Knowing that Maine will be a tough act to follow, Ollie and I were on the road again on Friday morning (May 20). Our destination was Bennington, VT, a solid eight hour drive of about 400 miles from Bar Harbor. It was hard saying goodbye to such a beautiful place and such an enjoyable 4+ days, but such is the nature of travel. The first hour and last hour were on two lane roads, and those of the last hour were narrow, hilly, and winding as we worked our way through the Berkshires and Green Mountains to our campground. The campground was about seven miles east of Bennington and, by my estimate, a good thousand feet higher in elevation. The campground itself is primarily a wintertime ski resort that is set up for camping so as to have a year-round livelihood. I was thankful for the added altitude as it resulted in the campground being about five degrees cooler than the valley in which Bennington is located.
The campground provided good separation from other campsites in my area, and this early in the season it was less than 20% occupied during the entire time we were there. Human occupants would have been easier to deal with than the swarms of mosquitoes and black flies that buzzed and bit constantly. The bites I received in New Hampshire were about a week old and moving into a period of exquisite itchiness, and the Vermont branch of the genus had no problem finding the few areas that were not bite covered and rapidly changing that condition. Even with insect repellent applied to me and Ollie, the bugs had a field day. It was not unusual for me to kill three or four of the little buggers with one slap on each exposed area of pink skin of my arms and legs. There were a few times that I really felt myself to be on the edge of madness. It was too hot to sit inside the trailer, but sitting outside was its own little slice of hell due to the bugs. All in all, I was not happy with nature.
Bennington is an interesting little city. It has a population of only 15,333, but it is the third largest city in the state of Vermont. It also has its share of history, as the site of a very important Revolutionary War battle. The monument to the battle sits on a hill at the site of the colonial armory, which was the object of the British attack in 1777. It sits alone in a park the size of a large city block, with only a few statues to compete with its impressive 306 foot height.
There are three covered bridges in the city, which is a good state’s worth for the rest of the country. I think they have been rebuilt as they are both more uniform and in much better condition than would be expected of vintage work, but they are charming nonetheless. It is also the home of Bennington College, which has made some lists of the most beautiful college campuses. For the life of me, I can’t see it. While the grounds are huge and filled with woods and meadows, the buildings are not pretty in the conventional sense. They consist of a bunch of low-slung, eclectic structures that don’t follow a common architectural them but that I felt had the vibe of an upscale summer camp rather than an institution of higher learning. With a decided emphasis on liberal arts, and specifically the visual and performing arts, Bennington College is also one of the ten most LGBTQ-friendly schools according to a major publication whose identity escapes me at this time.
The downtown area of Bennington is a mix of small-town charm and small-town decay. It may have recovered some of its past life, but it’s hard to tell which way it is trending. Among its notable residents have been Robert Frost and Grandma Moses.
On Monday, my last day in the area, I made a side trip to Hildene, which is located about 25 miles north of Bennington, just outside of Manchester. Hildene is the home of Robert Todd Lincoln, the only son of Abraham Lincoln who survived to adulthood. A beautiful venue, it is well maintained and still a working farm. The good condition is aided by the fact that the home went straight from the Lincoln family to the society meant to preserve it. Consequently, between 80% and 90% of the furnishings and decorations are original. As we took the tour, the guide – whose knowledge of the residents and their history was very impressive – kept mentioning the important positions that Robert Lincoln had held. But he never mentioned anything that he did while he held those positions. I finally asked him whether the younger Lincoln had accomplished anything of note, or if he had just been successful at being famous. He said to me – searching for the diplomatic way to say it – that R. T. Lincoln had inherited few if any of the qualities of his father, that he had essentially carved a career out of his famous name, and that “If his last name had been Smith, we never would have heard of him, and he would likely never have been wealthy or particularly successful.
On the way back to my campsite I detoured through Manchester. Manchester is decidedly upscale compared to Bennington. One of the first indications of this was the Orvis headquarters and outlet store on the edge of town. After that it is one small outlet store after another, built in a way as to be integral with the small town. One pretty, well-kept house after another interspersed among nicer restaurants. It just had the feel of gentrification and wealth from the city. I believe some of the nicer Vermont ski resorts are nearby, and it did have a Vail- or Aspen-like feel to it.
My stay at Bennington was four nights. It would have better been three, or perhaps even two. I was past ready to leave by the time I pulled out on Tuesday morning to make the long trip to Niagara. Bennington is only about five miles east of the New York-Vermont border, so the entire day save the first twelve miles was spent in the state of New York. It was an uneventful drive, but more than any other part of the trip I found myself struggling to stay awake and engaged for its 360-odd miles. I was very happy to pull into the campground at Four Mile Creek State Park, near the point where the Niagara River empties the other four Great Lakes into Lake Ontario. It was a clear day, and I quickly realized that I was able to see from my campsite the Toronto skyline directly across the lake. Breathtaking for sure.
Niagara Falls never disappoints me, and I am in wonder of it each time I see it. This time was no exception. I expected Ollie to be captivated by its power and the roar of the water going over the falls, but he barely noticed even as we stood near the brink. We parked on Goat Island, always one of my favorite spots because you can get right up next to both Horseshoe and American Falls from the same spot with only a short walk between them. Then a walk to the Three Sisters, which I feel is my little secret place, even though it’s been visited by probably millions of people. The Three Sisters are three small islands that sit less than a quarter mile upstream of Horseshoe Falls. They sit in a row going out from Goat Island one, two, three, and are connected by bridges so you can go out into what feels like the middle of the river just as it is accelerating to its dramatic LEAP over the cataract.
Then across to the Canadian side. There is a drive that mostly follows the river from the falls area all the way up to Lake Ontario. It’s a beautiful drive which has only become more beautiful to me over the years. It seems to be even more well-tended than it used to be and there are more beautiful homes than ever. And wineries. How they have proliferated. My memory is of six or eight nice wineries before hitting Niagara-on-the-Lake. Now there must be twenty-five or thirty between the Welland Ship Canal and the Niagara River, and miles of vineyards. We had a couple of tastings and enjoyed the beautiful day outdoors. The undiscovered treat was Small Talk Winery and Cider Works, one of the few that advertised as pet-friendly. I passed it by at first, as it was not well-marked and then appeared closed as there were no lights on. But it was indeed open, and I sat within a couple arms’ lengths of the vines, guardian of the whole winery and the surrounding acres of bounty.
On a tip from my cousin, I visited Wayne Gretzky’s winery the next day, along with Hare Wineries and Ferox Winery. Gretzky’s winery was everything Small Talk was not. Industrial. Expensive architecture and furnishings. Catering to the affluent. Made for quantity AND quality. I wouldn’t guess how much money was spent on physical plant there, but I think it was more than that. I would imagine that this is the high-end venue for wedding receptions and parties for miles around. The wines were solid, and competitively prices. The entire beautiful building was an homage to The Great One, and I must admit it was well done and I enjoyed it in spite of myself.
Ferox was a stop of intrigue, because it was advertised not simply as “Ferox”, but “Ferox, by Fabien Reis”. The name connection was too good to pass up. Ferox, like Small Talk before it, was completely empty while I was there. It seemed to be on a different level in terms of quality and ambition. I sat with the Cellar Master, who said he had quit medical school to get into the wine business. He spoke with the same extent of vocabulary and ability to use it that a doctor would, and as far as I could tell knew as much about the production of wine and the complexity of tastes as anyone I have ever met. His arms are covered with tattoos, many with medical references. His name, both as he introduced himself and as it read on his business card, was Cubby. Dr. Cubby to you.
Ollie and I spent some time the last day at Fort Niagara State Park. Fort Niagara was a key fort at the mouth of the Niagara River, and I think is the only place I’ve been to in America that was the site of a battle in a war BEFORE the American Revolution. It was a French outpost that was besieged by the British during the French and Indian War. I believe the year was 1763, but not sure about that. Google it. The British won the battle and took over the fort, but eventually withdrew to the other side of the Niagara River, where they built Fort George. The two forts commenced to periodically shelling each other across the river – the British from Fort George and the French from Fort Niagara. Because Fort George was at a slightly higher elevation, it was easier for them to lob their shells into Fort Niagara. The solution was for the French soldiers at Fort Niagara to build up the walls and ramparts by about 25 feet so that they now had the altitude advantage. If only the solutions to all problems were that simple.
My next stop after Niagara was to be Mackinac Island. I had planned to cut across Ontario through London and Sarnia and crossing over to Michigan north of Detroit. However, in researching the Canadian gun laws I learned that handguns with a barrel length of less than 4.5 inches are prohibited in Canada, and the mere possession of them is a felony. Since I happen to have such a tool in my possession, I felt that it was not worth the gamble to try to sneak it through Canada. So, my 410 mile trip on Friday the 28th became a 550-mile trek around the south shore of Lake Erie and through Ohio. But… ‘Merica.