September 17, 2006

Nine days, 430 miles. I'm using Ammurrican 'til I get to Mexico. The riding is getting easier: my ass doesn't hurt near as much as it did 3 0r 4 days ago. Yesterday's plan was to hole up in Exeter, VT, for a day and catch up on e-spondence. I got to Exeter and both campgrounds were closed for the season, but there was Kingston up the road, with a library and a campground. Called the campground: they had space available, but no laundry facilities, and they wanted thirty dollars. I decided that I had no other choice.

On the third hill out of Exeter (the first two were killers) an older Volvo passed me, slowly, and stopped at the top, at an intersection. I thought, as I struggled up the hill, the driver might be, like me, an old guy who wasn't sure where he was. But when I got up to him, panting and drenched with sweat, I found a kid in his early twenties. He wanted to talk about my ride. He said that he had ridden from Seattle to here a year ago, with a BOB trailer and 70lbs of gear, same as me. We talked about daily distances and camping. He said that he put up in a motel once a week, and used campgrounds as little as possible. Said he pitched his tent at baseball diamonds whenever possible, and never got hassled.

He also said that he started in Seattle, California, and went through Colorado to get to Vermont. Maybe he is as bad with geography as I am with numbers. Or maybe he's full of shit. No matter. He gave me courage and he wanted no more from me than a few moments of recognition.

With my new courage I pedaled into Kingston, a strange place, with no one moving afoot or in cars and with a large school, a large and well-kept town hall, a museum, a tidy park and one store. There was one car parked in front, which could have been a client of the dentist's next to the store, which seemed to be closed. I rode further, but when I realized I was riding out of town I went back. The store was open. I bought a can of beans and a bottle of Heineken's and asked about campsites. The clerk and another customer (who must have owned the car) didn't know of any, so I despondently started back towards the one I had called, along a busy highway. I was riding past a track of woods that pretty good, so I investigated. I took the bike and the BOB into the woods, pitched my tent, ate my beans, drank my beer, and wrote this.