Memorial Day Triple: Rhode Island, Connecticut, and Massachusetts

We had to start early if we had any hopes of getting back to West Point at a reasonable time. Judging from Google Maps, the ideal could be as little as 8 or 9 hours. It wasn't ideal. Cutting through Connecticut on I-84, the mist was lying low in the valleys, posing for postcards with white church steeples reaching through trees and clouds. When we shifted onto highway 44 East of Hartford we began curving this way and that, startling fly fishermen awkwardly stepping over guard rails to catch some holiday relaxation before their late-day BBQs. Crazy quilt gravestones leaned in churchyards, tired from age, names and dates washed away by weather as though bringing an end to grief. Gaily arranged nurseries and antique stores with gold-lettered signs came past every few miles, along with churches and homes and the seemingly out of place commercial enterprises. All along the winding wooded ways of Connecticut.

Finally, Rhode Island. We zoomed right past the sign, because it wasn't there. Another sign was in its place, much smaller. So after a mile or two we turned around and parked at the right spot, where my Pastor friend David Roseland was waiting all along. The trail to the highest point in the Ocean state was about a hundred yards, gaining all of a few inches of elevation. It was beautifully forested. Highpoint number eight down.

Our plan from there was to cut across Connecticut on highway 44, all the way to Salisbury, the launching point for Mt. Frissel. Hmm. We forgot that it was Memorial Day, and small towns like to have parades. Between Killington and Hartford there were four or five parades, three of which caused us significant detours. Then, there came the near fatal mistake. 44 cuts through North Hartford, which is very bad. We were totally in the hood, and very nervous for several blocks as glares penetrated our windows. When we got home and remarked about this, Clare Miller told us that she barely escaped a carjacking in North Hartford. Noted. Don't go through North Hartford ever again. On the other side of the capital, again there were several parades - and in Avon and Winsted we had to detour several miles. Yep, way behind schedule.


After a McDonald's stop in Salisbury, we began to navigate our way down delightful gravel roads to the trailhead for Mt. Frissel, on the Mass-CT border. Leaf-dappled sunlight guided our way over six miles, and then we began the second hike. This one was tougher, scambling and clambering over sharp rocks to the top of Round Mountain, and then down again to the saddle, and up to Mt. Frissel, whose summit is in Mass, so you have to go around to the south side to bag the high point. Sweat was dripping off my cap brim in a stream, and my shirt was soaking, but the occasional vista to the North was enough to inspire a rest stop or two. We dodged the poison ivy, greeted a few fellow hikers (but oddly not a single high pointer was met by us this day), and headed down again. There were huge Lady Slippers along the trail at a few places. Neat flower.


We had to backtrack to Salisbury in order to get straight again toward Pittsfield, Mass, and Mt. Greylock 15 more miles to the north. We were stalled by holiday traffic again as we wound through southwestern Mass, and it seemed to take forever to get up to Mt. Greylock. But the top was awesome, towering above the surround terrain by over a thousand feet. Well over. We took pictures quickly, and started back home, more than two hours away, while we listened to the country music Memorial Day Special. Great stuff. We arrived back in West Point at 7:30 PM, 5 hours beyond expectation, but happy.

We live in a great nation, great because of the beauty of its land, but also because of the hearts of the people. It is worth defending.