"If you don't know where you're going....."

"If you don't know where you're going, you'll wind up somewhere else."
Yogi Berra

If it's Saturday, this must be New Hampshire. Our first clue that we had crossed the state line was all the people we saw going past on their motorcycles sans helmets. Most of them seemed to be on Harleys, and few of them returned the wave that is customarily exchanged between motorcyclists when they pass each other. I wonder if it's because we're on Japanese bikes instead of Harleys, or if it's because we're so uncool we're wearing head and eye protection? The motto on licence plates in this state is "Live Free Or Die". Live Free - go without a helmet.  Or Die - get a large bug in the face at high speed, lose control, hit a tree or go over a cliff. I would never ride a bike without a helmet.

Unless it's for a photo opportunity. Which is how we wound up taking turns being cameraman while the others went tearing back and forth on a nice straight stretch of highway in the middle of White Mountains Park without helmets. It didn't work so well. Between what happens to facial expressions when people try and smile in a 100 km/hr wind and feeling naked riding without a helmet we only got a couple of decent pictures.

 I pulled over a little later to take a picture looking down the valley we were in and Mark and Jennifer stopped further down to wait for me. Jennifer had her earphones plugged in and was enjoying some tunes while taking in the view. Mark rolled around to the other end of the lot to see if I was coming, and as he made a slow speed turn on an uphill slope, the bike fell into the turn and went down. He grabbed the bike and started trying to heave it up while simultaneously yelling at Jennifer to come help. She continued to bop along to the music, oblivious to Mark's predicament behind her. She finally noticed and ran back to help so the bike was up by the time I rejoined them. That night when I dumped the pictures into my laptop, on a hunch I blew up the bottom corners, and found I had captured the whole thing. At first Mark swore us to secrecy but later when he was able to laugh about it he agreed to let me show the pictures.

Mount Washington.
At 6,228 feet Mount Washington is the tallest mountain in the northeastern United States. It's also the scariest place I have ever been in my life, including lying in the hospital with a broken neck. There's a narrow twisting road running up it that at times seems to be at a 45 degree angle, is filled with hairpin turns, has a sheer drop on one side with no guardrails, is swept by the highest winds ever recorded on the planet, and has a stretch in the middle of it that switches from pavement to dirt. There are very few places to pull over and pause on the way up, so once you start, it ain't so easy to stop, especially in or on a vehicle with a standard transmission. We had no idea what we were getting into, and the fact that they let anybody who can cough up the $15 entry fee drive up it is beyond my comprehension. The drive up that road looked like fun for the first 10 minutes but as we climbed higher and higher it got narrower and twistier, by the time we climbed above the tree line exposing us to the wind and the road switched to dirt it wasn't any fun at all. There was barely enough room for 2 way traffic if it was a level road and it took all my willpower to avoid looking over that drop off that was a scant few feet away. I was in the lead and at one point pulled over to let my nerves settle down. When I looked up up the mountain I could see the parade of cars inching along back and forth above us. We were at mile three, there were still five to go. When we started up again we wound up following some moron in a Honda Pilot who must have had an automatic transmission and was climbing the hill at a snails pace with frequent stops to get a good look at the view. There was a  jeep in between us and I could smell his clutch burning and hear his engine revving as he tried not to stall and slide backwards into us. When we pulled over to let him get ahead Jennifer announced she was going no further, she'd had enough. Mark and I decided to press on, but as we continued up that hill I was constantly questioning the wisdom of that choice. I jump out of airplanes for fun, I've done it 2600 times, but I've never been as scared skydiving as I was on that nerve wracking white knuckle ride to the top of that mountain. In skydiving when things go bad it all happens so fast you don't have time to be scared, but that ride went on forever. The view was nice but difficult to appreciate because we had to face the return trip. Jennifer got some pictures of us as we came around the corner above her and we finally all made it back down safely. Been there, done that, got the bumper sticker. Don't need to repeat the experience.

We ended the day in an over priced room with a spectacular view overlooking the town of Conway, coincidentally the same town I'd stayed in the last time I was in New Hampshire. The room came with a patio so we sat outside emptying a bottle of Ciroc Raspberry Vodka and pink lemonade. When we pulled out the maps to pick a direction for the next day I pointed out that the Atlantic ocean wasn't far and Jennifer pounced on the remark. There. For the first time on this trip we had a plan. See the ocean.

Jennifer is really the reason this trip happened. She was helping me clean up the books from selling the business and I made an off hand comment to her about inviting Roger to go on a road trip to New England. She picked up her iPhone and in less than a minute she had a babysitter lined up for her 3 kids and had submitted a request for time off at work. That was that. We invited the rest of our usual ride group along and Mark said yes so fast I didn't think he understood what he'd said yes to. We checked the forecast, saw that it was only going to rain for a couple days out of the five, and away we went.