25.9 mi / 9.2 mph / 1309 ft. climbing
Home: Sun Outdoors Mystic

There was a slight chance of rain last night, so we bagged up the bikes. It was unnecessary (all was dry and 68F when we woke up), and worse, dirty prints showed that some asshole critter had been on Rett’s bags, and torn tiny holes in the rain cover around the kitchen pannier. No idea what it was, a raccoon usually would have been smarter and more-effective; maybe a young and dumb raccoon with sharp claws?

In short order we made it to New London, where we had to repeat almost the exact same looping we did yesterday in Old Saybrook to join the I-95 bridge. This time it was the Thames River that we were crossing, and the bridge was even bigger: more than a mile long, and 134 feet up. The attached path was narrower than yesterday’s, with Rett’s handlebars nearly hitting the concrete bump-outs. I was thinking “it’s gonna suck if we encounter another cyclist heading our way”, because it would require a real careful squeeze. So it sucked even more when it wasn’t a cyclist, but a guy on a damn scooter (Vespa-style), and Rett…just rode right past him! Even I had to put a foot down and step by where he had stopped and pulled tight to the wall, but for Rett, climbing the steep bridge into a stiff gusty crosswind, an inch of clearance from each side of her handlebars was apparently enough for her to just ride right through. She’s got skills! (which she then further demonstrated on the twisting, diving, sidewalk descent).

We stopped at an AutoZone for silicone windshield sealant to patch over the holes in Rett’s sil-nylon rain cover (with Heet and gasoline for our stove, it’s kind of funny how useful auto parts stores are for us!) Then a CVS (where an 80-year-old walking in said to me “these winds will blow you over! Fuck!”) And finally Big Y, another new New England grocery store chain; when we first shopped at Stop & Shop in New Haven, I checked if they were an Albertson’s or Kroger brand (so we could use an existing loyalty card), and was surprised to learn they’re independent. Same with Big Y. Grocery competition is alive and well in New England!

We took another “trolley line” trail that brought us closer to the coast than any road, but right as we got on we saw an Amtrak underpass filled with more than a foot of water. The Coastal Flooding Advisory was still in place, and maybe even stronger than previous days, so I put the odds at 50% that we’d hit an impassible section and need to turn back. But nope, there was barely even a puddle, and it was a really cool path through the woods with stone walls running through the trees, so the gamble paid off.

The trail also brought us to the out-of-the-way peninsular village of Noank. A week ago Rett learned that we would be riding through the town of Mystic, and immediately became determined to see all the filming locations of “Mystic Pizza”, a beloved movie of her and her mom. Very little was actually filmed in Mystic, but it wasn’t a Hollywood job, just other towns like Noank stood in for Mystic. Regardless of any movie links, Noank was a charming seaside town whose seaport history reminded me a bit of Rockport, MA.

From Noank we continued north up the bay to Mystic, and it was wild how the sidewalks suddenly became tourist-packed when we got one block from the main street. The main thing in town was the restaurant for which the movie was named, Mystic Pizza. It was (and is) a real restaurant that inspired the movie, though the scenes for the movie were filmed elsewhere. Still, in a great bit of “life imitates art”, a plot point in the movie was built around the idea of getting some sort of big publicity to keep the restaurant in business; 36 years later, the real Mystic Pizza is still booming, due in no small part to the publicity from the movie.

After lunch we walked the busy main street with our bikes, and so many of the fellow tourists were asking about us. The best was a group of mildly-drunk girls sitting at a sidewalk cafe, where one (mostly for the benefit of her friends) sarcastically blurted “durr…are you riding across the country?” She was completely unprepared for us to answer “yes!”, so then it was awesome how amazed they were: “wait, really?! No WAY!” Score one for bike tourers winning over drunk hecklers!

Our original plan was to ride 40 miles to Rhode Island, but last night we made a last-minute call to split that day into two, realizing that the ferry cancellations gave us a bit of extra time. And that turned out to be a brilliant decision, because with the hills, winds, and sightseeing, we barely made the 26 miles to our campground; 40 would have been impossible! (no, we actually would have managed it just like we always do, but the time pressure would have forced us to seriously streamline the sightseeing, to the point where neither it nor the riding was enjoyable.)