At some point all cycling intersects with food. We saved Grampa’s fuel of choice, creemees, for the family rides with the kids. When Daysi and I did our shorter rides, food was rarely an issue, but on longer rides Daysi was more likely to get hungry than I. She usually solved that by grabbing a snack before we left, and the last few miles of a longer ride were often dedicated to a running monologue of exactly what she would eat as soon as she could burst through the doors. Only the fear of marking up our wood floors forced her out of cleated shoes before she bolted for the kitchen.
We had adapted quickly to Vermont food culture. True to Grampa’s unspoken teachings, our garden grew a little bit every year. We were regulars at the farmer’s market and purchased the majority of our meat and eggs from neighbors. By our third summer we could be considered at least casual Localvores. We had worked out our local supply chains for high-quality, organic fare, but there were a few exceptions. Our voracious teenage daughter was fueled largely by bulk pasta and frozen Chinese dumplings from Costco. Likewise, nuts were Daysi’s snack of choice and our household was always stocked with a wide selection. They came to feature prominently in our riding, if only because of the day I forgot to pack them.
On our first 60 mile ride I worked out a route that gave us four hours on the bike without a bunch of elevation. We started in Hardwick and then worked our way out to Route 16 through that long gentle climb and down into Glover on our way to Irasburg. This was ideal tandem territory. We had been training well and the miles melted under us. It was a glorious, hot summer day, and we were on roads with very little traffic. Riding doesn’t get better.
By the time we headed south on Route 14 in the valley beyond Irasburg we had put the biggest climb of the day behind us and were over halfway through our loop. The heat started to wear us down. Perhaps we had been spoiled by spending too much time in the shaded paradise of the dirt roads. I had not realized this stretch of road was so exposed.
I had set the turn towards Wolcot as an objective, and I knew we were getting close. I called back to tell Daysi we should look for a rest spot after that. Eager came agreement came from the back. The turn took us up a mere quarter mile of moderate grade. On fresh legs, this would be no big deal, but we were dragging. I doubt that I took us into the very easiest gears, but I also doubt that I missed them by much. Rounding the corner at the top of the hill we were dismayed to find wide open fields for as far as we could see.
“Seriously, what the fuck?” It popped out of my mouth.
Daysi looked over my shoulder, and I moved to the drop bars so she could see better. There was no tree within a hundred yards of road in any direction other than behind us.
“I don’t see any place to stop. Are we still in Vermont?”
I snorted. “Do you want to stop anyway?”
“No, I want some shade.” Wise woman.
A mile or two later we came across a young maple that a homeowner had planted in their yard. It was not exactly a roadside tree, but neither was it so close to the house that we felt overly uncomfortable about invading private property. That the homeowner was mowing his lawn did nothing to dissuade us from dashing to the tree and contorting ourselves into the meager shade.
She grabbed my pack. “Where are the nuts?”
“Nuts?”
“Yeah, the nuts. We always bring nuts.”
I struggled to think of a constructive response. “Um, I didn’t realize that.”
“I left a bag on the counter.”
“Um. I didn’t see it.”
“So what did you bring?”
“The banana we had at our last stop.”
Silence.
“Well, I figured we could stop at the stores like we usually do.”
“Where was the last store?”
“Probably Craftsbury.”
“We didn’t stop.”
It’s never a good sign when your partner is stating the obvious. “No, we were rolling great back there.”
“Where is the next store?”
“Um. I don’t know.” “...I know there’s something in Hardwick”
“That’s where we started.”
“Yes.”
“How much further?”
“Probably less than 20 miles.”
She rummaged through my pack just to make sure she hadn’t missed anything and then double checked her own.
We had plenty of water.
She may trust me with the brakes but I will be forever second guessed about the adequacy of our food supplies.
The owner’s lawn tractor and the miniscule dimensions of our shade patch prevented me from dozing, but I suspect that a grumbling tummy is what kept her awake. We leaned lazily beside each other wishing to conjure a breeze that might cut the heat. We were no more successful in that effort than in forcing food to materialize. Despite our my failures, the break gave us enough of a recharge to get back on HAHA and burn through the rest of our miles.
Turning left on Route 15 I made the mistake of announcing that we were on the last stretch back to Hardwick. Technically it was the last turn but calling out “final stretch” misrepresented the remaining miles. Once I realized my mistake I tried to temper expectations, but the truth was that I had underestimated the remaining distance even in my own head. To make matters worse, this section of Route 15 was one of the few roads in the Northeast Kingdom that I didn’t enjoy riding. The road was wide enough that shade was hard to find but the shoulders were in such disrepair that it was hard to create a comfortable distance from the traffic racing by. The unremarkable scenery was complimented by several closed businesses and a few fully abandoned buildings. This was one of the many areas in the Northeast Kingdom where the economy was even harsher than the terrain. Most of the remaining establishments looked like they were barely surviving –– a landscape in unfortunate synchronicity with our state of mind. Across those final miles even I was hungry and dragging.
Hardwick today is a dynamic community experimenting with farm to table dining, community theater, and many other innovations. Hardwick back then, was deeply mired in the very problems it tackles so boldly today. By the time we made it back to our car, Daysi was ravenous. Her hunger, however, didn’t dim our sense of accomplishment. This was officially the longest ride we had ever done together. We added a bit of swagger to our slow, hunched movements as we unfolded off of the bike and returned our feet to the ground.
Sometimes in life we get exactly what we ask for.
At the gas station where we had left the car we found a sandwich counter. The limited options were spelled out in black plastic lettering on the lined, white plastic background –straight out of a 50’s diner. Apparently the letters themselves were no longer in production because several were missing. Likewise, the pleasant woman behind the counter highlighted a couple of items supported by sufficient letters but lacking in the required ingredients. Really, that was all okay, we were in no condition to be making choices. Both of us settled on a ham and cheese sandwich and then collapsed into a booth with two cold sodas. What arrived at the table was two slices of supermarket ham and a yellow cheese square slapped between synthetic white bread that looked more extruded than baked and tossed over a sheet of wax paper into a plastic basket.
Oh shit! This just might be the end. I glanced nervously up at my wife to find her hunched over the basket with the sandwich already in her mouth. I froze. She threw her head back, eyes closed, “Wow. This is the BEST SANDWICH EVER!” Even the woman behind the counter turned to stare.
buy me a coffee
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