I'm a bad atheist

I once saw an interview with Margaret Atwood, who waves the agnostic flag, on the subject of religion. She claimed that atheism is itself a form of religion because it claims to know the knowable and is therefore relying on faith. So, when I claim I'm a bad atheist, I'm not saying I am a bad person because I don't believe in a god, but rather that I have lapses in my atheism. I just feel too damn lucky, and luck is not an atheistic sentiment.

Monday of last week, my friend Gary from Connecticut asked if he could hang a hammock and camp at my place the next night on a ride north to the White Mountains. Hell yes, and hmm, maybe I'll join you heading north the next day. Clarification ensued and Gary explained he was riding just to the route 91 corridor on Wednesday to meet his partner Mary and continue north by car, so I decided I'd ride south Tuesday to meet Gary on his way to my place and enjoy more of a visit.

I woke up Tuesday to a new (well, overnight old, but only because I go to sleep really early) note from Amy asking if she and Brian could camp on the patch of dirt in the White Mountains deeded to me. Yes! I'd be happy to know it's getting used, but wait, if I continue north with Gary and Mary, I could see it getting used. I may need a couple nudges, but eventually I notice when anti-atheistic forces are telling me to do something. I gave Gary a heads up and asked if there was room in the car heading north for an additional person and bike.

Yes, yes, shocker, I have the inclination to make the transit by bike, but by taking a ride, I'd have a longer visit with Gary, could more truly meet Mary, who had given me a veggie burger at a post memorial ride cookout a couple years ago, and still arrive at my campsite in time to join Amy and Brian on the night of the 4th, to all be lulled to sleep by fireworks that started a half hour late.

Bonus! To break up the drive north, definitely my longest car ride in years, we stopped at Ascutney and rode the trails that I missed out seeing at the race in 2022 when I was distracted from that intention by a distracted driver who put me in the hospital for a month instead. Using the phrase "worth the wait" feels truly wrong in this situation, but wow, those are cool trails, and I definitely would have preferred racing them to occupying an intensive care bed.

I'm truly out of training for long car rides,

so this rest stop was much appreciated!

After a brief miscommunication regarding which state, Gary and Mary dropped me in Bradford, VERMONT (not New Hampshire), and I finally had the chance to pedal the road east that for years had been my preferred driving route. Another bonus, I knew of a wonderful mountain brook about half way to Lincoln that offered my freshly rinsed body a babbling soundtrack for falling asleep.

One of the ponds I'd always enjoyed fleetingly through a car window,

this time I appreciated it more fully as my dinner site.

A good place for breakfast,

Just up from a great place to sleep!

Having checked off the box of riding Ascutney trails, I was also fulfilling another standing intention of touring on a bike with just one gear. When I'm on the road for multiple days and without access to my myriad of spare parts and tools, a simple machine with fewer parts to fail seems a good idea, and even a reduced bike still serves what I consider its basic function of being faster than walking. Well, definitely overall, even most of the time, but not on the steep inclines up route 118, but it seems my gear of 42x18 turning a 26" wheel forced me off the bike right at walking pace, so no loss, possibly perfect!

On to the Kacamagus Highway and grades more suitable for giant RV campers and loaded single speed touring bikes, but fortunately earlier than most of the tourist traffic, I climbed up to the pass, enjoying that I was truly back in true mountains. The White Mountains are a special place, even if it would be nice if a lot fewer people realized that.

Down the other side and after a meander that had me learning that in the last five years, the town offices where I could drop my tax payment had moved to the center, my timing coincided with the arrival of the 4th of July parade.

I'm at most distantly patriotic.

A few more turns of pedals, some crashing through the woods, and I arrived at the dirt of my campsite before Amy and Brian, handy given that it was very fortunate I was there to confirm they had the location correct a couple hours later. Also, it gave me a time to start sorting through the detritus of what was left of my camp shelter. Luckily, on my last trip, I'd left nothing that I couldn't bear to lose, although I don't think it was a bear that broke into my locked crate. Oh well, the wind and weather tattered the rest, but I still had some shelter for the tent that had been battered years earlier by a bear trained that tent=food, despite there being none in mine.

My campsite as I found it,

partially reclaimed by the woods

And for now, I will close this trip's recounting, which will come in three parts: going, being there, and returning. So far so good, and with enough suggesting from fate, I'd finally checked off my two intentions going into the disruption of 2022: ride to the White Mountains and ride the trails of Ascutney. Ah, better late than no longer existing at all!