It wasn’t the storm it was forecast to be, but the snow was falling all day – albeit not heavy, sticky flakes – the temperature was in the teens and the wind was blowing 30-mph gusts.
In others words, a perfect day for a bike ride.
The thermometer read 12 degrees, but my online weather chart said it felt like 10 below. So today’s ride would require the full-on gear treatment: top and bottom base layer, five tech over layers, insulated ski gloves, balaclava, two pairs of wool socks, goggles for the eyes and a puffy coat.
Bridge over the Oxbow inlet
Suited up, I headed out toward the Oxbow inlet. Riding was tricky from the start. Roads weren’t yet plowed and tire tracks weren’t any help. All they did was cover the icy patches underneath, so that if you followed them your tires would get jerked around as the icy tracks crossed. Much better was the untrammeled sides of the road with a fresh, four-inch layer of snow.
I nearly toppled over any number of times as I hit hidden ice patches, but managed to stay upright for the two-and-a-half-hour ride.
Slow Ride
I’d already accepted that today’s ride was going to be relatively slow, and that was fine. Paramount for me was staying warm, not how much mileage I would cover.
Staying warm in the sub-zero wind worked out fine once I got working, and pushing tires through the snow provided a good workout. My toes froze but otherwise I was warm head to feet.
The great thing about riding amid a storm is you have the roads almost all to yourself. Very few cars venture out in these conditions, nor should they. Rather, the few people you meet in the middle of a snowstorm are cross-country skiers, some snowmobilers and a few dog walkers.
Seeking Desolation
Once I got out in it, and started having fun, I decided to extend my planned ride and followed the same route I’d ridden a few weeks ago during a dawn ice ride. Through the back roads of the Northampton meadows and down into the isolated field roads running along the Connecticut River.
It’s one of my favorite places to ride in the winter because it’s so desolate and barren. I would have liked to have stopped more and appreciated the desolation and stillness, but it was simply too cold to remain standing in it for long without moving. Out there in the fields the wind gusts and billows freely and swipes at anything in its path. Just stopping for a minute for a drink of water, I could feel the freezing wind eating right through all my layers. Time to move.
I rode up into Northampton and navigated a few empty residential streets back to the rail trail bike path. Even that wasn’t easy riding as it was covered in drifting snow and bumpy with iced footprints.
I worked my way back down to the meadows behind South Street, back past the Oxbow and Arcadia, up to the Manhan bike path and around toward home.
Riding the storm out. It’s the perfect – and different – way to enjoy the snow.
It’s never easy getting up and out on a cold, dark January morning. Even harder if it’s by choice, not of necessity. I had taken the day off and could have slept in. What am I doing up before the sun, I kept asking myself as I sipped a hot green tea.
Twenty minutes later, all the doubt had vanished as I watched the sun peek up behind Mount Tom and cast a beam of light across the Oxbow perfectly aligned with where I stood on its bank.
A morning icy bike ride had been a good idea after all on this mid-January morning. I crossed the blocked off bridge at Old Springfield Road, over the Oxbow, and rode into the Northampton meadows, taking care to steer into the few frozen dirt patches I could find, for the traction.
Most of these back roads were covered in hard caked snow and slick ice, tricky for riding. Worse, car and truck tire grooves had been ridged into the surface so that a bike path could be yanked in any direction at any time by the hardened ice. It was impossible to trust what you’re riding on.
I rode slowly past the Oxbow Marina and toward the the dirt and gravel Potash Road. Almost no one in the Meadows this cold morning, which lent it a mystical, far away nature, as if I had traveled a long distance to get here. I was relieved nobody was there to see me go down on the back woodsy Manhan Road. The iced tire groove I had been following crossed with another. My bike tire decided on a different path than the one I intended. The bike won, its front tire jerking to the right. I didn’t adjust quickly enough and rolled onto my shoulder, almost chuckling, “you finally got me.”
I continued riding until I popped out on Pleasant Street just above the bowling alley. I worked my way across the street and took a right on Hockanum Road to continue through the meadows, this time on the other side of Route 91. I took a left on Nook Road and rode out into the middle of the fields, where there’s a barren intersection with Valley Field Road. I know these roads well, having run and walked them in warmer weather. But again, in mid-winter, completely alone at this crossroad amid the dormant fields that sweep down to the Connecticut River and over to the Northampton Airfield, it feels surreal and exposed. Like a desert. Except cold. Too cold to stand for very long marveling at the exquisitely still isolation.
I moved on. Past the airport, under Route 91 on Old Ferry Road, left on Cross Path Road over to Ventures Field to begin making my way back home. Pleasant Street to the bike path, through downtown, behind Smith College and along Route 5 and 10. The path was crusty with ice and pocked with boot prints, making for a rough mile before the bridge over Route 5 and 10.
From there, the path cleared, where sunshine had done its job melting away ice the day before. Final smooth mile.
The perfect way to start the day, especially when you don’t have to.
Getting Way Out There While Winter Hiking in the Whites
New Hampshire’s White Mountains are among the most formidable hiking proving grounds in the eastern United States. Renowned for its 48 4,000-foot peaks, the White Mountains present challenges for hikers at every level.
Winter hiking in the Whites presents its own special challenges, and until this past month I had never tried it. I drove up toward Twin Mountain, NH, from where I would set out, on December 27, curious about the experience. I had two days of solo hiking in front of me.
Mount Pierce summit
I chose to hike up Mount Pierce on the first day, with an option to loop over to Mount Jackson, two 4,000-foot peaks in the famous Presidential Range, of which Mount Washington is part. I harbor an aspiration to winter hike up Mount Washington at some point, and I’d read that Mt. Pierce was one of a few good warmups for that much larger, and more dangerous, undertaking. (I will be writing about that adventure when I succeed!)
More Challenge Needed
Starting from the Highland Visitors Center on Route 302, I headed up the Crawford Notch Trail. This is not a difficult trail as they go in the Whites. It climbs steadily for about 3.2 miles, not especially steep. This moderate climb attracted a good share of hikers that day, so that the snow was well tamped down and the footing reliable. It was a cloudy day so views from the top were nonexistent around mid-day. What the peak of Pierce did offer was a harsh, snappy wind and a bald top that deterred lingering for very long there.
I sought more. So from the summit of Pierce I proceeded on the Mizpah Trail. As fellow hikers returned, doubling back on the same trail down, I trudged forward into the back woods on a little used trail with the snow path barely broken. For more than two hours I pushed through deep snow not seeing anyone else. It was isolated, still and utterly beautiful, with a modicum of risk (if anything happened to me out here, no one was coming to help.)
Exactly what I was looking for. Silence, solitude, snow and a decent challenge. I came across Mizpah hut, a good-sized lodging hut open to hikers starting in late spring all the way into November. My daughter, Livvy, was hut master at Mizpah this past fall, so I stopped and snapped some pictures of the boarded-up building to share with her.
Mizpah Hut
Then I proceeded onto Mt. Jackson, still not seeing anyone for hours. I was in heaven. As I climbed to the summit of Mount Jackson, the wind whipped up and the skies cleared to give me an extended, stupendous view of the Presidential Range and beyond. It was blustery and cold so I didn’t stay long. But in the wind the trail down was hard to locate and for a minute I searched, haunted by numerous stories of hikers getting disoriented in the Whites and stumbling off the trail and getting in trouble.
Mount Jackson summit
Finally I found the Jackson Bridge Trail, which slipped straight down through an iced over and very slick rock gap. Really? I thought as I perused the gap from above. I’m supposed to go down that? I took my time and made it, then trudged the three miles descent back to the Highland Center.
More Deep Snowing Hiking
The next day I decided I would bag a couple more 4,000-footers, toying with the idea of adding all 48 4,000-footers in the Whites to my adventure list. It’s a thing. I’ve climbed about a dozen of them so far. We’ll see.
For today it would be the Kinsmans, north and south, two peaks on the north side of Route 93, opposite Franconia Ridge, which I’ve already done (though not in winter, when it becomes a more formidable endeavor).
I started up the Lonesome Lake Trail, another well-trodden path with no shortage of fellow hikers. About a half-mile up, I spotted an interesting but difficult-looking trail jutting straight up. I checked my map: the Dodge Cutoff, which led to the Kinsman Ridge Trail. I knew nothing about these, but it was off the beaten path so I took it.
A brilliant view of Franconia Ridge from Kinsman Ridge Trail
It was all I could handle. The Dodge Cutoff climbed straight up (no switchbacks in the Whites) and it wasn’t well-traveled so I was pushing through deep snow. I opted to continue climbing to Kinsman Ridge Trail, a gorgeous back country trail that cuts through the alpine at around 3,700 feet, just below Cannon Mountain.
I wanted isolated wilderness and I got it on this trail. It took me nearly three hours –no other hikers around – of steep ups and downs to work my way back to the more populated Lonesome Lake Trail. By then it was after 2 p.m.
More Adventures in the Whites
I opted to bail on the Kinsmans for the day. It would have been another two miles of climbing. I was zonked from the outback rugged trail I’d taken, plus the deep snow. Also, I would have run out of daylight, and though I had a headlamp, I didn’t want to be hiking down in the dark. I also had a three-hour drive back home when I was done.
The down via the Lonesome Lake Trail was steep and fast. I made it back to my car before 4 p.m. Almost six hours of steady hiking. I was ready to head home.
The beautiful thing about the Whites is that the park is so vast and there are so many trails that a hiker can get whatever they are looking for. A communal nature experience. A range of exertion levels, from moderate to difficult to intense. Or, pure isolation, in which some of the trails lead you deep into the wilderness where few others tend to go.
That’s what I was seeking for this adventure. That’s what I got.
Martie McNabb, Personal Historian, Legacy Artist, Nomad
Martie McNabb with her beloved road companion “Brooklyn”
A few years ago, Martie McNabb sold her apartment in Brooklyn, purchased a Winnebago Travato RV, and hit the road.
She was 59 at the time. And she’s been on the road ever since.
Martie, now 62, promptly named her Winnebago “Brooklyn,” in homage to her beloved city of 24 years. These days, she spends part of the year in Vermont, where her mother lives in warm seasons, and another part in Albuquerque, where her partner, Judy, has lived for most of her life.
The rest of the time, Martie lives in Brooklyn (again, the Winnebago, not the city), freely traversing the highways and taking in the sights across the United States, staying in campgrounds, RV parks and the occasional Cracker Barrel parking lot.
“I feel like, at this point, this is indefinite,” she says of her nomadic way of life. “Until I’m not able to do it anymore physically.”
Business Adventures
Martie has always had an adventurous spirit, she says, noting that her current cross-country travels are not her first. “I used to cross-country travel back in my youth, then in my Toyota Camry and car camping.”
When she got a job as a high school biology teacher, she settled down in Brooklyn (the city this time) and bought an apartment, where she lived for more than two decades.
“But the cost of living started getting ridiculous” in and around New York City, she said. “I couldn’t even afford to hire a coach.” That, combined with the negative effects of gentrification in her neighborhood, nudged her to sell her apartment and leave her job. “”That was the first decision I made,” she says. “It was just this perfect storm of everything happening at the same time.”
Meanwhile, Martie had started a business, Memories Out of the Box, through which she assists people in organizing and archiving personal memorabilia and visual memories to provide them with access to their past lives and the lives of their loved ones.
“I feel like it’s healing work,” she says of Memories Out of the Box, “to help my clients reconnect with family and friends.”
Martie followed that business with another startup a few years ago, Show & Tales, a business marketing and community-building service in which the host and participants share stories of the things they keep as a way to generate word-of-mouth buzz for their business endeavors. By doing so, they are also able to make deep connections with their own and each other’s personal histories.
As a proprietor of two online businesses, Martie has the freedom to nourish her adventure spirit on the road while generating income.
30 Years in the Making
One fortuitous connection – or reconnection, that is, after 30 years – that resulted, in part, from Martie’s nomadic lifestyle is her relationship with Judy.
Martie (right), Judy (left), their pet dog and Brooklyn interior
Martie and Judy had dated briefly when they were in their early 30s, but mutually drifted apart as their lives moved on, Judy remaining in her hometown of Albuquerque as Martie moved to the East coast. Then, about three years ago, Martie was scheduled to be in Alburquerque for a conference with The Photo Managers, and looked Judy up.
“It had been about 25 years since we’d seen each other,” she says. They got together, “and we started talking, then dating, and then we admitted our feelings for each other.”
Martie and Judy have continued their relationship over two years since of living together part of the time, and remaining together while separated by more than 2,200 miles the rest of the year.
Not Perfect
For Martie, her life on the road feels like a natural fit. The highlights of her lifestyle are the freedom and the people she meets.
“I like people, I like when I’m with people, and people watching,” she says. “I need time to myself, but I do like seeing people, seeing the way they live, everyone lives their lives differently.”
She loves exploring different parts of the country and seeing the different ways people and cultures are shaped and defined by their environment. “It’s fascinating, people dealing with challenges of different areas, and how people are different depending on where they live. I just find it fascinating.”
As free and interesting as life is on the road, it’s not always easy, Martie emphasizes.
Prices are inflated, for one thing, and paying for hiked gasoline rates makes a noticeable impact. “It really is not that inexpensive to live this life,” she says. There’s the high up-front cost of buying a vehicle suitable for living. And paying for park residence plus electricity at a camp site add to the daily expense.
And every day has its small inconveniences. Martie loves to cook, for example. But cooking in an RV isn’t ideal. “Everything smells like whatever you’re cooking,” she notes. “That’s a little challenge.” Also, it can be hard to get around once you’re parked and hooked up for electricity. You can’t hop in your car and run into town. “In order to go any place, you have to plan around that,” she says.
Finally, just getting in and out of Brooklyn, and for that matter climbing in and out of her elevated bed inside Brooklyn, require physical agility. “Some of these things I probably won’t be able to do anymore at my mother’s age.”
Adventure Dream Life
Still, for now, Martie points out, she wouldn’t trade it. She gets to live freely on the road, and spend extended time with people she loves who live far apart.
She meets a huge spectrum of interesting people and operates two businesses from an office on four wheels. The road is endless and always full of possibilities, and she’s planning an open-ended road trip out to the West coast this year.
Altogether, Martie is living an adventurer’s dream life, and she appreciates the opportunity.
