History Lesson

New England is full of history. Pilgrims, Tea Parties, Revolutionary War, etc. It’s only appropriate that I have history in New England as well. Last week, I wrote about my friend Stefan, who I met on a bike trip in 1980 and took trips with him in ‘81 and ‘82 as well. Those were trips 2, 3 and 4.

Trip #1 was in August 1979. An 3-week American Youth Hostels excursion that started in St. Johnsbury, Vermont and ended in White River Junction, Vermont. I was 14 and had just finished my freshman year in high school. I went with my friend from Rochester, Bill Rusitzky. Bill’s dad drove us up, which was probably about a 7-8 hour drive. Long enough for the car exhaust to melt the tires on our bikes before we got to the start. We got those fixed and met the rest of our group. I believe there were 10 kids and a group leader. Aside from Bill and I from upstate New York, there was one kid from Long Island and one from Georgia. All the rest, including the leader, were from New York City. I’m pretty sure the Georgia kid was the cousin of one of the NYC guys. The first night - we haven’t ridden at all yet - sitting around a picnic table introducing ourselves, one of the guys asked me if I partied. Pretty sure he was asking if I went to parties, I stretched the truth a bit and answered in the affirmative - although truth be told, the last party I had been to was probably someone’s bar mitzvah. In fact, I was very wrong because his follow-up question was “do you party hash?” Later that same evening, I had my first beer. We were in someone’s tent and I was handed a Budweiser. It was terrible, but I was clearly way out over my skis and just trying not to be knifed by these streetwise NYC kids the first day (because to me, everyone in NYC either drove a cab or killed people. What did I know? I was 14).

As the trip progressed, my education continued. We rode our way through Vermont and New Hampshire, which is how I knew firsthand how brutal the hills were in New England. That was still the only trip I have had to walk my bike because I was incapable of riding up some of the hills. When we got to Maine, we actually put away the bikes for a day or two and canoed in the cold rain down the Saco River. When we were done canoeing, the leader made a decision that he was going to let the 10 kids split up in pairs and do whatever they wanted. We would meet back in Sanford, Maine in a couple days. He was going to hang out and probably get stoned. So away we went, a bunch of 14-15 year old boys unleashed on southern Maine. Over the course of the trip, I had met a kid named Jeremy from NYC. He was neither a cabbie or murderer, but he did seem to have access to things that I had become fond of over the previous couple weeks. We decided we would head to Old Orchard Beach. We were going to camp on the beach with all the French Canadians and chill for a couple days until it was time to rendezvous with the group. As we were riding down to the beach, a dog came running out from behind a parked car. Jeremy was able to avoid the dog, but I could not. I fell, shredded my shirt, and turned my shoulder and back into hamburger. The next thing I know, I’m in an ER and the doctor is on the phone with my mom saying the words every parent wants to hear “Mrs. Scott, this is the Maine Medical Center in Scarborough, Maine. We need permission to treat your son.“ I’ll be riding through Old Orchard Beach tomorrow. I will try not to let history repeat itself.

The mountain bike track I found myself on within a mile of starting this morning. Boulders, tree roots - the whole nine yards

The sign seems unnecessary

This could be the name of every single road in New Hampshire

Nostalgia. Last time I was here was in the back of an ambulance but I doubt it looked like this.