Originally published in RoadRUNNER Magazine. Is there much traffic in Vermont’s famed, remote Northeast Kingdom? Depends on whom you ask.
We’re passing through Bloomfield when we stop at the country store for a cold drink. A clearly exasperated farmer named Bob is at the counter, prattling on about the “Moose Fest”: a fair and classic car gathering in the town of Canaan, 20 miles north. (It also happens to include an event that will soon be taking the country by storm: Cow Plop Bingo.) “Dang,” says Bob. “I hate this weekend. When the Moose Fest comes to town, I go camping. It’s a zoo up there.” I notice he’s buying a case of cheap beer for his forthcoming wilderness retreat. Clearly, the guy needs some alone time.
Despite these dire predictions of gridlock, Meredith and I press on to Canaan, population 970. But the predicted traffic jam keeps not happening. By the time we get to the town center, there’s a solitary guy in an orange vest directing “traffic” into a dirt lot, which contains a total of five other cars. We pass through without touching the brakes—once.
If that’s a Vermont traffic jam, I’ll take another, please.
Welcome to some of the northern-most parts of the Northeast. I grew up in the east, outside New York City, but this is another thing altogether. It’s a place where seemingly every car has a canoe or kayak affixed to the roof, and hikers, mountain bikers, and climbers are as common as fall leaves. Everyone you meet is in the middle of an outdoor adventure—or planning one.
And of course, it’s quite perfect for motorcycling, thanks to a dense thicket of twisty, two-lane roads—and plentiful dirt roads, if that’s your preference.
On this two-up trip, Meredith and I completed 1,000 miles through upstate Vermont, New York’s Adirondack mountains, southern Quebec, and back down into Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom. Along the way we climbed the toll roads of Whiteface Mountain and the famed Mount Washington. We even found vintage bikes in Vermont’s Bundy Modern museum, and met some river otters and a friendly, de-scented skunk at the Wild Center museum in Tupper Lake, New York.
Life Among the Bark Eaters
My history in the Adirondack mountains runs deep: in junior high school, I spent 30 days here participating in a wilderness survival school, sleeping on the ground, navigating by map and compass, and drinking straight from mountain streams. Being an adolescent, I whined about epic hardships like the lack of pizza and donuts, but these many years later, I realize that the experience changed my life. It reset my compass permanently. I’m still happiest when I’m outdoors, away from muggles, and in the presence of trees, wildlife and well, nothing at all. In the ensuing years, my father and I camped, canoed and toured extensively in the region. And later, I spent my freshmen year at college in upstate New York. That’s a lot of connections.
Thankfully, the Adirondacks are no less enchanting now. As the largest park in the lower 48, it spans more than six million acres (a mixture of public and private land), and can hold Yosemite, Glacier, the Grand Canyon, and several other parks within its borders. It contains more than 2,000 miles of hiking trails and 3,000 lakes and ponds. And of course, great motorcycling roads.
After picking up a BMW R1200GS at MotoVermont in Burlington, we make our way to the ferry in Charlotte. I have a thing about combining ferries and motorcycles—long ferries, short ferries, cable-drawn ferries—I love them all. That’s good, because there are four that span Lake Champlain (between Vermont and New York). The 107-mile-long lake grows in width the farther north you go, and the ferries include everything from the Shoreham-Ticonderoga passage (seven minutes) to the Burlington-Port Kent ferry (60 minutes).
On the 30-minute trip to the historic, lakeside town of Essex, New York. This may be a lakeside town, but it feels like the seacoast. The whole burg is on the National Register of Historic Places, thanks to striking examples of Federal and Greek Revival architecture.
We pass through Elizabethtown, where I embarked on that long-ago 30-day wilderness trip as a 13-year-old. As we make our way to the night’s lodging in Keene, New York, I envision my dad driving the old Ford Fairlane wagon on these same roads, with the canoe atop the car and me staring out the window as we pass through the canopy. It feels good to be here, on a motorcycle, enjoying these same roads now, with Meredith on the back.
Our lodging for the night in Keene is the Bark Eater Inn, so named because Algonquin tribes were said to eat the inside of white pine bark when food was scarce. The historic building, with its vast, screened-in porch, was also a former stage stop between Lake Placid and Lake Champlain. Food will not be scarce tonight for the Drakes, however, because we’ll be eating at the excellent Forty Six restaurant just a few blocks away, which is named for the 46 high peaks in the Adirondacks (4,000-5,000 feet).
Lake Placid, just 14 miles away, was host to both the 1932 and 1980 Winter Olympics, and the ski jumps still form a prominent tribute to those events, pointing skyward like the world’s biggest Hot Wheels track.
We visit the sprawling Wild Center museum in Tupper Lake, which celebrates the Adirondack mountains (see sidebar). We then pass through the Saranac Lake region. The roads are perfect for motorcycling, as we pass in and out of bogs rich with greenery (the area is known for its wild orchids). Everything seems to be in a happy state of animation before the onslaught of winter, which can be harsh and deep.
Whiteface Mountain, elevation 4,867 feet, is unique among the high peaks of the Adirondacks, since it has a toll road to the top. It’s the fifth-highest mountain in the region, and its eastern face was used for the Alpine skiing events in the 1980 Olympics. It’s also a great (if short) ride, with stunning views. The road ends at 4,600 feet, and the final 267 can be completed by tunnel, elevator, or a catwalk called the Stairway Ridge Trail.
We press on to Ausable Chasm, the so-called Grand Canyon of the Adirondacks. This spectacular, two-mile sandstone gorge, fed by Rainbow Falls, is highly commercialized, with guided climbing, tubing, and rafting trips. Thankfully, it’s quite beautiful despite the madness. The view from the bridge is free, as are several short trails in the gorge.
We take sinewy routes 9N and 9 to Plattsburgh, where a quick ferry takes us to Grand Isle, Vermont. This 14-mile-long land mass is occasionally so narrow that you can view water to both sides. It’s excellent riding, and we catch lunch overlooking the lake at a general store, called “Hero’s Welcome,” in the town of (you guessed it) North Hero. From there, it’s a short ride to the border crossing into Quebec.
Memphremagog Mosey
Our route crosses the southern border of Quebec, from west to east, through abundant agricultural land and the wine district around Bedford, then to the town with the unlovely name of Magog, our stop for the night. We’re agog to find Magog (sorry) bustling with tourist activity, with copious lakefront parks and a thriving marina on lake Memphremagog, which means “big expanse of water” in Algonguin. We spy a prominent hilltop steeple, visible from both sides of the lake, and decide to investigate. Fortunately, the Saint Benedict Abbey, built by Benedictine monks in 1912, welcomes visitors. Our timing is perfect, and we get to enjoy the haunting, Gregorian chants of the monks at morning service. In the basement store, they sell excellent cheeses, cider, applesauce and other products to help finance the operation, which includes 560 acres of land and trails along the lakeside. Just don’t make a commotion, and perhaps don’t visit with loud pipes, as the monks have taken a vow of silence.
We pass back into Vermont at Highwater, and into the lakeshore town of Newport, where we view Lake Memphremagog from the other end, and another country. The road south skirts Lake Willoughby, the deepest lake contained entirely within Vermont. The slopes of Mount Pisgah and Mount Hor drop precipitously to the water’s edge, giving a spectacular, vertiginous effect—a little like a freshwater version of the Big Sur coast back home. The park also has nice public beaches, including one, at the south end, famed for its lack of clothing. We linger awhile, but the gear stays on. ATGATT, you know….
Riding in the Kingdom
In Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom, you won’t find many burgeoning towns, but you will find abundant twisty roads and some of the best riding in the state. Our lodging at the Rabbit Hill Inn in Lower Waterford provides not only the perfect launch point for a Kingdom tour, but also a foray to 6,288-foot Mount Washington in neighboring New Hampshire. The mountain is known for some of the worst, most volatile, weather in the world, including a record 231-mph wind recorded in 1934. If you time it right, the 7.6-mile toll road also happens to be a great motorcycle ride.
On this day we get lucky and it’s a mere 57 degrees at the top. On a perfect day you can see 130 miles to Vermont, New York, Massachusetts, Maine, Quebec, and the Atlantic Ocean. The road can be busy, so it’s best to keep your throttle hand in check. Be patient and just enjoy the ride (a portion of which is dirt). We let traffic go up the road a bit, and at times feel that we have the place entirely to ourselves, as we pass lovely small forests and brooks before the road opens up to enormous views. The summit is thick with people, including a line of 100 waiting to photograph themselves at the famous summit marker.
A Touch of Dirt
We’re accustomed to traveling on my 2008 BMW R1200RT, which is known to be one of the best two-up bikes going, so the GS is a bit of an experiment. Turns out Meredith likes the accommodations even better than those of the RT. The bike also gives us license to do a little dirt road exploring from our inn, on a network of easy dirt roads with broad vistas. We get a bit lost—in the best possible sense of the word—before catching lunch in the tiny state capital, Montpelier, where one gets the feeling that a black bear might amble in the back door and occupy the governor’s chair for a few hours.
An impromptu visit to the Bundy Museum in Waitsfield reveals that the owners are motorcycle enthusiasts, so in addition to modern art, there are a few Ducatis and Moto-Guzzis to admire in the main hall. We cross the famed Appalachian Gap, 2,375 feet, on our way to the night’s lodging in the college town of Middlebury.
On our way back to Burlington to turn in the bike, we pass through lovely Vergennes, Vermont’s oldest and smallest city, established 1788. It occurs to us that on most moto trips, there’s a day that’s epic for all the wrong reasons: hot, cold, mechanical mishaps, or worse. Then there’s a trip like this one: flawless from start to finish. We even enjoyed the traffic jams—if you can call them that.