Foolish people imagine that what they imagine is somewhere else. That stuff is not made in any factory but your own.
— Journal, Henry David Thoreau, 1 November 1858
Sunday morning starts with a long list of possibility. We can turn our compass to an urban landscape, mount our two wheel steed and maneuver through the jungle of urbanity. Or . . . we flip that coin and force ourselves to explore the pockets of our region, see with new eyes the chlorophyll green set off amongst a cacophany of bird song and waterways. This particular Sunday, we followed Thoreau and got a little lost, wandered, trespassed, and loitered because two wheels can get you into the crevices, into the back pockets where you can find the wonder of place.
With a stop at Burdick's Chocolate in Walpole, we packaged a fair amount of sin and headed north to Bellows Falls. We parked, unloaded and set off toward the Connecticut River. From there, we experienced the highs and lows of the town twisting our route with no set plan or purpose, just the natural curiosity that comes from an undulating landscape with time on our side. Some rides are meticulously set with route and refreshment. This was spontaneous, and with so many vestiges of the once mighty town, a bicycle allowed us to maneuver through the rich history.
This particular Sunday was dedicated to the regional exploration of commerce, trains, hydroelectric power and the great and terrible thirst for industriousness. Particularly thrilling while we have the luxury of considering the legacy from the front porch of a grist mill in a vacuum of time. Thank you for these beautiful corners that were once bustling with the behemoth business of the region and for leaving the gate somewhat open to explore the culture on two wheels.