Notes from the Hinterland

Labor Day was surely one of the most beautiful days of the season, which is edging from summer to fall. The day was warm and dry, and the sky was a brilliant blue. For my husband, Clif, and me this could only mean one thing—a long bike ride. We decided to ride what we call “the big Monmouth loop,” with a stop in the middle at Cumston Hall for iced tea and a granola bar and then on to Winthrop and an ice cream, at the end, at Tubby’s. The loop is about 17 miles, and most of it is on back roads lined with trees and fields, on roads where there isn’t very much traffic. The route, like most routes in central Maine, has its fair share of hills, but Clif and I have gotten to the point where most hills really don’t bother us that much. I never thought we’d get to this point, but when you bike long enough and push yourself to go up hills, this does indeed happen.

We made it to Monmouth in good time, and here is where we bought the iced tea. It’s a general store with an old wooden floor and various items ranging from milk to iced tea to used books.

Then on to beautiful Cumston Hall, home to the Theater at Monmouth and the town library, where we could rest in the shade and admire this spectacular old building as we drank our iced tea and ate our granola bars.

Through Monmouth we went, down busy 132, which doesn’t have a breakdown lane. This was our least favorite part of the trip, but then we were back on country roads, and we biked by many gracious homes that have been around for a couple of hundred years.

All too soon, our bike ride was over, and we pulled into Tubby’s for an ice cream.

And what to do after Tubby’s? Why, return home and make pizza on the grill. The roasted tomato sauce and the topping of peppers and pepperoni all came from central Maine farms. I hate to boast, but Clif makes great pizza.

Then with rum and Coke, we said farewell to summer and welcome to autumn.

And we hope there are many more bike rides before the snow falls.

Notes from the Hinterland

As many readers already know, two years ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was lucky in that the tumor was small—stage one—as well as slow-growing and nonaggressive.  I had surgery and radiation treatment, and although my prognosis is excellent, I go for regular check-ups at the Harrold Alfond Center for Cancer Care in Augusta, about 14 miles from where I live.

Last year, when I was the heaviest I had ever been, I decided the time had come to lose weight, exercise, and, in general, start taking good care of this body, which, after all, is the only one I have. Fortunately, I love to ride my bike. Not only is it great exercise, but it is also easy on the joints. For me, there is something very satisfying about pedaling and the forward movement of the bike. It sounds crazy, I know, but pedaling really is a pleasure for me.

One of the things I like to do is set challenges for myself, especially when it comes to biking. Now, I know that challenges have a down side. They can drain all the fun out of an activity and turn a person into a driven, humorless Puritan, a real partypooper.  But, approached in the right spirit, challenges can add fun and excitement to life. They can be positive goals for a person to focus on, which in turn can be a way to relieve stress. For me, challenges definitely fall into the second, non-partypooper category, and my husband, Clif, and I have a lot of fun with our biking challenges.

Over the past year, as I began to lose weight and became a stronger biker, I decided that I wanted to bike to the Cancer Center for my summer check-up. It would be a way of saying, “All right, I had cancer. But look how strong I am now.” I would also be riding in honor of the many friends and family members who have had cancer.

Well, yesterday, I did it. I biked to the Cancer Center. I left Winthrop and pedaled on busy Route 202, which fortunately has a wide break-down lane so it’s not as bad as it might be. I rode past cattails, Queen Ann’s lace, and purple loosestrife, which I know I’m not supposed to like but I do anyway. I zoomed past Winthrop Veterinary Hospital, and looked to see if Dr. Dave was working. He was. His motorcycle was parked by the building.

I went up hill and down hill and into Manchester, the worst part of the ride. There is no breakdown lane, and as soon as the lights allow, the cars speed by at 50+ miles an hour. I, on the other hand, slogged up Pelton Hill, and I prayed I wouldn’t get clipped as I felt the wind of the rushing cars. I guess the god of biking was smiling down on me because I made it safely through Manchester and onto back roads leading to the Cancer Center.

I got to the Cancer Center in one piece and in good time—an hour and a half. I had lunch on the terrace overlooking a man-made pond. The sound of the fountain in the pond was soothing, and I felt comfortable, relaxed, and, I must admit, very pleased with myself as I ate my peanut butter sandwich and my apple.

When the nurses, the lab technicians, and my doctor realized I had biked to the Cancer Center—the helmet and the biking shorts were give-aways—they clucked and fussed over me in a very satisfying way. Everyone likes a success story, and unfortunately, this is not the only story at the Cancer Center.

My doctor urged me to come the upcoming Cancer Survivor Day next weekend so that everyone could see how healthy and strong I was, even though I had had cancer.

“It would give a lot of cancer patients hope,” she said.

So, next weekend, weather permitting, Clif and I will be biking to the Cancer Center for Cancer Survivor Day.

I would like to conclude with a few comments about wellness, healthy eating, and exercise. First of all, I am never smug about my health. I know that people can take good care of themselves and still get sick. Sometimes it’s a matter of luck and the way a person’s genes interacts with the environment. Second, I don’t know if healthy eating and exercise will help me live longer. They might or they might not. But here’s what I do know: they will help me feel better while I live, and that alone makes the effort—and it is effort—worthwhile.

Now, on to the next challenge! A 50-mile bike trip. If not this summer then next summer.

Because I have been black-belt dieting for the past couple of months, I have not been going to the Flaky Tart, one of my favorite places to eat in Winthrop. No matter how good the food is at a restaurant, it is very difficult to control the amount of calories in any given meal. When fall comes, I told myself, I’ll stop by once a week or so to have a cup of the Tart’s delicious soup, which even a black-belt dieter can have without guilt. (Note: My black-belt dieting is working, and I have lost over 60 pounds.)

However, yesterday, even though the day was rainy, I walked into town to go to the library. By the time I came out, the rain was pelting down, and as I came to the Flaky Tart, I decided that a cup of tea and a small treat might be just the thing. I could sit at a table by the window, have my snack and tea, and hope that the rain would let up when it was time to walk home.

As it turned out, there were no small treats, but there were homemade granola bars, or breakfast bars, as they are billed at the Tart.

“Well,” I said to myself. “Why not have one of those? You have a granola bar for your snack everyday.”

But the ones I have at home are not as big as they are at the Tart, and I knew I’d have to break the bar in thirds. Not a problem at all. I took a third of the bar, wrapped up the rest, and put it in my pocketbook next to the ginger cookie I bought for my husband, Clif. The granola bar was out of sight, and therefore out of mind, as the saying goes. It’s a silly trick, but it works.

I ordered some iced tea to go with the granola bar and sat at my favorite spot, that table by the window. I watched as cars went up and down the street. For the most part, the sidewalks were empty, and there is something melancholy about empty sidewalks on a rainy day.

Across the street, in the window of Pete’s Roast Beef, the “open” sign flashed off and on. In a big SUV parked next to the Tart, a little dog with a white and brown head barked as he waited for his person to return. I could see the dog’s mouth open and close, but I couldn’t hear the bark.

Soon, the granola bar, one of the best I have ever had, was gone, as was the iced tea. The sky didn’t look as gray, and the rain appeared to have abated, at least a little.

Time to go home to my own dog and another walk, if the weather allowed.

Once upon a time, there was a forgotten garden.

Where there had been flowers, there were now mostly weeds.

And remnants of an earlier time.

But although the garden was forgotten, it was not empty.

They are waiting.