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Paved from Newport to Troy last year, and from Troy to Morrisville three years ago, my bike glided along the road like a boat floating downstream. All I must do is keep my palm flat on the throttle rocker and the front wheel pointed downstream.<\/p>\n
No cracks, potholes, or frost heaves to watch out for, which permitted me to enjoy the view from my bike of unassuming clapboard houses, some with three-storey barns that loomed commandingly over the human domiciles (as they should, as the dairy cows that sprinkle the fields still take priority over much else here), shabby trailers, yards cluttered with cars and farm equipment, white churches, and tired general stores. This is northern Vermont, where real Vermonters still live.<\/p>\n
In Troy, I paused for a while at the Troy General Store for a breakfast burrito and coffee. As I sat on the bench outside basking in the warm sun, my bike attracted a gaggle of admirers, mostly men, though now and again a woman gives the airbrushed \u201cForever Young\u201d on my fender a double take. I was reminded of being in college and walking across the quad with my English setter, Strauss. Strauss was the best wing man I have ever had. If I was single, the Triumph would do about as well.<\/p>\n
BEING IN THE MOVIE<\/strong><\/p>\n I might be exaggerating a tad, but the difference between driving a car and riding a motorcycle is like watching a movie versus being in the movie. Case in point: in Lowell I passed by a pair of red dumpsters just off the road where I spotted a bulky black shape that was out of place. I pulled over onto the shoulder, just 10 metres from the dumpsters and the black blob.<\/p>\n The black blob stood up and revealed itself to be a black bear, about two metres tall. I straddled the bike, unzipped my jacket, and took out my camera from an interior pocket. I\u2019ve seen bears run; I know that the bear…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" An exploration of friendship and nature along Vermont\u2019s Scenic Byway. On a map, Route 100 becomes Route 105 just six kilometres south of Lake Memphremagog in northern Vermont. But it\u2019s the same road, just the signs change. So, pardon me if I begin my journey at one of my favourite hangouts: the Newport marina on […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":62048,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2566,228],"tags":[2171,2603,2293],"yoast_head":"\n