The Cross New Hampshire Adventure Trail

As someone who defines herself as a traveler and whose life is built around this pursuit, 2020 knocked me for a loop. First an artist’s residency in an Irish cottage set upon a windy cliff was postponed to 2022, and many months of international shoots evaporated in a matter of days. In the scheme of things, I knew I was lucky.

I decided to lean into the world-class New England seasons, recalling how often I mourned missing them the last 15 years, skipping dissonantly through from summer to winter like a glitchy TV controller when I was home between long work trips. I leaned into hyper-local travel and falling in love with my world-class home once again.

Until a few weeks ago, I had never heard of the Cross New Hampshire Adventure Trail (XNHAT). But time off the grid in nature was absolutely in order, my heart was weary from the endless news cycle, fear and loss, and in need of a break.

Pausing in the Pondicherry Wildlife Reserve, New Hampshire for lunch and a view

Put together by a non-profit, the Cross New Hampshire Adventure Trail is actually a series of rail trails, quiet backroads, and one section of main road, linked up to cross the state west to east just above the White Mountains. While the group has no leverage over the surfaces themselves, I found they have signage along the way and even show when the trail is rerouted, as in one case where a bridge was washed out in Whitefield.

Pedestrian covered bridge Littleton, NH

Sights and tastes of the season in Littleton, New Hampshire

Haverhill-Bath Covered Bridge at the western end of the Trail in Haverhill, NH

Setting out from Haverhill, NH the first 10 miles were the most challenging, so I was happy to get them out of the way. As a relative newbie to cycling, pedaling on sand feels like driving a car on ice, you have to white knuckle through it and let the bike flow where it wants to, which can be unnerving. Reacting viscerally and correcting the bike will actually upset the whole situation. The added weight of my half-filled panniers made things more interesting. I skidded my way along reminding myself I was here for the views, to enjoy nature. The rail trail surface had been shredded by ATVs, turning up the black sand and large rocks from the old railroad bed, making the trail look as if the train tracks had only been pulled up last week.

The September weather was a dream--perfect seventies daytime temperatures with cool mornings, all the golden, orange and fiery red leaves on show. I passed Bath’s historic covered bridge, orderly rows of golden corn fields, riding alongside the Ammonoosuc River upstream. In Lisbon, after delicious locally-made mint tea and peanut butter chocolate cookies at the Lovin Cup Cafe, I gratefully headed out onto quiet winding backroads. When the directions eventually put me back on the rail trail, it was wonderfully packed down and fast all the way to Littleton.

Farmland near Whitefield, New Hampshire

Littleton is a wonderful often overlooked town, with endless options for shopping, food, and activities. I stayed at a basic motel, dropped by the Little Herb Shop, forced myself to skip all the great vintage furniture and clothes shops, not wanting to add to my bags, and instead I headed down to the Schilling Beer Co. The food truck serving up poutine and a burger was exactly what I wanted after a day of riding. I sat on the picnic benches and enjoyed the changing clouds above the truly radiant fall foliage, burger and beer in hand. All felt right with the world, even if only for a few moments.

Rising early, I caffeinated at the Inkwell Cafe before beginning what the route promised was a challenging 10-mile hill climb on a busy road. It turned out to be a reasonable grade with lots of flats or downhills for recovery and stunning views. The mist blanketing the foliage in valley glistening powered me up the first four miles, the mountain lakes reflecting perfect cabins the next few, and before I knew it, I biked into Whitefield with a grin on my face.

A collectors roadside display

A scenic road near the Mt Washington Regional Airport, New Hampshire

Pondicherry Wildlife Reserve, New Hampshire

The trail entered the Pondicherry Wildlife Reserve briefly, but this was some of the most pristine beauty of my trip. I ate the second half of my breakfast on a lookout watching for beavers, grouse, hawks, and songbirds. I had just missed seeing a baby bear swim across the pond. Day tripping local cyclists on the route told me about their communities, their lives in the time of Covid. We spoke at safe distances, all masked.

After the Reserve, I wound my way through backroads--first paved then dirt--I trusted the XNHAT directions completely by now. Few cars in sight, I passed cabin after cabin, daydreaming about living there for a weekend, a season, a year. I rode under ancient orchard trees laden with golden and red apple, trying to imagine the area when they were planted. Likely farmland ran right up to the slopes of the White Mountains. The pace of cycling is perfect for the intensely curious; I cannot believe I only recently discovered it. You can casually stop, look, or simply glide by with enough time to really see everything.

Pondicherry Wildlife Reserve, New Hampshire

I felt such freedom and joy, the fresh mountain air filling my tense lungs, making me realize that I had been holding it since the start of Covid. And at the crest of any hill, I was rewarded with another colorful view. I was only a few hours from home but felt the same joy I had two years before cycling across African countries. And, absurdly, I felt a glow of pride. As if I had anything to do with the natural beauty of New England, when in fact her natural beauty and humbling seasons have had a great hand in shaping me. I have missed Fall the last four years because of work travel, so perhaps this explains my intense excitement, but surely September in New England is the most remarkable month. Cool temperatures at night, warm but not too hot by day and brilliant color displays at every turn, with delicious smells and tastes to match.

Quiet autumn sights along dirt side roads and byways

The golden leaves coated the compacted dirt and rocks of the Presidential Rail Trail allowing me to ride under the White Mountains in complete silence, the orange and red leaves creating a magical arch above me. My aim that night was a yurt awaiting me in Gorham. I got a bit lost coming into Gorham with snowmobile and ATV trails intersecting the route, and landed a bit shell shocked in a sandpit in the midst of a pack of roaring ATVs. But finally arrived at the White Mountain Cafe with relief.

A late lunch in my belly and dinner in my panniers, I headed to HubNorth just outside of town. The couple modeled the relatively new hotel on their experiences with New Zealand’s glamping and tent camping scene. Set on the site of a former Girl Scout camp, Hub North is an utter delight, and actually quite perfect for the socially-distanced era. The central open-air living space has a full kitchen with a separate building with flush toilets and hot showers nestled into the forest. The platform tents and yurts are spread across the rolling meadow, tucked into groves of trees with an array of solar lights guiding you home in the dark. Showered and warm in my pullover puffy coat, I hung out my laundry and sat by my fire pit, sighing with contentment as the crackling sparks lifted into the night air. Utterly relaxed, I reread my favorite parts of Harry Potter, which I found on a bookshelf in the yurt, seated by the fire until total darkness and sleepiness overcame me.

Hub North, Gorham, New Hampshire

Relaxing after an early dinner at Hub North

Sixty miles under my belt, I woke up at sunrise and caffeinated at Sweet Berries Bakery in Gorham, stashing extra pastries in my pockets for later. Some of the ATV drivers at the bakery gawked at the idea of cycling across New Hampshire, but I prefer my quiet contemplative mode to theirs.

Crossing the Androscoggin River, I pushed my bike along the old iron foot bridge, and made my way to Hogan’s Road, the toughest stretch of the 84-mile trip according to the XNHAT makers. Portions of the road had washed out in past hurricanes, and although repaired, all of the six-mile road had the intensely cobbled structure of a river bottom. Cycling was more manageable than the sand of day one, but my upper body got a good wake up before the sun was high. Working my way bumpily eastward, my progress followed the waters of the Androscoggin River as it flows to the Gulf of Maine. The jangling in my arms was countered by the feeling of time travel. I saw no one for hours, and was immersed in the peace of the woods which surrounded me as I worked my way along the cobbled road surrounded by thick ferns and maple trees. I saw no signs of humans except a parked camper van deep woods and a haphazard shooting range.

Twilight at Hub North

early breakfast day 3 at Sweet Berries Bakery Gorham, New Hampshire

The sense of time travel only increased once I turned onto the wonderfully paved North Road. I rolled past classic, old New England farms, with wonderful names like Crow Hill and Whitney Farm, not a car in sight. Massive old growth pines, rare in heavily- logged New England, towered above like old wise ones and perfect rows of deciduous trees arched along the road where long-ago farmers had planted them. Historic plaques on the houses hinted at the past as I crossed from New Hampshire into Maine.

With every pedal stroke I soaked in simple pleasures my 2020-weary heart thirsted for: the open road and freedom, immersion in New England’s autumnal beauty, days on end outdoors, and that addictive feeling of endless possibility that comes from the simple pleasure of choosing your own path while traveling. And the important reminder that I can find all of this in my own backyard, accessible anytime.

Following the mighty Androscoggin River east

historic farms along North Road, which runs east west from New Hampshire into Maine

An old outbuilding, North Road

North Road, Maine

I arrived in Bethel, Maine, and met my father (who had generously offered to ferry me back to my car) by our favorite pre ski stop, the Good Food Store. After a bite, we headed to the new, world-class Maine Mineral and Gem Museum, which celebrates Maine’s little-known history in precious, semi-precious and basic building stones. The collections and exhibits were phenomenal, especially delightful for geology lovers like us, but accessible to anyone. I held a piece of the moon in one hand and a meteor in the other. Who says you cannot travel at this time? If you are willing to look more closely all around you and expand your definition of what travel is, your world only becomes that much bigger and richer.

Mineral and Gem Museum, Bethel, Maine

***Check out the https://www.xnhat.org/ website for trip planning, cue sheets, places to stay and mileage.

Mineral and Gem Museum, Bethel, Maine