The last day of the ride. It was sunny but not too warm, and I was in a good mood. Breakfast at the B&B was lovely. I heard all about the local agricultural fair, taking place that weekend, as I had a breakfast of eggs, toast, fresh fruit, and hot tea. The bike was in fine shape:




My travelling companion was delighted that the B&B had apple trees laden with fruit:


and I was nestled between hills and hills, eager to get on my way.

I was wearing my hot pink "see me!" shirt, with "I'm headed to the ice cream party" (or words to that effect) written in on the back.

Of course, there were the mandatory problems with routing. Google tried to send me down a road that didn't exist:


so after four miles uphill to get to the non-road, I had to turn around and get back to the B&B to find another option. The sheep in the meadow were amused to see me come by again.


The Garmin GPS suggested another road out of the area, which (unlike Google's suggestion) had actually been a road at some point in time.


Eventually, I gave up and just got back to the main highway -- Route 9 -- the way that my rescuer had brought me in the night before, even though it meant taking a bit of a longer route than absolutely necessary. I figure that all the backtracking and extra loops that morning added 7 miles or so to my odometer -- which nicely helped to counterbalance the miles I didn't ride the day before.

A lot of Rt 9 was under construction -- lanes blocked, shoulders closed, asphalt scraped and bumpy. Still, compared to the day before, the hills were shorter and more manageable. Some I walked out of safety concerns: heading uphill on a 55mph highway with no shoulder into a curve was not something I wanted to try. Sure, cars and trucks could see me going up the hill and give me room, until I made it around the curve. Then I would be in prime position to get slammed by a car that wasn't expecting someone to go 8mph in the slow lane.

Pittsfield, MA was the last city I passed through. Again, I found reason to walk the bike from time to time:

Yes, those are train tracks coming across an uphill with no shoulder at a gentle angle -- a great way to get a tire caught.

I had lunch at a cafe in Pittsfield, sent a text to Phil to let him know I was in the homestretch, and set off on Rt 20. I could hear folks honking happily as they saw my shirt. One friend pulled over and asked if I'd like a ride. I smiled and said no -- but I was happy to offload my panniers to her. She went back into Pittsfield, getting more supplies for the gathering, leaving me alone to go down the last hill at 35 mph. As I was going downhill, someone on a motorcycle sportsbike was leaning into the uphill, almost dragging his knee on the asphalt. We were equally delighted in speed and curves, just in different directions.

And then, I was at the gathering, with my friends around me. The first one to see me come to the campground on two wheels shouted out, "Oh my God!" I smiled, and looked at my odometer: 399.8 miles total for the week. I took a victory lap, winding up to 400, as my friends came to greet me and offer me hugs & homemade ice cream.