Le Bon Ton Roulet in the Finger Lakes
From John Hollyer of Wallingford
My vacation is the Bon Ton Roulet bike tour in the Finger Lakes region of New York.
My brother Andy, from Connecticut, agreed to join me, and we set off. Seven days of biking for a total of 350 miles. Beautiful lake and countryside views and quiet rural roads.
A total of 440 cyclists are on this organized tour, which benefits two local YMCAs. We camp at local parks and college campuses. The tour provides breakfast and dinner; lays out and marks the routes; provides support with rest stops and “sag” wagons, and moves our gear to the next stop.
The weather has been grand, save for one ride in rain and thunderstorms. The chance to meet other bikers who share the love of riding, trade biking knowledge and suggestions and make new friends, and spend time with my brother is priceless.
Station-wagoning to the Grand Canyon
From Bobbie Wood Borne of Wallingford, CT
As a child growing up in Swarthmore, I remember lots of fun family road trips. The most memorable perhaps was a journey West in our green Plymouth station wagon in 1954.
Our clever dad constructed a plywood board that he hooked to the back of the front bench seat that could be pulled down to form a desk for us three Wood girls fighting for space in the back seat. We would each be presented with a box of art supplies at the start of the trip, the best sort of gift in our opinion.
The big day arrived, and dressed in our matching seersucker shorts and little halter tops made by our mother (fast drying for easy laundering on the road), we piled into the back seat, barrettes in our hair, Chiclets in our pockets, clutching our art boxes.
Pulling out of our driveway onto Union Avenue, we turned left onto Yale Avenue, passed Schwartzman’s Store, then Hannum and Waites where we visited with Santa in December, took a right onto Chester Avenue, and off we went, headed for the Grand Canyon — 2,300 miles away. Immediately we whipped out our crayons, pencils and paper and began drawing like mad on our handy desk.
Today I have no idea of the route my parents had plotted with those old Esso maps. But I am pretty sure I know what they were thinking after my sister Molly asked, as we cruised by the orange roof of that Howard Johnson on Baltimore Pike in Media, “I’m all done drawing. Are we there yet?”