Walnut trees turning, yellow as the dawn.Maple sugar being pulled down strong.Frost shuns the pumpkin's orange glow.Cornstalks wilting in cool October snow.-Keith Hipharp, New England in Fall
Halfway into our six-day run through the New England countryside, we hit that motorcycling nirvana point where the world simply went away. As my husband, Jim, took us through the White Mountains on our rented, fully outfitted Harley-Davidson Electra Glide, the deep blue sky met vivid green hills in a striking contrast. The mid-60s temperature and warm sunshine melded perfectly with the sweet sounds of bluegrass from the Harley's CD player. And as the passenger, I found the big backrest and seat wonderfully comfortable, even more so than on our own Harley Road King.
I'd heard stories about New England in the fall since I was a kid. For me, it always conjured a festival for the senses-colors, smells and tastes blended in a warm and familiar sense; endless views; air crisp and refreshing.
We launched our voyage from Boston on U.S. Interstate 495 pushing north out of the city. My first concern was overcast skies and temperatures in the 50s that had us using every available layer, right down to neck gaiters. I'd longed for cool and crisp, but not this crisp!
Within an hour we were cruising U.S. Interstate 95 alongside some of Massachusetts' famous coastal villages, headed for Portsmouth, a sleepy historic town that is one of New Hampshire's oldest seacoast villages. For nearly four centuries people have called this area home, with George Washington, Daniel Webster, John Paul Jones and John Hancock all former guests in the Strawberry Banke area. With a huge Victorian-era church as the perfect town centerpiece, Portsmouth offers excellent restaurants, great shopping and several old bookstores.
On day two the sun broke through and dispelled my fears about the trip being too cold. After coffee at Breaking New Grounds we hopped on U.S. Interstate 95 and headed across the bridge into Maine. We passed Kittery and continued north past Kennebunkport and Saco. By lunchtime we rolled into Portland, which was first named Old Falmouth. The town later became a center for shipbuilding and trade, where Maine's expert craftsmen produced some of the best-built vessels in the world. Downtown Portland is rich with Victorian architecture, churches and, fittingly, an L.L. Bean outlet.
After lunch we headed out of Portland on Highway 26, which winds northeast through gorgeous New England countryside-rolling green pastures dotted with barns, antique shops and roadside stands selling pumpkins and apples. This quiet, two-lane road with only sparse traffic was a precursor to the rest of our ride. Highway 26 routed us around Auburn into the small towns of Poland, Norway and Paris. Here we wound around small lakes where the trees began showing more color. Scarecrows in entertaining poses marked the roadside. Just ahead we could see the White Mountains.
We stopped for the night in Gorham and, being prime season, had to search for a room since we had not made reservations. It was also here that the locals first referred to us as "leaf peepers." We took mild offense at first, but then gradually warmed to the term because we were, indeed, captivated by the changing colors of the hills. The landscape looked as though a painter had swept a brush across the treetops with bright shades of yellow, orange and red.