Masters of the Mountain

We did not sell the Wayland house, after all. But we are in the midst of our big move.

With three sales offers bing-bang-bing, we began packing in May thinking the house would be under new ownership in no time. Soon, with so much of our life in boxes and totes, we were camping out in our own house. No paintings or photos on the walls. Two drinking glasses. Two dish towels. You get the picture. However, all three offerers backed out, followed by a steady parade of people who liked the house, but . . .

So our big move is moving back into our own house.  Right now, Roy is putting up the birdhouse Rob and Rachel gave us last Christmas. I've opened three "kitchen" cartons, discovering two lovely sets of drinking glasses, cloth napkins, placemats, cookie sheets, egg cups (a necessity for my London cockney husband), and more. Wow.

New birdhouse on chimney.

After a summer of displaying flowers
in jars and milk jugs, we have
unpacked a decent bud vase.

To celebrate this momentous un-change in our lives, we took off early Thursday morning for New Hampshire and a drive up Mount Washington Carriage Road in Alice, my Honda Accord.

Here you go, with us. These are some of the photos I shot.

We have stopped to pay the entry toll.
Our goal is the pointed peak on the left.

Brave souls approach the edge. Clouds vie with
mountains and valleys for the "Most Spectacular" award.

Shadows of clouds race across the mountains.
Yes, we are on the edge of vertigo.

There were lots of wide shoulders in the road, where travelers
 were encouraged to stop and rest their horsepower.

Looking back down upon the road we had just ascended,
that white tracery on a green shoulder of the mountain. 

A road like this brings out the best of Roy's "Boston Coach" driving, but the worst of his wife-teasing. He was driving with one hand and shooting pictures with the other. He, being the driver, was seated over the center of the road, while I, in the passenger seat, was on the edge of destruction at every switchback and often in between. It seemed to me that as we climbed all the vehicles coming down were out-sized pick-ups or obese SUVs, giving us barely a lip of road without a single guard rail.

One last attempt to scare you, too.
But the exhilaration far exceeds the  fright.

Climbing through this mountainscape is a life-changing experience.
I suppose the immediate effect will wear off, but I still feel that my being has expanded to fill that vast space.

We've reached the top, just under the clouds. This is one
of several parking lots. Even on a weekday, there was a
steady stream of vehicles up and down the auto road.

Hot and muggy in the valley, cool and muggy a mile in the sky. Mount Washington hosts some of the world's most strenuous weather. I lost several shots when strong gusts of wind pushed at my hands.

Passengers lining up to get back into the cog railroad train
-- the other way to scare yourself silly getting to the top
of Mount Washington. Visitor center just visible.

The third way up and down is to hike. Hikers generally
swagger through the crowd, flashing their outback hats
and walking sticks. Someday I'm coming back to sit in one
of those log chairs for an hour to watch the weather change,
and change, and change again.

Part of the business end, a weather
and communications station.

Ditto.

Could be an alien spy fortress.

Roy (wearing the shades) awaiting his turn at the very summit.
Actually, he never got that turn, but he took a picture of me behind the
summit sign. You won't see that photo here -- maybe on his Flikr page.

Here is a bit of summitry, conviviality between proud drivers. Roy, the former executie car driver, and this couple who had pulled up beside us at a viewing point parking lot in their exceedingly shiny, 
red classic Mustang.

Taken from the l-o-n-g stairway to the summit.

We began our descent. On the way down, the turn-outs
are for cooling one's brakes.

Looking down at the base camp 8 miles back and
almost out of this picture, the atmospherics
make this a hazy, unretouched  photo. 

One last look at the mountains. 

Apparently, I didn't take any photos of the lower parts of the road, nor any that would confirm that we made it down. No, wait! I can take a proof-shot or two now.

Our certificate. Roy inscribed both our names,
his qualifies as "master", mine as "survivor."

You'll never see this glued to Alice's bumper, but it's for real!

All kidding aside, I highly recommend climbing Mount Washington. Perhaps nowhere else on earth can the average citizen get such an eyeful of scenery and a chance to look at the earth as it once was.