The Wet Ride to Boston- we are not as tough as we look

5/27

We left the majesty of the High Peaks and headed east toward Lake Champaign hoping to encounter a dry Vermont. Vermont came, but the rain didn’t stop. It wasn’t long before our “rain gear” designed for hiking gave way and was saturated with the 50mph water bullets. Shortly after, our boots gave way to the flood, and we found refuge in a small mountain town diner called Helen’s Place. Helen was in the back kitchen when we walked in and sat down at the long bar. Her daughter brought us out some beef stew, and didn’t seem to mind the small pools of water accumulating under our stools. We downed what was in front of us and spent the next couple of hours drinking coffee, drying, writing, and observing the interactions taking place around us.

Helen came from a family of 12 and had 7 sisters. At least two stopped by while we were in the diner. The local food supply man also stopped by and Helen negotiated prices with him from her post in the kitchen. Produce prices would dictate what she would bye and thus what she would make. The menu was flexible.

Back in the rain we decided to press east hoping to emerge into sun. Vermont’s landscape was beautiful, but difficult to appreciate in the downpour. Every few miles a pungent stench would fill my helmet at the arrival of a dairy farm. We stopped in Montpelier and received the dreaded report that the rain was blanketing the north east. We abandoned our initial hopes to camp near Mt. Washington in NH. We needed shelter for the night.

A quick phone call to a Taylor friend who was in law school at Boston University and we had a place. Against our better judgment we got back on the interstate for the three hour wet drive to Boston. Although it was a bit scary at times, God was merciful and we arrived in Beantown looking like a couple of mangy dudes.

I walked around the block looking for a place to park for the night and made a surprising discovery. People were avoiding my path on the sidewalk. I wish I had a picture because I must have looked horrific. I was dressed in all black, with a leather jacket and black leather gloves. I was dripping wet, my face was unshaven, my eyes bloodshot, and my hair matted into peaks and valleys from my helmet. If you know me, I’m not a tough guy, but for a moment I felt like getting a big tattoo.