I have a collection of motorcycle photos showing the early days of motorcycling. Vintage machines with adventurous riders garbed in leather flight jackets and wide lens goggles. Occasionally, a passenger is riding pillion with a broad smile and flowing silk scarf. I love these images of the big-boned bikes, off-road tires and everyone so happy to be out enjoying the day. As it happens, I often don a long white scarf and wear a retro Harley Davidson cruizer jacket as my riding 'outfit'.
 |
| me in Retro pillion apparel |
I strive to re-live the nostalgia of the simpler times when we weren't 'bikers' but rather, motorcycle enthusiasts out enjoying an exciting jaunt in the elements of a tamed or wild world. This day would be such a day. As he often does, my driver will ask me; "...where would you like to go?" We knew our time was limited by a sunset curfew; that would keep us in our county for this venture out. I pulled out the map of record; a Vermont tourist map with many of the state and popular secondary roads already highlited by last year's rides. On it was Hazen's Notch via VT rte 58, closed in the winter but open in summer. It's on the southwest fringe of 'the Kingdom', connecting two small towns. Let's start with that.
 |
| rte 125(?) along east of Lake Carmi |
|
 |
| lake Carmi with locals on the dock |
 |
| Richford today, once a booming RR town |
|
Stuffing the small tail bag with our coats, water bottle and map, we struck out first for my camera case, forgotten at my friends house along the way. It was muggy hot and my leather chaps were binding my legs when I would try to dismount in her door yard. She walked my tiny camera bag over to me and queried our travel plans. "Hazen's is a good run...have you ever tried Bakersfield Mtn road? it's a class 4; your bike can do it..." her appealing suggestion just the inspiration we needed for today's short run. I knew how to pick it up from Bakersfield, but not from Montgomery where we would terminate rte 58 and roll south to Waterville, after completing Hazen's Notch. So then, north to Richford then west to Franklin before drifting south to Bakersfield to trek the old mountain road remains open to the loggers and hunters in this modern era.
 |
| climbing to Hazen's Notch |
I smiled when I imagined our chrome pony, the 84 Low Ride, hiking along the dirt road past old farm fences and county markers long forgotten as the road was 'left fallow' when better lanes became preferred. I reminisced the old photos of bygone motorcycles on dirt lanes away from the crowded paved-ways. These 'ancient' roads would reveal evidence of past villages, lost farms, and hunting camps with stone walls, 'shoulder gaits' and faded signs. Cemeteries among the tall trees would mark the towns or villages no longer on the map. The thin grave stones would be broken or pushed over by rubbing deer or a bear gleaning the blackberries entwined between them.
 |
| a class 4 road over Bakersfield Mtn |
Finding the graded dirt road to the Bakersfield Mountain Road, we began the ascent gliding past old farmsteads until the trees were the only residents. The bike was running perfectly and the driver up front lived on such a road since he could walk. He had no worries navigating the patches of soft sand or clumps of loose gravel. The small boulders were just something to work around. He wriggled his heavy cruizer easily over the first several miles. Crossroads aren't marked on these wayback roads. Somehow, we zigged and zagged until our class 4 town road became a snowmachine trail and the shady lane followed a steady downhill grade. We were sort of lost. We knew approximately where we were, just not sure of our road to our target destination. The canopy was so dense, the sun could not cast a shadow to give us our direction. In the peaks and gulfs of the Cold Hollow spine, we had more choices than we wanted to find our way back to pavement. The goal was to go from Rte 108 Bakersfield over that mountain, by the old road emerging on Lappland Road in Waterville on the east side of that ridge. The old road was clearly indicated on the map. In the forest however, there were many old roads, and few old signs. At each junction, we would follow the better lane and hope for the best. The engine coughing for fuel, he switched her to reserve and we both prayed that would be enough to get us out and to a gas pump. I didn't snap a lot of pictures while divining our way through the woodlands as I was careful not to be in the wrong place while he coaxed his beloved bike through the wilderness. My weight in the second seat could be enough to throw his balance and drop the bike. I would focus instead on my random thoughts as I bet these trees had never seen so much chrome. We found some evidence of progress toward domestication and took a short break to stretch and steel ourselves for the possibilities. His bike weighs 668lbs. If we run out of gas or road, he would have to push it. Fingers crossed and a silent prayer, we remounted for the last leg. I grabbed a hurried picture of what I thought was a sign post, but it showed a a brilliant flash in the mirror over his throttle. Could it be our 'ride angel' keeping us on the right road? Probably, it was just a confused light meter with a reflection in the shiny square, but still it was fun to imagine we had a higher power along for the ride.
 |
| this is a county road?! |
 |
| our Ride Angel? lead us out |
Finally, crossing a narrow, plank bridge the lane would normalize and open into a class 4 road. This would empty onto a paved road; revealing the shadow cast by the afternoon sun. We could turn right and head south on VT Rte 118, we had found Montgomery, an interesting buro in these timeless mountains. Some miles back, we lost the Bakersfield Mtn Road and picked up the much longer, less traveled Enosburg Mtn Road leading us 21 miles off course. It seemed like forty. Fuel and shade was spotted at TJ's where rest and recovery was taken.
 |
| fuel and creemes and startled tourists |
 |
| a good place to rest |
Cooling off with creemes, we marveled at how determined our early homesteaders were. The terrain was demanding, ill-suited to farming, rough going for logging. The fortitude of the early Vermonters is newly appreciated as we recount the woodland miles over ancient roads traveled on his vintage Harley on a beautiful summer day. No tough bikers here, just motorcycling enthusiasts out for a ride. Enjoy the day and live your dreams ~ ell
this one is for the biker man that takes me places I would never venture, expanding my dreams
No comments:
Post a Comment