Monday was very misty in Maine by the Bass Harbour lighthouse where we had camped Saturday and Sunday as Matt told you last time. It was so misty that as we ran along the lanes we could see every single spider web and then worryingly all the downy hair not just on Matt’s head but on my cheeks!! He called me a bearded freak… a charming start to the week! As it turns out this was not the only hair crime of the week…

The mist cleared and we reluctantly left Acadia but as we only have two weeks to get to Washington DC to be ready for Mummy and Nick’s arrival and there is as always so much to see. So that first day we had a reasonable drive inland to get to the White Mountains in New Hampshire. Gerry and Donna had already been there and said it was stunning, so as usual our fear of missing out (FOMO) kicked in and we set off.

Sadly, on all our time on the roads we have never been caught in anything nasty, but last Monday was the exception. We were stopped for nearly three hours as a guy had died just in front of us by driving into a truck pulling out of the hard shoulder. It was so bad that the road was closed and we all had to do a three point turn and drive back down the carriageway the wrong way. Quite fun in Reg and I fear we that I am losing my entrepreneurial streak as a lady said she envied us having had a bathroom during the wait. Thinking about it we could have made teas and coffees for the stranded motorists and charged for the loo – instead I had a little doze and a lie down on the shelf and Matt read his book. Poor guy though.

The delay made us arrive at our site in the dark but next morning we could see that we were nestled in low mountains, covered in green, red and yellow trees. The fall in all its glory. Incredibly picturesque – we drove to the Cog Railway which was the first mountain rail road in the world when it opened in 1869.

We got our tickets and went up to the summit of Mount Washington. The train chugged – now the engines run on bio diesel but they still do one steam run early in the morning for real enthusiasts. The track is amazingly steep – you could not stand straight at the steepest part – Jacobs’s Ladder, which is on a gradient of 37 degrees.

We went through clouds and emerged into sunshine at the top. Skiers will recognize that feeling, but also a bit like in a plane when you look out and the clouds look like rolls of cotton wool. The facilities at the top were all a bit shabby and municipal. The state has built probably the ugliest building in the world so it is quite lucky that for 300 days of the year Mount Washington is normally covered in fog.

We had a picnic at the top, but there was not much to it so an hour later we got the train back down. The seats are angled differently on the way back to stop everyone feeling weird and the guide who had been effusive on the way up about the sights, was this time solely focused on the brakes – which was reassuring!

Mount Washington is the highest peak in New Hampshire, but just one of the Presidential Range. There is also a Monroe, Jefferson, Eisenhower and then some random ones that are not presidents like Clay. Bit confusing.

The landscape was very different to Maine. Very chocolate-box stuff – exactly as you imagine New England to be. We drove to Bretton Woods after the railway and that, surrounded by perfect green lawns was almost too sickly to the eye! The hotel at Bretton Woods where the economic conference was held in 1944 was huge. A bit like the lodges in the parks, this huge white monstrosity with a bright red roof dominated the valley, but we could not find anyone that wanted to serve us a cup of tea or any photos of the conference so we left.

On Wednesday, we drove a bit further into the White Mountains and went to Franconia Notch state park. Road geeks will be interested to know that the only single lane interstate in the country runs for a short way in this park – the I-93.

Just when we think we have seen it all, America throws us another weird geographical feature that is stunning. The notch is the valley and the river Pemigewasset has carved out through granite rocks smooth bowls and curves in one part of the park. Rather like Henry Moore sculptures they are gentle and smooth. The Basin is aptly named as you just wanted to jump in and bathe in it, it looked so welcoming! We then walked up the path to some water falls which in spring would be gushing as all this area is covered in deep snow, but at this time of year is glorious with red maple trees. Nearby are ski resorts to give you an idea of gradient.

The next stop in the park was The Flume. Discovered by a settler’s old granny who went out fishing one day, came back and said she had seen huge cliffs, I think the family wondered what she was on about, but sure enough she was right. The Flume is a gorge in the forest. The granite cliffs on either side must have be a hundred feet tall and we followed a path up one side as the river gushed through it – the Flume part of the name. At the top there were superb views of the valley and really good photos of what it would have looked like before glaciers rounded it all off and took height off these mountains. Now the valley is a gentle u type shape, rather than a v – if you get my drift!

Loving this part of New Hampshire, we nonetheless pressed on that night to our campsite in Vermont, just outside of Woodstock. After our lovely time with Gerry and Donna we continued having lovely slightly lazy mornings and then action-packed afternoons. I have finally finished Middlemarch which has as many of you know been a bit of a labour of love. Of course, it was totally brilliant.

Our first exploration was on the Thompson Twins. We cycled to Quechee which was a few miles from our site. Lovely river, giant pond, really warm weather and the colours of the trees still breathtaking. We climbed down to the gorge there – and ignoring the suicide notices – not a place for vertigo sufferers we got down to the beach part of the river bed. Again the water had cut such interesting patterns into the rocks and some of the river bed was on a completely tilted plateau. More glacial action too – with boulders, and trees clinging on to rocks all along the edges. Very unspoilt and humbling.

That trip turned out to be just a practice for the next day when we really went for it and did about 33 km on the bikes. We set off to Woodstock and saw another New England feature – apart from the brilliant trees, the white houses, the green lawns and the curvy roads – this time we went through a covered bridge. These are a big deal in New England. Wooden bridges over the river, that are like barns. They date anywhere from the mid 1800’s to 2003 if there has been a fire and one has been restored! Not at all suitable for Reg it was fun to go through on the bikes instead.

Woodstock was charming and as lovely as Woodstock is at home. Similar in that on the edge of town there is a large mansion (maybe not as big as Blenheim Palace) but the home of three men over the last 100 years who are so important to conservation in this part of Vermont and the US generally that the Park Service are entrusted with the property and it is now open to the public.

Very briefly the men are Marsh – who was born in this part of Vermont. He was horrified that the settlers had basically cut down nearly all the forest by the mid 1800’s. Indeed, it was weird that when we were looking at these mountains covered in trees, they are in fact not the virgin forest that you think. Far from being the untouched scene we thought, it is actually the second round after man had interfered and cleared all the original trees.

Second guy was Billings – he being the one behind the Great Northern Railroad and who the town in Montana is named after. He again was appalled at the lack of conservation and started a sustainable farm on the land surrounding the house which still operates today. This mood was further enhanced when his grand-daughter married Laurance Rockefeller – the son of John Junior who had been instrumental in so many of the national parks we have been to – like Acadia and Grand Teton.

The house and land has been gifted to the state and the town of Woodstock has similarly taken conservation – this time in structures to a high level. Famously there are no overhead power cables around the green, and houses surrounding this patch of lawn were from all decades since the 1860’s I would guess. American property porn for Homes and Gardens readers! It is also a backdrop in Forest Gump.

We could have stopped at that – it had been a good cycle along the old river road to get to Woodstock. We had enjoyed a lovely sandwich. We had found out about Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller at their museum. Normal people at this stage would cycle back and say great day. But not us; no, we decided to climb a mountain on the Thompsons to go to a cheese tasting at Sugar Hill Farm. The clue was in the name really!

Oh, my word I am not sure that they wanted the sweaty Brits in their tasting room – so we had to buy some to justify the effort. The second hair crime of the week was Matt having corn rows from his cycle helmet. You could not tell if he still had the helmet on or off it looked so odd! We will not be entering the Tour de France anytime soon I tell you after that ride. It was way too hot and steep for us!

The cheese did survive though you will be pleased to know and it was quite something. Vermont is very proud of its local produce – jams, pickles, cheeses and maple syrup of course. Fascinating to learn how they tap it from the trees, boil it down and then the varieties of taste and colour that occur. I had never appreciated maple syrup when it is served out so glibly in iHop and Dennys!

We spent this last weekend winding our way back through the south of Vermont. I have to say that the ‘Green Mountain State’ has won my heart. On Saturday, we stopped off at the birthplace of Calvin Coolidge, the 30th US President on the recommendation of our neighbours at the campsite. They were lovely and from Ohio.

Coolidge was born and raised in Plymouth Notch in Vermont. A tiny hamlet in the most glorious setting. What is unusual is that he is born and buried here, but due to the death of the 29th President, Warren Harding in San Francisco from a stroke on 2 August 1923, Coolidge was sworn in as president at his father’s house as he was visiting his Dad that summer on holiday.

We had an excellent guide who made it all come to life for us and Coolidge had a pretty hard time of it. His mother died when he was twelve, his sister died of an appendicitis when she was fifteen, his father died when he was in office and to cap it all his son died during his time in office, aged only sixteen years old. He came back to Plymouth Notch as president for about ten days to bury Calvin Junior and briefly the village was transformed into a summer White House (you can see all the cables, office paraphernalia that came along with him, as well as huts for the secret service to sleep in). It was a very worthwhile stop.

Yesterday we drove highway 7 south. A scenic drive to behold – exactly what Reg was meant for. It took ages but we went from Vermont into Massachusetts, into Connecticut, the green, hilly bits of New York and we are now in Pennsylvania at a place on the Delaware River.

As we drove yesterday we left the chocolate box New England behind. We both have really enjoyed it. After the drama of the West – huge mountains, big skies, vast lakes, redwoods and cliffs, I think we were both a bit concerned that New England would not give us that special tingly feeing when something is so beautiful you cannot articulate it (as you can tell by our attempts in this blog!) but actually Maine, Vermont and New Hampshire were just perfect and certainly exceeded our expectations. Highly recommended to you all.

Anyway, off to kayak the Delaware River…
A

*(those that know will get that reference!)