Still in Vermont on my epic MA-VT-NY-NY-VT-MA road trip --
I have a few more things that I want to see in Middlebury, Vermont, before I get on the road for New York's North Country. First stop is the post office to buy stamps and to mail the postcards. Yes, the postcards are old-school, but it's fun. I still have zero cell service and GPS, but I know the center of town well since I circled around it a half dozen times the day before when trying to find the Morgan Horse Farm. After the post office, I walk across the parking lot to a green space where there is a pedestrian bridge, an old stone mill, and a waterfall.
Then, I prepare to head toward Crown Point, New York. This is where it gets tricky. A recent bout of hurricane fall-out has washed out the main road to get where I am going. There are two other ways to go, but route 125 is the easiest. Except ... the road forks in Middlebury, and there are ZERO signs as to which road I am on. I have to make an executive decision, then change my mind. Only problem is that now I am stuck on one-way roads heading out of town on the more difficult road (that would be simple if I had GPS and a decent map).
I get turned about for a short while until someone helps me out. I start traveling on route 74, which winds around and is through an area only cows could love because there is nothing but an occasional farm for miles and miles. My helper had suggested a cut-through road, which would've saved me about ten miles or so, but I am afraid at this point to veer off the numerical path. I find myself swearing a little bit at my phone and swearing a lot at myself for being a dope with no sense of direction.
Right about the time I am cursing everything and everyone for my own idiocy, I come to the top of a rise and have the most incredible, fantastic, unbelievable views. 360 degrees of mountains and awe. Green Mountains behind me; Adirondack Mountains in front of me.
It. Is. Amazing.
I go a little further in my quest to find my way back to the correct route when I pass a random school house on the top of a hill. Directly across the street is an amazing spread of land with a beautiful house and an even more gorgeous barn set up. As I pull over to take pictures, a motorcyclist (the first person I have encountered in about an hour) also pulls over and asks if I'm all right. I explain that I'm a teacher and have to get a picture of the school but thank him for stopping. It may be rare to see humans out here, but, when you do, they're darn nice people.
I get back on track and cross the first modern bridge I've seen in two days, the Lake Champlain Bridge that connects Chimney Point, Vermont, with Crown Point, New York. It's also under construction, much like the historic Quechee Bridge, and only one lane of traffic is being allowed at a time. I don't mind waiting. The bridge offers some impressive scenery.
Once I cross the bridge, there is an old stone fort off to the right. It was built by the French in 1734 and taken over by the British in 1759. American colonists took over the fort in 1775 before it fell back into British hands in 1777. The ruins of the fort became property of New York state in 1910. The stone work is impressive, and there are masons here today working on repairs of one of the remaining parts of the fort.
I can see a yellow bus in the parking lot. Of course there is a school bus. Educators are like fly-paper for children. When I was at a museum in North Carolina a few months back, there were three separate groups of sixth graders there on field trips. Naturally, this historical park will be full of children because why in the name of all things sane should a school teacher escape the yellow bus and minions even during summer break? It's a giant cosmic joke.
My next stop is the Champ Tote Board. There is tale in this part of the country of a giant sea monster named Champ, or Champy, that lives in the depths of Lake Champlain. I've crossed the lake dozens of times, and I always look for Champy, but I've never seen it. It's a fun reminder, though, that our local tall tale may actually be fact. I pull my car back on the road and stay alert as this area is notorious for speed traps, but, alas, not a cop in sight today.
Of course there isn't a police officer to assist because this is when disaster strikes. Remember a few weeks ago when I wrote to hold that thought about my car having 93,000 miles on it? Hold that thought a little longer and I'll explain it next blog.
