ROCK-NOTCH-LOBSTER

DAY TRIPPING

US 302: ROCK - NOTCH - LOBSTER

words + images: Dan Bisbee US Route 302 stretches between Montpelier, Vermont and Portland, Maine, winding its way through 171 miles of northern New England. In terms of being the most direct route between Vermont’s capitol and Maine’s largest city, it doesn’t even crack the top three and that’s just one of the reasons it’s a great motorcycle road.

Any good ride should begin with breakfast and the Wayside Restaurant in Montpelier is as good a place as any. They’ve been serving up great chow here for over 100 years and the parking lot always seems packed. But the service is prompt and my breakfast arrives quickly. Properly nourished and caffeinated, it’s time to hit the road. ROCK

New Hampshire may be called the Granite State but Barre, Vermont is the Granite City. The Rock of Ages quarry is one of the world’s largest granite quarries and stone from here is used all over the world. I pull in to the Vermont Granite Museum for a self-guided tour. The real beauty of the stone is exposed by the gifted stone cutters and some of their work is on display here. Housed in one of the many “stone sheds” around town, the museum includes tools of the trade as well as examples of granite artistry. Up the road, the Hope cemetery could be called a sculpture garden for all the intricately carved headstones.

Many granite monuments adorn downtown Barre including the world’s largest zipper. Nearby is a granite easy chair. Both ends of Main Street have statues, one honoring those killed in wars, the other dedicated to the many Italian immigrants who carved the stone.

I leave Barre on 302 climbing over Orange Heights before twisting, turning and diving down

through Groton and across the Connecticut River into New Hampshire. Here, 302 meanders along the Wild Ammonoosuc River to Bath where I stop at The Brick Store. It claims to be the oldest continuously operated General Store in the country. They smoke their own cheese and the smo-

kiness permeates the inside. The sandwiches from the deli are outstanding but I’m still stuffed from breakfast. After sampling some cheese, I head to the front porch with a drink.

A Harley parked in front catches my eye: It looked like someone had gone crazy on it with a Be-Dazzler. On the back fender, between the 14 taillights, was airbrushed “300,000 Miles 8-31-15”. It belonged to the old guy sitting on the porch chatting with his friends. I ask about the bike and learn that it is a 1999 Harley that he bought new. I went

to ask more questions but when I turned around, he was gone. With that kind of mileage, I should have expected that. From here, 302 ows curves past farmland along the river to Littleton. Signs on Main Street indicate that this is the “Glad Town.” 100 years ago author Elanor H. Porter lived in town and wrote a series of books about a young girl named Pollyanna who could always nd the good side of a situation. The books became known as the “Glad Books.” Pollyanna has been made into several movies and now, the Pollyanna Principle is a condition where people tend to remember the good things more than the bad things. A vibrant Main Street thrives, coexisting with the big box stores by the highway and I was glad I stopped.

302 runs in tandem with the Interstate for a few miles before heading east. In Bethlehem I did a double take at the 9-foot tall Megatron standing in front of Indian Brook Trading Company. It was next to a moose, a unicorn and two motorcycles, all made from what appeared to be scrap metal. It turns out that they are made from scrapped motor scooters in southeast Asia. Sadly, Megatron wouldn’t t on my bike. (I recently passed back through town to nd Megatron and the store were gone.)

East of Bethlehem, I pass the Mount Washington Hotel, one of the few remaining Grand Hotels in New Hampshire. It was built in 1902 for well-todo folks to escape the heat of the cities to the south. In 1944 it hosted the United Nations Monetary and Financial Conference. Also known as the Bretton Woods Agreement, it set up rules to regulate the International Monetary Fund (IMF) after World War II. Today it’s part of the Omni Hotels family and retains its “Grand Hotel” stature. NOTCH

A few miles past the Mount Washington Hotel I reach Crawford Notch. The narrow notch between Mount Willard and Bugle Cliffs was blasted to make room for the road and the railroad tracks. The Appalachian Trail crosses here as well. Hikers bicyclists and tourists swarm this area so it’s best to back off on the throttle a bit. Passing between the notch walls, the bottom drops out and the road free-falls, twisting and tumbling along with the waterfalls, switching one way then back. It’s a wild ride but it’s over quickly and the road settles into a more sedate pace as it reaches the Willey Slide House. The Willey Slide house is a beauti-

ful place with a sad backstory. The Willey family settled here in 1825 and, during a heavy summer storm on August 28, 1826, a landslide rumbled down the mountain. They abandoned their house, running for safety. Tragically, they didn’t make it. Even more heart-

breaking, a rock outcropping immediately behind their house diverted the landslide leaving the building virtually intact. The site became a tourist destination as people came to see the untouched house. There is a restaurant and a gift shop at the site today and, while the house is long gone, the cellar hole is still apparent.

From here, 302 meanders along the Saco River past Attitash Ski Area and Bartlett to North Conway in the heart of the White Mountains. Its hotels, shops, and outlet center cater to tourists who jam up traf c through the center of town. Fortunately, there is a way around most of it and I take a right on West Side Road and then detour up a short twisty road to the top of Cathedral Ledge. There is a great view over the valley. To the south is Whitehorse Ledge (namesake of the former Whitehorse Gear) and, to the east, North Conway and the valley roll out.

Back down on the valley oor, West Side Road turns into River Road and connects back with 302. A zig and a zag put me on North South Road which blissfully bypasses North Conway’s congestion before reconnecting with 302 just before the Maine state line.

LOBSTER

If I’m riding in Maine, lobster is on the menu. First though, I stop at the Jockey Cap General Store for a refreshment. Behind the store is a rock formation that, before the trees grew up around its base, resembled a jockey’s cap. It’s a short 10-minute scramble to the top and the 360-degree view is even better than Cathedral Ledge. At the peak is the Admiral Peary monument named for local resident and arctic explorer Admiral Robert Peary. The monument is a panoramic landscape compass and the names of the surrounding hills are depicted in a ring around the top. Sighting across, I can nd the names of the nearby mountains.

From the Jockey Cap, 302 ducks through the trees to Bridgton where I nd the Rufus Porter Museum of Art and Ingenuity. Porter is known mostly as an early American Painter specializing in wall stencils but he was also referred to as “The American da Vinci.” After visiting the mu-

seum, I have to agree. He was an itinerant painter in the 1820s. Traveling with a camera obscura, he would quickly and accurately paint a person’s portrait. He was an inventor on par with Thomas Edison and had many patents. An electri ed version of his liquids pump is still used for blood transfusions today. He did lack Edison’s business sense. He sold a patent for a repeating revolver to Samuel Colt for $100.00 in 1836 – the same year that he started Colt Firearms. His “aerial locomotive” would have whisked people from New York to San Francisco in 3 days in 1849. Alas, his rst full scale attempt was destroyed by a storm and funding never came through. He also founded Scienti c American magazine in 1845, selling it 10 months later.

In his spare time, he managed to father 16 children.

Leaving Bridgton, I could sense a change. The mountains were behind me and the landscape began feeling coastal. Passing a sign advertising lobster meant I was close. Before Portland though, is Sebago Lake and I lurch through traf c passing a seemingly endless loop of fast food, mini-marts and gas stations.

As I roll into Portland 302 fades away, becoming Forest Avenue with no announcement. Then, on my left: Paellas Seafood. A small place with picnic tables out front, nestled between a sh market and an autobody. I see the lobster macaroni & cheese bites and I know I’m in the right place. They are exquisite. And worth every mile. ,

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