With a ride with others canceled, I knew it was time to take the ride I had been thinking about for some time. With all of the rain New England had been getting, practically every night I sat looking at road maps. I studied the roads and geography of Connecticut, Rhode Island, and Massachusetts. The day had come. I was going to travel to three states and back.
Starting out, I knew the general direction I was heading, but I have a tendency to be too detailed. I had my newly installed compass. I needed directions. I wanted to stay on as many back roads as possible - avoiding as much of the interstate as possible. With printed directions in hand, I got dressed, and was on the road. I had my compass and my printed directions. 
Being the optimist, I forgot that more often than not New England back roads are not always clearly marked. It didn't matter, I had all day. The sun was out, it was optimal riding weather. Much of the beginning part of my ride was on familiar roads, once I got into the North Stonington area, I was well into my excursion. 
There are many aspects I find amazing about rural New England. But one of them are the stone walls. There are many, many types and kinds - no one is ever like the next. "Pick virtually any two places on a map, drive from one to the other on the back roads, and along the way you'll see miles upon miles of stone walls. If you know how to read them, those walls tell something of the commercial and cultural story of each area you pass through: a long, winding, wordless record of the region stretching back to the 17th century. The walls...trace a timeline that runs from the rudimentary agrarianism of the mid-1600's through the whaling era of the 1700's to the gilded age of the late 1800's. ...Stonington, a town that was settled in 1649 and where historical reminders abound, from the prevalent Colonial-style architecture to the narrow streets of its cozy waterfront borough. Though known primarily as a former whaling port, the town also developed a commercial center inland along the Pequot Trail, an Indian trading route that extended into Rhode Island. The agricultural land that once dominated this area gave rise to Stonington's stone walls, the earliest of which were linear landfills, collection areas for the stones the first white farmers cleared from the fields." reference
As I traveled, it wasn't as if the area was completely unfamiliar, I even rode very close to my favorite ice cream stop. The lure was strong to stop, but I had a destination at hand and determination was pulsing through my veins. I wanted to increase my riding experiences. Knowing myself, sometimes I have a tendency to get lazy. Sure traveling by car is easy, riding the couch is even easier. But then I would not have the sensual and visceral experiences those to be reaped from two-wheeled travel. Besides couch riding does not....GREAT DRY CLEANING OF THE BRAIN - Wind Therapy - nuthin' like it!
So many small towns and communities, I could not stop at every single one of them to take pictures - this would have resulted in my not returning home for days.
As I passed through
Sterling, Connecticut, it had always been a place I saw noted on the highway signs, but not actually gotten to pass through. Sterling is a typical small community with manufacturing as it founding feature.
Of course with my affinity to the appreciation of architecture, there was little likelihood I could pass the opportunity to snap pictures. I view architecture as a history book. I look at buildings longing for the walls to talk. I am sure the stories they could tell would fill books.
Small schoolhouse that is now the library in Sterling.
Of course, I couldn't miss taking pictures of majestic old houses. This is Federalist style architecture. I do not think the front overhang over the front door is original. Typically Federalist style houses do not have overhangs like this. Thankfully it does seem this small addition was done in a tasteful manner.
This trip is showing me another aspect of New England that I appreciate. That is the tree canopies over the roads. These canopies cannot be appreciated on the interstate. At you travel on these roads, under canopies, it is as if you are Alice In Wonderland passing through the looking glass into a fantasy land. Not only are you experiencing a visual sensation but your senses are heightened, the aromas and fragrance of summer, trees, and earth abound.
Riding on two wheels in these canopy of trees harkens me back to the grade school girl who was chosen to learn and perform this poem:
Trees by Joyce Kilmer. 1886–1918
I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
Soon after leaving Sterling, I came upon the small community Oneco, CT.
It is probably best known for horse country and
Oneco Pond Dam, Oneco, Connecticut. This is one of the end of the pond.
The next thing I knew, as I was savoring the sun and the road, I was in Rhode Island. I have probably said this before, but New England back roads are NOT marked very well. Remember those directions I showed a picture of at the beginning of this blog? Due to lack of road marking's they became essentially worthless. As I traveling, I knew I was heading in the right direction and I was in Rhode Island, I had little idea of where I was. I passed several bikers parked on the decide of the road taking a stretch break, but I decided to continue riding. The next thing I knew, I was at the center of North Scituate, RI and it was lunch time. I found
The Vanilla Bean Cafe.
When I arrived it was a little late lunch with a few locals setting at some tables. I was famished and I wasn't chosey in what I ate. I ordered coffee, spinach and garlic calzone, and lemon pound cake.
With my hunger satisfied and tentative directions from the owner, I was on the move heading North further. Moswansicut Pond. Moswansicut Pond is on the Moswansicut Brook in Providence County, Rhode Island and is used for drinking water purposes. Construction was completed in 1919. Its normal surface area is 282 acres. It is owned by the City Of Providence.
Moswansicut Pond Dam is of earthen construction, masonry.
Continuing on Route 116 on to Route 44, I approached Waterman Reservoir. Waterman Reservoir is on the Stillwater River in Providence County, Rhode Island and is used for recreation purposes. Construction was completed in 1837. At normal levels it has a surface area of 270 acres. It is owned by Citizens For The Preservation Of Waterman Lake. Waterman Reservoir Dam is of earthen construction, masonry.
I continued riding northwest on Route 44 (which is also known as Putnam Pike). I rode up on this store and immediately taken back to another time. There was this store: Brown and Hopkins. I didn't get a picture, but I did a search and was able to find this informative link.
Brown and Hopkins Country Store
"Brown and Hopkins is a heartwarming, living piece of retail history, being the oldest continuously running country store in the United States -- dating back to 1809. While not the biggest country store in New England, it often feels like the best, given its authentic two floors featuring old wooden floors, beamed ceilings, a retired potbelly stove and that sweet, relaxing unidentified familiar country store aroma. Brown and Hopkins' modest country store size doesn't hold it back from packing a lot of classic country store merchandise into its relatively limited space: penny candy, locally produced maple syrup, Vermont cheddar cheese, candles, braided rugs, hand made country decor, art prints, historical prints and a whole lot more of traditional items. Located in equally ancient Chepachet, RI -- where going back to another area is not just another cute marketing phrase -- Brown and Hopkins, antiques shops, dated Colonial homes and a peaceful aura make it hard to believe that the bustling Rhode Island City of Providence is less than a half-hour away."
SourceFrom Route 44 I headed northeast on Route 102 (which is also known as the Broncos Highway) passing through several small towns - Oakland, Whipple (Mr. Whipple from the old Charmin toilet paper commercials would be proud that a town had his name), and passing by Slatersville Reservior. There are two dams. The larger dam, known as the Middle Dam, was built in 1849. It is 300 feet long, and causes a twenty foot drop. Behind the dam, is the 170 acre Lower Slatersville Reservoir. The smaller dam was built later to increase the water power. The sluice gate here controlled the amount of water flowing into the raceway that powered the Slatersville Mill. 
Reaching Route 5, which is also 146A, I headed north into Massachusetts. Finally giving in I got on an interstate - 146, which is also Worcester Providence Turnpike. This interstate is known as a highway for Blackstone Valley. The Blackstone River Valley of Massachusetts and Rhode Island is the “Birthplace of the American Industrial Revolution,” the place where America made the transformation from Farm to Factory. America’s first textile mill could have been built along practically any river on the eastern seaboard, but in 1790 the forces of capital, ingenuity, mechanical know-how and skilled labor came together at Pawtucket, Rhode Island where the Blackstone River provided the power that kicked off America’s drive to industrialization. Source
Keeping with my goal to avoid as many interstates as possible, at West Main Street off of 146 I turned left to Stone Road and then onto Route 20. What is surprising is the names of some of the towns I passed through. As I was riding, I found myself riding right through Texas. It was obvious that I was not in the Great State of Texas, because in a blink of an eye, I was right through it. I could only imagine some confusion this might create for the residents as they are asked for their address: "Hi I am Jane Doe, I live in Texas, Massachusetts." I would not want that job of trying to explain to someone in a different state.
As I continued I passed more majestic houses and easily getting my architectural fix.
As I reached Ashland Avenue, which is also Route 131, I traveled past the Quinebaug River.
Traveling on I reached Route 197 heading towards Webster, Massachusetts. Webster is most noted as being the home of Lake Chaubunagungamaug.
It is the longest place name in the United States and among the longest (6th) in the world. With the name coming from the local Nipmuc Indians, it is believed to mean “Fishing Place at the Boundaries — Neutral Meeting Grounds.” Formed after the glaciers retreat in spring, Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg (or Lake Chaubunagungamaug) includes three spring-fed lakes joined by narrow channels.
After enjoying the coolness of the water from the lake, I headed to interstate 395 working my way back home. I exited the interstate at Hope Valley so that I could ride through Hope Valley State Park.
As I made it through the state park, I knew it wasn't far from Buttonwood Farms - one of my favorite ice stops. Buttonwood Farms.
With my reward of strawberry ice cream in a waffle cone consumed, I headed home. Not only with a pallative satisfaction but in an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment, I couldn't help but feel the sun on my smiling face.
Here is the link of the map: Map (please be patient for it to load).
Good evening fellow patriots...My name is Steve Natale I joined the PGR about 1 year ago. Because I still work full time I can only do weekend missions or when I am laid off or in between jobs.The pride and honor I felt participating in these missions would bring tears to my eyes and joy to my heart. They are truly heartwarming events. 
Interstate 395 (abbreviated I-395) is a 67-mile-long north-south Interstate Highway that begins at Interstate 95 in Connecticut and in Massachusetts, where it becomes Interstate 290. Travelling this early in the morning and mid week, the traffic was light. However, this stretch of 395 is not aways a heavily travelled area. Continuing on my route, at last I reached 290 and knew I was well on my way. Excitement rose, and interestingly enough I discovered my motorcycle was growing some what illiterate with little regard for post speed limits. Of course, I had to continually remind my ride - OZ - that I was the one in control, not him so I backed off the throttle - at least a little bit.
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