some good summer cycling. In winter it is even better. The constant winds make the small island bigger as you need to push all the time. Woody signaled at a single track into the bushes and I followed him for two hundred yards to an overlook with a view straight out over the big
Atlantic. This was not Long Island Sound any longer. This was the big ocean and it was not pacific today. The rollers crashed two hundred feet below us. Off to the left was Southeast Lighthouse which Woody reminded me had been moved back a hundred feet two years ago to save it from tumbling into the sea. This prompted a story from me about my hometown?s
Island lighthouse which was also threatened with destruction from erosion. Many of the historic lighthouses of
New England were under watch and required major efforts to save or restore.
We rode for over an hour and made our way across the island and up to North Lighthouse. It seemed that no matter what way we turned we were into the wind. Such is winter riding on an island way out in the
Atlantic. We cared little as we felt our legs warming all the way up to our smiles. Woody showed me a few more sights before we stopped for lunch where we could look out and watch the Port Judith ferry bringing a few winter weekend visitors and track endless soaring gulls.
After lunch we shivered a bit before we pedaled ourselves back to warmth and climbed back up to the highest part of the island- maybe 200 feet in elevation. In summer the riding is leisurely and crowded. There can be hundreds of cyclists and thousands of vacationers. There are never too many cars but now there were zip cars and only two other cyclists. We had the place to ourselves and we felt the giggle. We were bon vivants in our own country. No need for French villages for us. We had our own villages, even our own island.
Back at the
Airport, Woody did his preflight check and within minutes we were off. He had offered the controls to me on the way over, but I declined. I have little interest in flying. But I felt so elated now that I said OK. I checked out right rudder and left rudder and nose up and nose down. Soon I was looking for more submarines. I could be a bombing pilot or maybe just a sub spotter. No subs, so I headed over toward Old Saybrook and the mouth of the
Connecticut River . This was favorite biking territory that was wonderful to see in sweeping miniature from this unique perch. I swung along the shoreline and went straight east toward home. I was surprised how comfortable I