There's no place like home...

August 18, Bedford, NH west of Manchester...off to an early start from the Hill-Brook Motel, knowing that with less than 50 miles to go we would probably make it to the Atlantic before dusk. Filled with delightful anticipation, but also some trepidation about coming to the end of the tour.  These three months on the road have overflowed with rich experiences, the retuning of bodies, minds and imaginations set free.  A part of both of us wants to keep pedaling forever. Random lines from the Beatles' 'Two of Us'  pops into my head in high fidelity---'You and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead...'  A vivid flashback to Ontario where the melody and words floated through the air as we rode down the main street of Port Dover looking for a place to stay. The rhythm finds its way into my legs and I am able to ratchet up the pace. We're going home.

In the middle of the steamy Manchester morning, we stop at an espresso shop that looks oddly out of place in this old New Hampshire mill town. Three tired-looking customers sit at a table on the sidewalk reading newspapers and smoking, taking little notice of us and our heavily loaded bikes. A beautiful, haunting melody drifts out of the dark interior. Are we in Egypt? Macedonia? Really so far from home? The owner, we learn, is from Bosnia, and the coffee is strong, sweet and cheap. And so on through the gray, depressing city streets until we reach the eastern side of town and the pastoral, hilly farmland until, finally, we cross the Lamprey River south of Newmarket and are almost home. We rush to unload the bikes and find the energy for the final push to the seacoast at Rye Harbor and are elated to see Eliot and Heather there with big smiles and two bottles of the best champagne this side of the Atlantic.  We are home at last.

Eliot and Heather with the bubbly

Ritual dipping of the wheel