Not to be Cowed.

Ben & Jerry's: eat your face off.

Waterbury, VT – After days of rain, the sun shone over the white steeple at the main crossroads in Stowe, the melt making it a treacherous walk along the river.

But, even at two degrees, the sun brought out the short sleeves.

We took a short drive to nearby Waterbury, home to Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. It may have been short-sleeve weather, but the frozen treat was a little too reminiscent of the snow still scooped over the hills.

Throughout our brief tour, the guide endlessly cracked one-liners and bad cow puns. “Let’s moove along, now,” was a common quip.

The young woman had obviously led groups more than a few times. And, may have consumed some sugar.

At the end of the tour, she explained staff receives unlimited samples and can, at the end of each shift, take home three pints. Every day.

“As full-time, we also get gym memberships and twice-annual cholesterol checks.”

The crowd chuckled.

For once, she wasn’t joking.

It's a Trapp!

In a rut.

Stowe, VT – A few intrepid birds dot the grey sky as we wake to aromas of wood smoke and mountain air. There’s a chill in the crispness as we pour ourselves coffee and stare out the large picture window overlooking the mountains.

After feasting on Dutch pancakes filled with roast chicken, apple and cheddar at the Grey Fox Inn, we bank through the mountains, fog falling in sheets thick enough to obscure the rain. Patches of sunshine are like mirages, vanishing over each rise.

By this time of year, the highways have been jackhammered by the frost, and they threaten to chew the tires off the car.

We have decided to pay a visit to Hillsboro, home to Hill Farmstead Brewery, which has been named the world’s best four of the past five years.

It’s also located in the middle of nowhere.

Pulling off the pitted and cracked main highways, we skid on the hills’ silty, rutted roads. It is, once again, a reminder it’s muddy season in Vermont. 

Even behind spattered windscreens, we can see 4x4 drivers laughing at the MINI grinding past holes large enough to engulf it. Each tentative step forward is like driving on bloated worms following a rainstorm.

The trenches threaten to swallow us; in turn, we spit mud for miles.

But, as we arrive, a creamy, salted chocolate stout – on nitro – awaits. And we’re left to admire the beauty painting itself over the hills before we head to the Trapp Family Lodge for the night.

The beer is certainly better than the journey has been.

Even if it is nearly the same colour.

Frozen Heros.

It was a Heady day.

Stowe, VT – Standing in the fog, the trees seemed like seventies tweed. Brown, everywhere.

Below, soft mounds of snow clung to the crevices, a season’s receding hairline on the rocks of the Canadian Shield.

And now, the U.S. Customs and Border Protection agent, perched in his kiosk, boomed: “Welcome to the United States” with a big smile. As he offered travel tips, it quickly became apparent he hadn’t had the busiest of days.

“Ah, Vermont! I was there last week. It’s lovely.”

While the crossing is into New York, you can literally see Vermont from where he sat. I’d imagine he’s there most weeks – but, he was a riot.

Five minutes of small talk later, he actually seemed saddened to see us go.

We wove through North Hero and South Hero and on to Stowe, where it’s apparently mud season. Snow, now like smoker’s teeth, lies clumped in the bush as we pull into the historic Stowehof for the night.

But first, the real reason for visiting Vermont: beer at the Alchemist and cheese, this time in the form of Bayley Hazen Blue cheese balls at Doc Ponds.

And here I thought I couldn’t stand blue cheese.

Vitals:

• Time: 9.5 hours
• Distance: 959.3 kms
• Weather: Fog, rain.
• Provinces/States: Ontario, Quebec, New York, Vermont
• Wildlife: Deer

Ketchup and Lick Her.

The blog's longest-running gag: I've still yet to see a moose.

Lee, MA – "Do flavours cost extra?" I asked the kid behind the counter as I ordered an iced coffee at McDonald's in Haverhill, Massachusetts.

He cast his eyes downward, turned his head and proceeded to lick his arm as would an iguana. He ignored the question.

The evening ended better, however, with a small bar tucked away in Lee, Massachusetts, called Moe's Tavern, which, amazingly, had the ever-elusive Kentucky Breakfast Stout by Founders. On tap.

With an excellent burrito (and some magnificent salsa) at Baja Charlie's, our little stop at the gateway to the Berkshires set us up nicely for the last leg home.

Vitals:

• Time: Nine hours
• Distance: 652.3 kms
• Weather: Smell of spring rain in Portland, ME, with some cloud breaking late in the day
• States: Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts
• Wildlife: None

In Good Stead.

Worth the Climb.

Bar Harbor, ME – Gravel crunched like overcooked granola under our tires as we wound over pitted roads past farms with parted-out tractors.

A horse grazed within feet of us, tied to the front railing of its owner's trailer.

A sports car, flying at us, slammed on its brakes, drifting sideways, almost into the trees. It was incongruous given the otherwise quiet morning off the beaten path in Vermont.

Except, of course, this path is actually disproportionately used compared to others nearby. Located in Greensboro, Vermont, Hill Farmstead Brewery, last year's top-rated craft brewery, is seemingly tucked into a middle of nowhere framed by white fences and disinterested cows that pay little mind to the incessant pilgrimage of beer aficionados.

Thankfully, the beers were much, much smoother than the roads. And appropriately, the brewery provided samples of a couple beers called 'Excursions.'

Vitals:

• Time: 8.5 hours
• Distance: 571.3 kms
• Weather: Sunny, with some cloud
• States: Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine
• Wildlife: None

A Swing at the Piñata.

The roads, people, they are steeple.

Burlington, VT – Like the mystery itself, the day began shrouded in fog, but ended clear, the skies ripped open by Vermont's peaks.

Hoping to craft a smile the size of the sun currently blooming over Burlington, I have spent the past week plotting. She didn't know: would the impromptu, surprise vacation call upon the services of a plane or a car? A train or a boat?

Like a piñata, she knew there was something full of colour before her, but giddy eyes still inquired as to the goodies contained within. Despite many cracks at guessing.

That is, of course, until Highway 401 forked east. The jig was up.

Stitching a seam along the Seaway Trail that flanks the St. Lawrence River, the light turned, causing  towering pines to shift in their greens. Light shimmered as clouds closed over blankets of needles, many of which had yet to shake off the rust of winter.

We jumped from puddle to puddle of blue around Lake Champlain before a mile-long steel bridge zippered shut our time in New York, pointing us into Vermont. It was a shorter driving day than normal as we seeped into the fresh and local ethos that seems so prevalent in the small American state.

A craft beer that's hard to top.

We were keen to dine at the Farmhouse Tap and Grill, which featured local cheeses, the Vermont Heritage Grazers Pork burger and a world-class beer list headlined by Heady Topper – last year's highest-rated craft beer. Glasses were soon filled with other highly rated brews: Sip of Sunshine, Pannepot Reserva (2010) and Bourbon County Brand Stout (2014). Truly an epic, epic evening.

The piñata had begun to reveal its spoils.

Vitals:

• Time: 8.5 hours
• Distance: 644.3 kms
• Weather: Cloud, burning off to sun and blue sky
• States/Province: Ontario, New York, Vermont
• Wildlife: None

Buy the Yard.

'Axe' questions at Rumford Visitors Center.

South Burlington, VT – At every turn, the roads through New Hampshire and Vermont were littered by signs advertising ‘yard sales.’

And they were not referring to the term more commonly used by skiers in the region.

One has to wonder about the depressed nature of the economy in certain areas of these states, given that yard sales appear to provide a livelihood for a significant portion of the rural economy. It has not mattered what day of the week, or time of day it is – garages rest with gaping maws and storage lockers have been raised like Levolor blinds unto another world.

Deal finders even flocked to a funeral home parking lot onto which items had been spilled onto blankets under garish, marker-scribbled signs. I guess it’s a venue familiar with goodbyes.

It also continues to astound me how many abandoned homes dot the roads. They lean, creaking with windows falling out – their curtains still wrapped around the frames as one would cling to the ghost of a former love.

By contrast, however, we have landed in South Burlington for the evening and the area’s splendid vistas are home to a bustling population, packed patios and cute, manicured shops.

After a long day driving, though, finding a scallop and bacon wood-fired pizza at Folino’s and four free samples at Magic Hat Brewing Company (try the #9) made for a great way to cap off (pun intended) the day.

Feast of the East.

I 'sea' food, in Portland, Maine.

Portland, ME – My lids had lifted even before the ball of fire that would eventually prick at my bleary eyes as we drove east this morning.

It was 4:23 a.m. and sleep had already sped off down the highway.

Having left Toronto, the sun rose like a fist of fire, throwing darts of dark rays that jutted at right angles. Soon, the city crumbled into the Canadian Shield and the road before us unfurled with the rhythm of a sonnet. Or, perhaps, an epic poem.

We finally stopped in the quaint and quiet town of Brockville, ON, but were surprised to not find anywhere serving a decent breakfast. A&W was not what I had in mind. Thanks for nothing, Brockville.

The St. Lawrence hemmed in our tracks as we took secondary roads through New York and, as we circled Lake Champlain, watercolour marinas and crimping shear backdrops filled our windscreen. It was a beautiful drive, if not for the incessant need to slow for red lights and tractors.

We eventually made it through the Green, White and Appalachian Mountains – through Vermont and New Hampshire – before ending for the night in the coastal city of Portland, Maine. The ferry that used to run from here to Nova Scotia has been shuttered for a few years now. So, more driving tomorrow.

Exhaustion poured itself over my first lobster roll of the trip; however, the table-full of seafood at J’s Oyster on the wharf was really all I was looking for after a day of following my nose in the general direction of sea air.

The Road Home.

London, ON - While the sky had yet to blink, the road awoke to the bark of my engine at 6:40 this morning. Thirteen hours later, we would be home, the journey - and the adventure - complete.

Continuing the trend of the past few days, we basked in sun and warmth - at times, even heat - except during a stretch we knew would break when we emerged from a large pillow of fog that had settled into the valley around Killington, VT. Moving through the Green Mountains, we again enjoyed the curves and scenery, and particularly quaint towns like Woodstock, VT.

After a great breakfast with pancakes, whipped butter and homemade maple syrup at Sugar & Spice in Mendon, VT (artificial syrup, extra!), we made our way toward New York state on Highway 2. Arriving at Saratoga Springs, the casual riding ended and we hit the Interstate to make our way home more quickly. I cannot remember the last time I crossed the border at the Rainbow Bridge, but I marvelled at what an inviting panorama it presented to those coming into Canada - a great view of Niagara Falls, the mist rising into a cloudless sky.

And a few hours later, with a high-five - which had become our symbol of fraternity at the beginning and end of each leg of the trip - we were home, having covered a total of 4,778.7 kilometres. My windshield resembled a Jackson Pollock, the remains of intrepid insects who decided to box. And lost.

We, however, had made it.

Vitals:

• Time: 12 hours, 58 minutes
  Distance: 886.3 kilometres
  
• Weather: Sun, Warm
• States/Provinces: New Hampshire, Vermont, New York, Ontario
• Wildlife: None

Knuckles, White Like Mountains.

Lebanon, NH – The border guard at St. Stephens, NB, held my passport up, looked at it, then me, and said, smiling: "There's a striking resemblance." He added: "You riding with the guy behind you?" "He's my father; you'll notice a striking resemblance there, too," I replied. He chuckled in a way you don't usually see at larger border crossings in Ontario.

We had been on the road for a couple hours, traveling south in New Brunswick past some spectacular views of the Bay of Fundy, and had just stopped for breakfast. Our return home will include secondary roads through the United States until we get within striking distance of home.

From a bumper sticker pro- claiming "10 Out of 10 Terrorists Prefer Obama for President" to two guys sitting on a lawn covered in crossbows, long swords and other weapons for sale, it was obvious we were somewhere different. A lawn sign proclaimed "The Obamanure is Getting High" beside another with the old standby: "If you can't stand behind our troops, feel free to stand in front of them." I resisted the urge to comment on the irony that, as Commander-in-Chief, Obama is the head of troops for whom they were seeking support.

The winding roads, like veins, brought me energy as I challenged the switchbacks that wend through the White Mountains in New Hampshire and Vermont. Centuries ago, shoulders of rock shrugged, forming the magnificent hills we rode through today.

In their immensity, they remained indifferent.

Vitals:

• Time: 11 hours, 32 minutes
• Distance: 708.7 kilometres
• Weather: Sun, Warm
• Provinces/States: New Brunswick, Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont
• Wildlife: None