Dotty

Arriving in Brattleboro, it had been explained to me as the most liberal and earthy town in Vermont. Described as a progressive town built upon the foundation of a nudist city. As we rolled into town, we realized it would be a town worth checking out. Some towns along our route are merely a blimp on our little Google maps screen. Others are worth spending a little time in. Having not washed our clothes since staying with the Verite family in Maine, our clothes needed to tumble around in a washing machine for a while. Making our way to the far side of town, we found a laundromat right next to a place with soft-serve ice cream. Cramming our mouths full of ice cream sounded like a wonderful way of waiting out the duration of time our clothes needed. Walking around for a brief period of time, we quickly realized we wanted to spend the day and evening in this town. Unfortunately, darkness was only a few hours away and it isn't necessarily easy to find a spot to camp within most city limits. I decided this would be a great time to use Warm Showers as a traveler. I have hosted cyclist, but never utilized the receiving end of the wonderful network this website has created.

Dorothy MacDonald. Residing in Brattleboro, VT. I am a teacher, a hiker, a biker and a dog lover. I have finished working on a three part quest of riding across the U.S. Five years ago. I finished the last leg from Minnesota to here in Brattleboro. This last section I did self-contained and loved it. Three summers ago I rode for several weeks on the Petit tren du nord in Canada. Last summer I rode from Rochester, New York up to Lake Ontario, Thousand Islands and then through the Adirondacks back home to Brattleboro.

Before making any sort of contact, I knew this would be a wonderful encounter with another who has similar interests. It didn't take long for her to confirm that either. Within a minute of calling her, she provided us with her address and an assurance that we had a place to lay our heads for the night. Packing my clothes into stuff sacks with no conscious organization, we gather up our gear and pedal up a short hill to Dorothy's house. We arrive to a warm house containing great conversation. As it turns out, Dotty herself had just arrived home that day from a month long trek on the John Muir trail in the Sierras of California. I recently spent a few days backpacking in the Inyo National Forest over Fourth of July weekend, which is in close proximity to the trail. We shared our experiences of the area with each other and tried to find the proper words to describe the Sierras. Exposed. Beautiful. Granite. Expansive. Patchy. Pines. Gorgeous. Massive. It was the first time, since I flew out of San Diego, I was able to have a dialogue and shared experience with somebody about something close to home that I loved. Since I had arrived here in the East, everything had been a new experience. It felt wonderful to sit back, relax, and share a conversation about something familiar with another. 

Brattleboro is an eclectic little town. Murals painted on many of the walls. Recycling bins next to all the trashcans downtown. Cracked pavement streets with faded lines. Art and wine galleries on numerous corners. Steep hills with roads graded by people who must not have taken into account going up them. Hole-in-the-wall breweries. Bicycle racks in front of most establishments. Hipsters smoking cigarettes and singing in the streets. Looking for a place to eat, we came across McNeil's brewery. After a few minutes we realized two things. 1. All their food is prepackaged and simply thrown in a microwave. 2. They have a delicious IPA on tap. Taking both into account, we decided to get a quick beer, then find somewhere else to eat. As Wes was outside talking with his father, a man named Mike picked up on my out-of-towner demeanor and asked my story. Literally. Turns out he's a man in his forties with 25 years experience as an RN. We naturally ended up in the never ending discussion of health care and our voices became louder and louder. Not in an aggressive way. Simply with smiles and interest in the other's opinion. He paid for my second IPA and told me I had better things to spend my money on while bicycle touring. I agreed. Once Wes returned, and my stomach began pointing towards the door, it was clearly time to move on. Finding a neat restaurant on the river, I had a mediocre dinner while Wes devoured a hamburger covered in peanut butter. If you've never tried such a thing, you should do so as soon as possible. Make a normal burger and spread a dollop of creamy peanut butter over the patty. You won't be disappointed. Perfectly rich contrast to a juicy burger. At this point I was one meal and two brews deep. That's about as crazy as I can go without feeling like the train that couldn't the next day. We pedaled up the steepest hill in all of Vermont/the world and crawled into our levitating beds. 

The next morning we woke up amongst a team of construction workers in Dotty's backyard. This alarm clock was as good as any and we decided to use the earlier morning to make Dotty breakfast. Eggs and pancakes doused in Vermont Grade A maple syrup! We shared stories of bicycle touring and of Vermont itself. Turns out Brattleboro was never a nudist city. There are actually no laws at all about taking your clothes off in Vermont. Some kids, Dotty's students at the time, found out about this lawlessness and decided to make their band popular by performing up and down the town streets naked. There the Brattleboro nudist attraction began. It attracted so many people from all over the country that now you cannot walk around the five blocks of downtown naked, although everywhere else you still can. We didn't see any buns. 

Of everything Dotty shared with us, the most memorable was her view of Maine once we told her we started there.

Maine Maine

What a pain

All it ever does is rain

If I owed Hell and I owned Maine,

I'd live in Hell and rent out Maine. 

With that important bit of wisdom, we pedaled onward into Massachusetts.