One destination or another, I was going to sleep outside this weekend. It's been some time since I've done that, since the night before Amy's April running race at MT Toby, so it seems I was due. I like single overnights. They give a sample tasting of adventure without the need to plan super precisely or worry too much about what I forgot to pack. That was a pair of shorts this time.
Thank goodness Amy promotes races further from my house than the 7 Sisters start, as helping with setup was once again this weekend's impetus for sleeping rough. Northfield Mountain, the race site, is just under thirty miles from me, and with a relatively late 8:15am start to set up, it would be conceivable to sleep in my own bed the night prior, but where's the fun in that? I left after lunch on Friday with a plan to extend the ride by seven miles and include a loop through Greenfield.
On my way north, I was given the chance to gauge a race against the 31 PVTA bus from Amherst to Sunderland, yes, the service on which my bike became the leading edge of contact with a deer last fall. As I approached the Amherst rotary just before Umass, I saw the wheels of the bus rotate before me and then passed it at the stop on the outskirts of campus. I briefly considered quickly removing my panniers at one of the many UMass stops to board, but it was a lovely day for pedaling, and yes, I still have some angst about the PVTA denying any responsibility for hitting the deer in the middle of a field with 200 yards of visibility in all directions, so ride I did.
The bus didn't pass me again until into Sunderland, at least three miles north of the campus. I checked my watch and continued to pedal my leisurely pace, turning off the most direct route to enjoy more sedate backroads. No, my timing method was far from olympic quality, but I did see the bus again on its return trip and estimate it reached what would've been my disembarkment point between ten and twelve minutes before I did. I happily spent that extra time on a bike, satisfied that no deer nor bikes were damaged in the experiment.
I like Greenfield. As I wandered through, after topping my bottle with filtered water at the skate park and availing myself of their library bathroom (high marks to both), my roving eyes spotted a bike locked outside a building near the hospital. I've often proclaimed one of the best features of a errand bike is being a low theft target so it's still where you locked it, therefore still faster than walking. Yup!
No miscreant felt it worth the effort
to open the quick release,
remove the seatpost,
remove this bike,
and
reinsert the seatpost in their stolen bike!
Down the hill I rolled to Turners Falls where I didn't find a both enticing and fitting pair of shorts in one of my preferred thrift stores, but I did munch a light dinner in the park before using their litter bins to dispose of any potentially bear-enticing wrappers, and then spinning out to the wonderful closed-to-motor-vehicles bridge spanning the shadows of the French King Bridge (but which roi?) of Route 2.
Over the chained tributary waters,
or the French King Bridge.
Across the wee bridge and under the big one, I'd slept in state land off that road once before on a trip returning south a few years ago, and I'm pleased my boggled brain remembered the goat path up the embankment that was a far easier push than the route straight up the incline that I'd huffed and puffed last time. I'm even fairly sure that first overnight came just before I was hit in 2022, so retaining precise recall from a few weeks prior feels like a big victory. Yay!
Despite not having shorts for a rinse in the Connecticut River, I slept well, which yay, also feels like a post accident victory. One perk of minimalist camping (sleeping bag atop car windshield heat relective insulator I found roadside in Greenfield atop my faithful sheet of house wrap, and a mosquito headnet that proved a worthwhile carry despite cooler nearly autumn temperatures) is easy breaking camp the next morning. After a quick scan for any neglected item with my only headlight use of the morning, I walked my loaded bike back down to the road and was treated to a quiet roll along the bike route road along the fog shrouded river.
Who needs more than one night
after waking to a morning like this?
With less than a mile and a half commute to Northfield Mountain, I had time before set up duties to briefly wander some of the lower trails. I have some fond memories of mountain bike races there, and memory of a significantly less happy race that included decending with my hand wrapped around the spreading crack on my downtube for three quarters of the race and dropping enough places and points to eventually not win my third New England championship until a couple years later. Happily, my good races there were damn good, and there were more of those!
But the even better part of my visit back was again joining the trail running community, even if I'm not joining as a runner again just yet. I had wonderful visits with good friends, and witnessed for the first time a pair who, not shockingly, Amy remembered from one of her earlier events. They completed the 5k course, weaving through the singletrack, while kitting!
Bravo
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