest paved climb in the State (behind
the Kancamagus Highway). Linda and Dave
had elected to stay at the condo and wait until the weather cleared (which it
didn’t). The rest of us headed into the
cold drizzle and started up the pass. As
we started the climb we were surprised to see snow on the top of the
hills. Then about half way up the climb
there was snow on the side of the road.
A strong headwind was now in our faces and the rain was picking up. Shortly thereafter, Eric came down the hill
from where he’d parked the car at the top and let us know that there were five
inches of new snow at the top of the pass and that we’d best turn around. It was very sensible advice, which only Tammy
heeded. The rest of us, with fond
memories of road riding in the snow the previous year in the Rocky Mountains,
soldiered on, up and over the top. Our wet
clothes, 30 mph headwinds, and freezing ice pellets falling from the sky were
doing a nice job dissipating the body heat that is normally a feature of such
climbs, and as we dropped the 1500 or so feet we had just climbed, things got a
little chillier.
After coming off of Kinsman Gap, we did a driver-rider
switch, and continued on to the next challenge, Franconia Notch, made famous by
that cliff-top outcrop of random rocks referred to as the Old Man in the
Mountain, or at least it was until it fell off in a heap of rubble, leaving New
Hampshire wondering what to do about its 100-year old branding initiative.
As we climbed toward Franconia Notch we repeated our
earlier experience, and by the time we had reached the Cannon Mountain ski area
at the top there was snow on the ground again.
Cars had parked at the bottom of the mountain, and people were hiking up
the mountain with skis on their shoulders for an activity more befitting of the
day. The only road that goes through
Franconia Notch is Interstate 93, which does not allow bikes. The alternative is a bike path paralleling
the highway. The bike trail was notably
less plowed than the highway. Riding our
skinny tires through two inches of slush for the next three miles had not been
our plan when we woke up in the morning, but there we were. To compound this difficulty, the wet snow had
bent over the young birch trees, mostly blocking the way. As we ducked under them on our bikes, we’d
scrape the branches and each would contribute a load of wet slush into the
collars of our jackets. By the time we
found Phil with the van at the terminus of the bike trail, all of us were
frozen through, and Bill and Beth decided to take the next stint in the van
with the heat turned to eleven.
As Eric, Phil, and I descended off of Franconia Notch on
Rte. 3 in rain that was increasing in intensity, we were decidedly chilly, and
the normally effervescent Mr. Anderson was heard to mumble “This really sucks”. And verily, it did.
We pushed on along Route 3 to Twin Mountain, and then
turned south on Rte. 302 toward the third climb of the day up Crawford
Notch. This notch from the south is
fairly gradual, and we were finally able to get a nice rhythm going as we
headed up and past Bretton Woods ski area and the back side of Mt.
Washington. At the top we gave a thumbs
up to Beth and Bill in the van and pushed on to Bartlett, where we met Bill and
Beth for a much-deserved lunch. After 30
minutes or so, we got up from lunch, leaving the vinyl chairs in the restaurant
decidedly damper then they had been before we sat down.
Climb 4 of the day was up Bear Notch Road from Bartlett to
the Kancamagus Highway. The Bear Notch
climb is one of our favorites, a steady ascent and descent on a twisty forest
road with smooth pavement. The rain had
finally stopped, and although temperatures were still in the 40s, life was
good. At the bottom of Bear Notch we
hooked a right on the Kancamagus for the final climb of the day on the way back
to Lincoln. The Kancamagus climb is one
of the epic climbs in New England, and a badge of honor for any cyclist east of
the Mississippi. The climb we did up the
east side starts with several miles of gentle grade followed by steeper grades
on a twisty road with panoramic views the White Mountains. Phil and I duked it out on the upper part of
the climb, but then declared a truce for the last 100 yards to the top of the
pass at 2850 feet.
The snows had melted and life was good. Beth, Bill and Eric showed up at the top a
couple of minutes later, and it was on to the finish line. I had parked the van back at Bear Notch Road
and had to back-track to get it. I asked
if anyone wanted to keep me company on my way back to the van. As an incentive, I guaranteed a dry 10-mile
downhill run with a tail wind. All
declined, and I solo’d it back to the van, making 30+ mph the whole way as
gravity, a tail-wind, and a brief sunny interlude all conspired to make me a
happy man.
Beth also had a smile on her face as she started down the
other side with the boys, at least until the skies opened up and pummeled them
with cold rain, just to make sure that those that may have missed some of the wet
stuff while driving the van could get their full dose. Beth was wet and cold and getting tossed
around by the wind – her aero wheels are decidedly less aero when the wind is
coming from the side. Although it has
not been confirmed by independent sources, there has been a report that she was
seen walking her bike DOWN part of the Kancamagus Highway, which may be a first
in recorded history.
Everyone made it back safely, and the warm showers were a
welcome reward. Because of the way we
did the sag wagon, none of us rode the entire 95-mile route. Regardless of the distance and climbing that
any of us did individually, there was plenty of adversity to go around, and it
was an experience that none of us will soon forget.
