A bog normal ride, with straight greenway runs, conifer-assisted rest stops, and suburban backyards patrolled by suits of armor.
Pano 1 (of 2-Pano set)
The Collinsville “lower” dam. Unlike that uppity dam upstream, this one knows how to lay low and gracefully accept its fate as a graffiti canvas. I’ve heard rumbles of plans to create a new hydroelectric plant, for those who can’t be content with just throwing up a water wheel and milling some corn.
Pano 2 (of 2-Pano set)
Stratton Brook. I remember swimming here as a child, but I haven’t in decades and I can’t remember seeing an adult in the water here. There’s no actual posted age limit, it’s like we all just understand that when you reach a certain age, you swim at Bar-CAM-in-stead (-_-);;
After a winter eventful in all the wrong ways, it’s a relief to be able to call the current situation, overall, merely “dicey”…
Nearing its final form
Unlogged late year activity included installing fenders on Grand Toro. A hopeful gesture, since on a drizzly day right after repairing and cleaning my commuter (read: beater), I still took out the latter. Maybe I’ll have the stomach to subject Toro to the weather it’s built for next year (-_-).
This drizzly ride took us to the shores of Lake Basile, a residential water slab of which there are dozens in Greater Hartford. Basile, however, has the unique distinction of being in Simsbury, just off the greenway. You won’t find another small pond in the county as well-signed and exposited:
On a distantly related note – I don’t like conflating commercial and civic benefit, but the state of broadband in our area is pretty moribund. If anyone in Bloomfield chances across this blog, I’d like to refer you to GoNetspeed. Checking availability for your address registers interest and increases the likelihood of our area receiving their fiber-to-premises service. (Though it’s more likely people from other towns will see this and move Bloomfield further down the queue (-_-);
A gray day. An overcast day. A perfect day to visit a colonial-era prison!
On the way up: North Bloomfield’s “Rock Garden of Encouragement” has been supplemented by a “Bridge of Remembrance”.
Further up: some familiar blue blazes just off the road… It’s the Metacomet Trail, second only to the Farmington River in “things you’re likely to randomly run into” cycling north metro.
And more bystanders enthralled by Grand Toro:
Finally: the wall, our destination.
The museum is closed at the moment, but the outside displays include the stocks and pillory. Included is a helpful caption explaining the difference, and a list of various nefarious deeds that might land you in one.
A slightly more upbeat attraction: a plaque decoding the view from the hillside.
A descent and veer onto Copper Hill Road, and we run into yet another trail: the greenway home.
And the sun emerges. Hoping for a brighter future for us all.
There’s an air about me when I go on rides. People stop and stare. Mothers hold their children closer and talk in hushed tones. Cars veer into telephone poles. After clipping off my mountain-man beard, I’ve come to understand that it’s not merely my perpetually out-of-place appearance that elicits these responses. The public-at-large has obviously been struck by the unparalleled awesomeness of HB-04, now nicknamed “Grand Toro”.
This isn’t “reserved parking” for Grand Toro… because the entire world is reserved parking for Grand Toro.
That silliness aside… After surviving the GRR, it’s time for a ride closer to home similar in both scenery and elevation gain. West we go, deep into the Farmington River Reclusion Zone.
Our first panorama is of Cherry Brook Farm in Canton.
One of the tragedies of riding around New England in the autumn is that all these picturesque farms framed by hills full of foliage start to look alike. (Hang in there, everyone!)
Our destination. It’s spelled Barkhamsted, feel free to pronounce it however you like.
Saville Dam – a view that captures a warped but broad impression of actually occupying the space, ensconced comfortably in the realm of the hyperreal:
Looking outward onto the Bar-CAM-stead Reservoir:
Looking inward towards the spillway into Lake McDonough (Pronunciation? Dunno.):
Finally, Lake McDonough proper:
Closing with a glamour shot of the Great Vehicle itself, Grand Toro. It’s just a bicycle, but it’s a pretty cool one.
HB-04 has been put through its paces this month, including a rare car trip up to Westfield for the Great River Ride 100K Challenge.
Lying in ambush
I thought there were “quaint New England” locales in Hartford County, but little did I understand how tainted my home was. Traffic lights, chain stores, towns with populations numbering in the thousands… a veritable nest of barbarism and decay. Come with me as we explore the majestic vistas of the boonies.
We start in Westfield, a town that seems to deftly split the difference between Springfield and Northampton. But a short bit of cycling and we’re off into the woods (punctuated by farms).
Panorama 1: Learning the Craft If you want to capture church steeples, be sure to get some elevation on the connecting scenery.
Here we see the Montgomery town center, a complex of ONECs (Old New England Churches) that now serve as town buildings. That phenomenon in itself isn’t uncommon back home, but in this example the complex seems to be made exclusively of colonial-era buildings that encompass all of the typical town-center functions.
Panorama 2: The Sound of Water is the Sound of Civilization
Here we see a bubbling brook flowing by the roadway – that soothing sound being a near constant accompaniment throughout this ride. Roadways along water routes are quite common in this region, as in colonial times settlements were connected by a robust network of jet ski rental services.
Panoramas 3 & 4: For What it’s Worthington
A single panorama is wholly inadequate for taking in the quaintness that is the South Worthington junction.
Panorama 5: Last Off
Here’s where I started to run out of gas. The Worthington Inn beckoned, but under the circumstances, I decided to press on. (Said circumstances being COVID and most definitely NOT the probable cost of overnighting at such an establishment).
The shadows grew longer then, as night fell, intense cramping entered my legs, and waves of nausea entered my digestive tract. Desperate for hope, I was again drawn by the sound of water, but looking over a rail, saw only a dark, inky abyss.
Here my reason left me – flying into the wilderness, I zigzagged the countryside in panic, howling at the moon and cursing the bike shop that had tempted me to this place of desolation.
That bike shop
But in that pit of darkness and despair, my headlamp just chanced to cast a glow upon a sign… a sign with a familiar name.
Westfield awaited – with its traffic lights, chain stores, and population numbering in the thousands!
