I’m back in New Hampshire. H has the week off, and we’re planning to walk together in the mountains every day we can. Of course, this means sweet B, too, not to mention Jasper the Wonderdog.
This bright and gorgeous autumn morning, we headed north up I-93 from Concord to Franconia, then swung west up to Sugar Hill and breakfast at Polly’s Pancake Parlor. The high mountains to the east were still obscured by mist, so the stunning view was absent, but the food was as good as usual. I’m not sure, but I think B is saying, “Whoa, dude, Amazing pancakes!”:
After a woodsy traverse, reaching Bald’s peak requires negotiating some awkward slabs. The view opens up more to the north and west. I hope you can make out, right over H’s head, Mt. Mooselauke, Dartmouth’s mountain, eight miles away.
B also tolerated a grandfatherly hug, for which I was grateful.
Shortly after H snapped that photo, she noticed dark clouds quickly heading our way. We repacked baby and dog and made our way back down the slabs just in time to avoid one of those awful greasy descents. We got soaked, but only after we were down and safe.
Of course, when I say we, I mean H, J the W (who couldn’t have cared less), and me. The Queen of the May rode perfectly dry, mistress of all she surveyed. And why not?
