Over Hill, Over Dale

Honestly, anytime I venture into Farmington, I am surprised by its existence. That's how far from my daily consciousness the place is. A colleague once spoke of how the trails enabled her father to have an easy commute to work-- a factoid I quickly forgot as this little world had no relevance to my own. Then, after a different coworker raved about the trails -- she is over 60, had not ridden in a long time, and decided to hop on the trails one day, during which she easily, effortlessly rode about 20 miles -- I felt more inspired to see what exists on the other side of Death Avon Mountain.

She directed me to take Route 44, then Route 10, and park in a lot that would be visible fairly quickly. I found the Farmington Valley Trails Council site and stared at the intricate maps for awhile before having a duh moment. She meant going from her house on Route 44, not from Hartford. Finding the parking lot was probably the simplest navigation-related part of this adventure, and before I start hearing all kinds of judgment, Interstatement challenged me to bike to the trail from home before the end of summer. At the lot in Avon, we tried to plan our route by using the posted maps to guide us. In the future, we will print out maps to take along. Some sections of the trail were well-marked; others, not so much. I found myself yearning for the faded ECG emblems painted on the sidewalk in Hartford, if that tells you anything. The most confusing section we encountered was in an area undergoing construction. We kept looking for where the trail continued, only to learn later that we were riding a segment that uses the road. This stretch was not terribly long, but when you have no clue where the trail may or may not pick up, such things seem like an eternity. Just as I was ready for a fullblown meltdown (feeling lost, riding in direct sunlight, and having to pee), we arrived at Stratton Brook State Park. There, we found shade, the path, and a restroom with running water, hallelujah. This park has a beach, places to kill/torture fish, and a few cool bridges. Our original plan was to ride in a loop, going through Collinsville and so forth. So, we continued out of the park, expecting to find clear trails once more. This did not happen. We rode down a very rural road past about ten firetrucks, casually parked there, as if it were their natural setting. Just as I thought I could hear Dueling Banjos in the distance, we came to another small park with picnic tables and a sports field. There was a cool playground that was absolutely deserted.
I find it utterly depressed that kids would rather go to the newfangled plastic-everything-no-sharp-edges-playgrounds than to a little one (next to an equally deserted pond) where there is a metal backhoe with which to dig in the sand. It used to be that getting a bruised knee or removing a splinter was a routine event. Now, if a kid so much as has access to a metal slide, people panic. Being raised in a culture of fear makes it understandable why children are prone to obesity and videogame addiction; they simply are not allowed to have real fun.
We biked a little past the playground to see if there were any signs indicating where we were or if this was the trail. As the road turned into gravel, with no sign of ending, we said to hell with it and turned around. On the way back, we caught more of the bike trail that ran through Stratton Brook. Originally, we had missed the loop turn and had taken the trail North. It looks like it goes to or beyond the stateline, but we did not make it quite that far. This section runs along/through another park and has nice views of the Farmington River. I noted the picnic table which could come in handy on another day.

I was taken aback by how many cyclists were using this trail, as well as how many riders get their kicks apparently training for some race or another. If I want to sweat, I'll just ride downtown during Friday evening rush hour.

We obviously aborted our original plan, but shall return, at least to see if we can navigate the other half of the loop we did not quite get to attempt. Read more!

A ride gone wrong...

So while about 90% of the time I get lost while riding it can be attributed to google maps telling me there are roads where there are not a recent ride gone wrong I can only blame on myself (or perhaps as I later found out, the town of Simsbury).

A couple weeks ago I was scheduled to work a six day week which meant that on a couple days I was going to get out at 2.00. I had not been out on a 40+ mile ride yet this summer so I figured this would be the perfect opportunity. Unfortunately, however several factors would prove to derail my plans, shorten my ride, and leave me cold and wet trapped in the rain.

While I had planned to leave work at 2.00 this happened to be the week (much like this week) where we saw rain and thunderstorms every single day. The day had been fair but at about 1.45 a brutal thunderstorm rolled in that soaked the roads and kicked up the wind. I saw no point in trudging through the rain so I delayed my departure till the rain stopped at about 3.15. I raced home, quickly changed, and pulled up the radar. It showed a series of small thunderstorms moving in a line with 30 minute gaps between them. Not a fan of modifying my plans due to the weather I calculated a route by which I could race ahead of the storm, head West, and loop through Simsbury, into Barkhamsted, and South around a second storm. I wrote down my route which was a loop along routes 309, 179, 219, and 44. I stepped out the back door to the sounds of rumbling thunder, again questioned the intelligence of my decision, and hopped on the bike. As I rode North along Quaker, Asylum, and Steele St. and jumped onto 185. The whole time I was right on the edge of the storm as a picture taken over my shoulder along Elizabeth Park looked as such:


And this...


After moving down 185 towards Bloomfield the view to the West looked like this...

The view to the East however, was less inviting...


I headed up over Simsbury Mountain and noticed this foreboding sign on the way down which made me again question my choice to venture out...


READ MORE after the jump!



The weather was great though and I continued on through the back roads of Simsbury which turned out to be much more scenic than I thought. Here are a few pictures of the rolling hills and fields that remain in this increasingly sprawling area...


And...


I wanted to ask this little lady the answer to the proverbial question but left her to her bug hunting...



Things were going smoothly until I get to the intersection of Stratton Brook Rd and Rt 309. My route list informed me to turn left on 309, however I came to realize at this point that none of the roads are signed with route numbers!! (I found out the next day from a customer at work that allegedly Simsbury only recently moved away from the route numbering in favor of road names. Perhaps the numbers were a little too urbanizing in a pristine town like Simsbury (note sarcasm)). This I knew would turn out to be quite the problem as I would have to guess which road was which. I made my series of turns not confident that I was heading in the right direction. Eventually, however, I turned onto a major road which I sensed was Rt 44 and felt a little better as to my situation. After a couple miles, however, I realized that I was rather on Rt 202 and not only very far from my intended location but heading right back into the heart of a round of storms.

Along the river....


Clouds coming...


I had meant to travel counter-clockwise but somehow while making the same series of left and right turns had gone clockwise and was now heading South back into Simsbury. This meant that I had not only lost about 10 miles of my intended ride but that I had NOT ridden around the storm and would soon be soaked. The rain started slow at first and I rode on but soon it was coming down in sheets and the lightening started to pick up. At first I grabbed a spot under a tree but then noticed a nice awning across the street.

Here is my pathetic set-up as I waited for the rain to clear.


After about 20 minutes the rain cleared and I made my way back over Simsbury Mountain and home again. A few shots along the way proved that had I been about 20 miles West I'd be nice and dry...



The roads were quite wet...

As was I when I got home...


All in all still a pleasant ride but I sure learned never to ride without as much route information as is possible. Because everyone remember, Simsbury hates route numbers!!!
Read more!