Now I Know Where the Halva Went

Now I Know Where the Halva Went

Today, Naomi and I cycled part of the Mississquoi Rail Trail.

Missisquoi Rail Trail
The arrow is at Enosburg Falls.

We love it that the people of Vermont have graveled over some of their no-longer-used railroad tracks and have created wonderful bicycle paths. Besides the one traversing Franklin County from Richford to St. Albans, there is another gorgeous trail further south which more or less follows the Lamoille River.

On a Monday like today, even on July 11th, we hardly came across anyone else in the 20 miles that we cycled: by fields of waist-high corn, alongside herds of cows grazing on hillsides, at other times right beside the scenic Mississquoi River.

We count ourselves lucky that we live so close to the Vermont border – barely ten minutes away. The first leg of the 26-mile trail starts only another 10 minutes from the border.

Last year, we did this stretch of the trail twice and I wasn’t too impressed. It seemed boring, and there were too many places where we had to cross Route 105 to continue.

This time, I don’t know, something changed, and I found myself deeply enjoying all the nature around me. There were subtle smells from the many flowers bordering the path, purple chicory flowers followed by goldenrod and bull clover, and soon Naomi and I were enjoying a peaceful cycling rhythm, side by side, sometimes talking, sometimes silent. Instead of bored – the path is straight and flat –  I felt the liveliness of the subtle energy that all the hills and fields, as well as the river close by, provided, never letting me feel too hot and bothered.

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It took a refreshing hour to reach Enosburg Falls, our destination, where we had our picnic in the small town’s only park in the middle of Main Street.

On our way home, we stopped in a health food store. Luckily, I had taken my wallet with me and we were able to buy organic hot dogs for tonight’s barbeque. Getting something gave me an excuse to augment my lunch with the sugar I was craving, in the form of a chocolate halva bar. Yumm…

Twenty to 24 miles of cycling seems to be our limit. My bum starts burning two-thirds of the way, even though I’m wearing padded cycling shorts.

When we got home I hopped into the refreshing waters of my neighbour’s rarely-used pond and then, with Naomi on one her rare excursions, into the equally cool Dufur Brook right behind our house.

Naomi caught sight of my belly. “Now I know where the halva bar went,” she said, but I didn’t care, the day’s pleasure were too great to let anything bring me down.

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