Bigelow Hollow

Crossing the Mass/Connecticut state line, the route changes in character. First of all, the roadway on the Conn. side is in much better shape. It is interesting how the road surface differs between each state, and even each county. Maine backroads were in rough shape...lots of frost heaves, crumbling shoulders, etc. NH roads were the best until now. But in Conn., the roads (on the whole) were in pretty good shape. The other change we noticed is that the towns were even older than the ones we saw in upper New England. Many had been founded in the late 1600s or early 1700s. Historic signs made references to locations of mills, mines, and the importance of a town or a building in colonial America. Climbing up short, steep hills and then rocketing down the other side, we could imagine what it was like to ride the stagecoach between the villages of the day.

The countryside continued to be highly wooded, and you ride along as if you're in a tunnel of trees, ferns, and other foliage. For those unfamiliar with the East Coast, you'd be surprised at how dense the forest are, and the variety of vegatation. Every once and awhile we'd come across some old growth Maple or Oak trees that were huge...similar to redwoods in diameter. You can only imagine what the first settlers thought when they came upon the virgin forest. You couldn't get a real feel for the area because of the tree cover. There were no vista points or lookouts, except where someone had recently cleared a lot as a building site. There you could catch a glimpse of the topography and get a sense that there was more of the same as far as the eye could see. We imagined that clearing the trees and rocks from the fields must have been backbreaking work. As for us, we were thankful that Olga had 27 gears, because pulling us and BOB up some of the inclines we were on required nearly all of them.

Passing through North Woodstock, the hills got longer, but the downhills came faster. So far so good. If this was all that Conneticutt had to offer in hills, than bring it on. BOB and Olga had to work, but it was nothing that they couldn't handle. Taking a pause to change the map panel, we noticed two things...First, there were a heck of a lot more contour lines on map 14 versus map 13, meaning that there was more challenging "terrain" ahead. Next, we saw that Bigelow Hollow State Park was located just a mile or two ahead.

Neither of us know what a "Hollow" is. We talked about Washington Irvings "Legend of Sleepy Hollow" or places in Tennessee where people made moonshine and shot at revenuers. Our consensus opinion was that a Hollow is a low point in a mountainous area where strange things happen. The entrance to the state park was located at the bottom of a steep downhill, but nothing steeper than we could ride up. It was a beautiful little oasis with a gorgeous lake and the hint of fall in the air. We took a short break, fueling up with granola bars and fruit and then headed back out on the trail.

The climb began innocently enough...we were prepared for it mentally and had the bike in a good, low gear. After about .3 miles of spinning the road leveled off and we both began to wonder what all the fuss was about. As the road flattened out, Matt shifted Olga into a higher gear, and we continued to work our way up the hill. Wrong move. Rounding a corner the route took a dramatic and unexpected rise. We found ourselves in the wrong gear going up the steepest thing we have seen heretofor, and had to just keep on pushing, listening to the chain grinding on the freewheel as it struggled to get into a lower gear. This rise kept going and wasn't getting any easier. A car went by and Matt called out between huffing and puffing that we still had a long way to go. You can tell by the sound of an autos engine as it works its way up a hill as to how steep it is. Their transmissions whine as they shift into low, and as we are the engines of our mode of transportaion, we felt their pain. In situations like this, minutes can feel like hours, but you just keep pushing on, hoping that around the next bend the road will flatten out ever so slightly and you can catch your breath. We almost came to a standstill once...in fact we thought we saw a snail moving faster than us...but we kept at it, and after about another 1/2 mile we crested the ridge, stopped to catch our breath and give each other a hug. We did it!

While there will undoubtedly be other challenges on this trip, we climbed to the top of Bigelow Hollow hill without getting off the bike, and it's something we'll always remember. Flying down the road into Stafford Springs, we set our sights on to Windsor Locks and the Conneticutt River Valley country. The day was warm and bright, the sky clear, and we felt like we had conquered the route. Nothing was going to stop us now.