I reached the mouth of the Connecticut at Old Saybrook yesterday.

I left Greenfield on a packed bicycle at 6:45 a.m., Saturday, May 1st.  The farmers were just setting up the first market on Greenfield common.  Shot straight downstream, as I was expected at the Red Roof Inn in Enfield, CT that evening.  Not a huge hall, but there was Holyoke, Chicopee, and Springfield to bike through.  Still, black throated green warblers called, and bluebirds flitted near pastures.  Didn’t get my first view of the CT River until Route 5, near Mt. Tom in Holyoke.  But, I was standing on the Rt. 116 Bridge, adjacent to the fishway, by 9:10.  A couple of guys fishing from shore just downstream said they’d had on good hit.  Still early.  There was a small crew fishing Slim Shad Point, and two boats out at midstream.

I followed the river and Rt. 116 downstream, through the Saturday morning empty factories, and across the river into Cabottville.  I love going throug towns when its early and people are relaxed.  Stayed along the river by-ways as much as possible.  Eventually came to the partially finished bikeway in Chicopee, but then had to backtrack due to construction.  Nice views along the river though.  A few boats with lines in the water.

Made my way into Springfield’s North End along 116, and then fidgetted through that ripped up road in the industrial section.  Near the end a farmers market had been set up, rather spare.  But, just behind them was the dike work, and the bike/walk way.  Got on it.  Some nice views of the river, and the Memorial Bridge, and the railroad bridge that I once climbed out on to get the USGS benchmarks for a report.  Took some snaps.

Near downtown there are a number of homeless folks sleeping along the park-like section.  These are tough times.  I ask one if I can take the path all the way to the South End Bridge.  He’s not talking.  Another guy, not yet drinking, says it might be possible, but he’s not sure.  I take the chance, but I’m turned around just before the bridge due to construction.  Have to backtrack once more.

I walk my bike into the vast lobby of the Basketball Hall of Fame, where they say they have information.  I know some of the Springfield Visitor’s Center people.  None are present, but a knowledgeable guy, who used to bike and live in Agawam, gives me good directions.  Soon, I’m down to the end of Columbus Ave., and walking my bike across the South End Bridge.  I take a few snaps of the boats fishing upstream.

Agawam has a lovely bikeway along the river, though its short.  I take it, then continue south past an already-open Six Flags.  Soon I’m in Thompsonville, and its not yet 12:30.  I continue south, knowing I have a bit of slush time.  What am I going to do when I get to my room in Enfield.  So, I stay on the right bank, and head to the beginning of the Windsor Locks Canal, a state park.

I immediately hear the waters of the Connecticut gurgle as the river runs across the river cobbles and ruins of the former dam here.  When I reach the river bank I’m surprised not to find anyone fishing this section.  The shad run is still not in high gear.  I head downstream the 4-1/2 miles along the canal.  Its warm, hot really.  Two young guys are fishing in a boat just offshore.  I call to them to see if anything’s biting.  A couple of smallmouth bass is all.

Carolina wrens sing, and orioles tootle from the treetops along the canal.  For a road biker, this is not a very exciting jog.  The best part though, is that it is along the river.  I finish the trail, and don’t want to backtrack, but these are two busy crossings to get east across the river–the Rt. 190, and Rt. 140 bridges.  The Windsor Locks Library is open and I decide to give it a try.  The librarian is quite helpful, and gets me across the 140 bridge, and steers me around harm’s way when I get up to Enfield and the I-91 interchanges crossing Rt. 5.

I come up through Windsor, and Warehouse Pt., where Pynchon built his warehouse/trading house in the mid-1630′s, just below the rapids.  By 1:30 p.m., I’m ensconced in the unreality of a motel room, with 60 channels, surrounded by pavement, malls and interstates.  I go foraging and pick up a six-pack–of soda, really, Polar orange, and literally drink a six-pack, plus one more, before nightfall.  I also suck up seven–count’em, seven pieces of the colonel’s good chicken, saving one for the ride tomorrow.  You can do these kind of stunts when you are biking with paniers, tent, and sleeping bag.  I probably did 60 miles, but could have gone longer.  But I had the reservation, and E. Hartford might have been a tough place to conquer when tired.

So, it was an afternoon/evening of Red Sox, bad movies, going over maps, and watching the President address the press club in an annual roast.  Didn’t sleep all that well, but made it to Old Saybrook, where I am now, by 3:15 p.m. on Sunday afternoon.  That’s something over 70 miles.  Still haven’t seen anyone with a shad they’d caught on the water, but scattered fishing boats were out on the river all along the way.  Here, and upstream in Haddam, the fish markets do have fresh shad for sale.  The Atlantic Seafood place here says its Connecticut River shad, though I didn’t see any commercial seining going on.

I had a cold, Sam Adams lager in celebration of reaching the Sound.  Rainstorms came on overnight into this morning, so I’m spending one more night.  I’d scheduled last night to stay in Portland, CT, but I reached that place by 11:15 a.m., and just had to keep going, despite talk of afternoon thunderstorms.  Still gray here in late-afternoon, but front is set to pass soon.  Ospreys were calling over the North Cove here an hour ago.  It’s getting late in the afternoon, and I can’t find the spell-check on this library computer.  So, I’m just hitting the send button.  I head upstream in the morning.

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