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The first few miles of the Mount Washington Auto Road were easy like Sunday morning.
Guiding Fritz through the verdant forest at the base of the Northeast's tallest mountain was no more challenging than negotiating the roads snaking up The Blue Ridge Mountains.
The initial ascending angle posed no particular problem; the Bimmer's silken six has enough grunt to climb a tree in third gear. The pavement was smooth. The sun was shining. Elvis' Trying to Get To You rocked my earbuds.
Save the moment when I swerved around a squirrel playing chicken with Fritz's Michelins, I was calm, comfortable and relaxed. And then...
The trees started getting smaller and smaller. The switchbacks grew tighter and tighter. The patched pavement got gnarlier.
On the positive side, the views were spectacular. Spectacularly distracting, what with a thousand foot drop to the side and no guard rail guardian angels to stop my acrophobic imagination from running wild.
You know those mountain roads with signs telling eighteen-wheelers to test their brakes before an extended downward slope, punctuated by gigantic sand trap run-offs? Stretches of the Washington Auto Road were like that. Only up.
If that wasn't enough to tweak my adrenals – and it was – the wispy clouds glimpsed from the valley rolled in. Or I rolled into them.
Not so wispy now, eh Mr. Bond?
It's one thing to know that clouds are made of water vapor, it's another to drive a motorcycle through them on a road as challenging as trying to get a date with a drop-dead gorgeous blond who played Sleeping Beauty in Disneyland. For example.
Droplets gathered on the Bimmer's windscreen, impeding my view into the fog. There was no safe way to clear my helmet visor or glasses.
Adding to the fun, the wind kicked-up, blowing Fritz in the worst possible way, and the temperature plummeted.
Hang on. People pay to do this? Since when?
The Mount Washington Carriage Road
Mount Washington's "Road to the Sky" began life in 1853, when the New Hampshire State Legislature granted Gen. David O. Macombe a charter to establish the Mount Washington Road Company.
Macombe's men spent three grueling years dynamiting and hand-clearing a path halfway up the mountain. And... that was it. The MWRC ran out of money.
Three years later, the Mount Washington Summit Road Company got the nod to finish the job. On August 8, 1861, the MWSRC opened the Mount Washington Carriage Road for business
"America's first man-made tourist attraction" was a hit, schlepping tourists on a nerve-wracking journey to the summit via horse-drawn carriages.
In 1869, the brilliantly inventive Mount Washington Cog Railway (still in operation) made its debut. Tourists – including President Grant – preferred the shorter, safer, more comfortable trip to the top.
In 1899, Maine's own Freelan Oscar Stanley drove his Stanley Steamer up Mount Washington's horse path.
The two-hour ten-minute trek beat the equine experience by four hours. Thank you 800 foot pounds of torque.
The journey made headlines around the world, sold stacks of Steamers and reinvigorated the road's rep.
Even after gas-powered cars started clambering to the top, horse-drawn carriages continued making the arduous 7.7 mile journey to Mount Washington's summit.
By 1912, automotive traffic was Summit's lifeblood. The horses were put out to pasture. The company - still the road’s private owners - rebranded the alpine tollway The Mount Washington Auto Road.
The gravel gradient benefited from regular upgrades, but didn't see its first paved sections until the early 70's.
The Mount Washington Auto Road wasn't fully paved until May 2022.
Top of the World Ma!
A difference that X Games Gold Medalist Travis Pastrana's didn’t enjoy when he shaved 16 seconds off his Auto Road record, rocketing from base to summit in 5:28.67.
Pastrana drove his 2020 862hp “Airslayer” Subaru Impreza WRX STI with authority. Your author rode his 160hp "Cigar Carrier" BMW K1600 GTL with trepidation.
Pastrana made his run in ideal conditions. Your author recreated the racer's record (geographically speaking) in a heavy layer of cold mist, arriving at a summit surrendering none of its famous vistas.
Still, I'm sure Tony and I share a sense of accomplishment... and relief.
In fact, "conquering" the Mount Washington Auto Road is the one part of my Ridiculously Random Motorcycle Tour where the journey wasn't the destination.
The destination was the destination. A tick mark in the "been there done that" box just above The Tail of the Dragon.
This relatively more ambitious accomplishment gave me a deeper appreciation for my favorite Travis Pastrana quote: "This is what I always wanted. When I grow up, to not grow up." Know what I mean?
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Robert hope you keep Fritz on the high side of the road. 😬😬 and you made it to the bottom of the mountain and found a good cigar bar to unwind.
Are you collecting the stickers? The Tail of the Dragon has their many stickers, and there is a proportionally "This Bike Climbed Mount Washington" sticker that is basically like the more ubiquitous car bumper sticker.
I do hope to drive to the top of Mt. Washington one of these days. If I were even 30 years younger, I might bicycle to the top; shave a few more years off, and I might have done it backpacking. I've bicycled up at least five 12,000 foot plus passes in Colorado in those long ago times during the second to last decade of the previous century. Of course, that's nothing to my late cousin, Tom Hornbein's big climb, which you can find out about if you don't already know who he is, by googling.
And I appreciate hearing about the beemer's smooth responsiveness. ("Beemer" refers to m'cycles; "Bimmer" to cars.)
And I love that first photo of you!…
This post brings back memories. It was 1978 when a friend and I backpacked up Mount Washington. It was the first week of September and it was hot. We were sweating quite a bit - until we crossed the timberline. The mercury plummeted and there was rime ice covering anything exposed to the sharp, bitter-cold wind - including us. We made it to the summit and immediately sought shelter inside the weather station. I hadn’t thought of that day in a while. Thanks for jogging my memory.