When Coty and I were finalizing plans for our trip to New England this summer, I went online to find ideas for new-to-us places to visit. We’ve taken the girls to New England (staying in New Hampshire) two other times; so, I was looking for things to do that we hadn’t before. Googling “things to do with teens in New England” was useless. Bike trails, camping destinations, hiking routes, and whitewater rafting. Surely you jest, Google. I came across the Hobo Railroad at Lake Winnipesaukee and purposely scrolled on. I mean, I guess I like a scenic train ride as much as the next person but I knew I could find something better to do with my time.
The list I compiled included things like sugar shacks (#iykyk) and Ben & Jerry’s (because the fat kid in me will always eat icecream) in Vermont, site of the Salem Witch Trials and the Boston Tea Party in Massachusetts, and lighthouses followed by Cape Cod potato chip factory (because priorities) in Maine. I made a separate list of things that I thought the girls would like: think theme parks and mountain coasters, etc.
Unfortunately, on the Monday, Coty did his own search-o-activities in the area and found out that the Hobo Railroad offers rail bikes. When he told me about it, I must’ve had ‘the look’ on my face because he quickly added “I’ll do all the pedaling”. [I swear that’s what he said].
Where I went wrong was not reviewing the website before we left the house. I had no idea what I was getting myself into…
The drive from the house to the railroad was air conditioned – err – uneventful. We were on time for check-in and assigned to Bike #3. I thought to myself, “good; at least, we won’t be the dumb bastards in the very front making a spectacle of ourselves”. More on that later.
About ten minutes prior to the “scheduled ride” (as the boy scouts – err – guides referred to it), we were escorted outside for instructions and important safety information. Yes, they were serious af. Right. Time to see what’s happening a Facebook… I successfully tuned that shit right out. I looked up just in time to see the *free* drawstring bag that we could utilize during the ride and then keep as a souvenir afterward. I know my face had “yay” written all over it. Boy Scout Ben clearly expected applause or at least a look of excitement/appreciation. He got nada from Karen; it was more of collective moan amongst the crowd. One of the guides came by to say that the bikes were not in numerical order. WTF? He looked like he flunked outta kindergarten sooo there’s that. He had fewer teeth than I have fingers. Now, who wants to guess where Bike #3 was? If you said “third spot in line”, you’re wrong. If you opted to go with “Muehe Luck” and guess first in line, you win. We were FIRST – right behind the boy scouts – err – guides. Awesome. Another guide announced that the strongest adult should sit front right, then the second strongest should sit back left. “Right, Coty that’s you there and Mallory you there” and I parked my fatass in the front left seat leaving Meredith in the back with Mallory. It took some time to get all of our seats adjusted because, um, long legs. [Have you seen my children?]
The guides’ rail bike jetted off for the “scheduled ride” and Coty told all of us to pedal. I looked down and discovered a footrest! Hot damn! Someone was, in fact, thinking of tourists like me when they built this monstrosity — err — rail bike.
Coty, Mallory, and Meredith were pedaling away when one the guides ran by with his orange safety flag (it was his job to stop traffic for us so that we could *safely* cross intersections. And, yes, Coty had to explain that to me because I was clearly not paying attention during the training) and he yelled back at me, “I see you’re working hard”. I didn’t say a word but thought to myself, “mind your own, mother fucker, or the next traffic stop will be your last”. Unfortunately, due to big mouth boy scout, the girls found out I had not been pedaling. Geez Louise. You would’ve thought I was trying to unstuff their favorite teddy bears. I put my feet on the pedals and managed about every third rotation. I mean, seriously; we were moving – not blocking traffic – and that was enough for me.
The girls were in the back, chanting like the little percussionists that they used be: “right, left…left…left, right. Right, left…left…left, right”. Then, they decided to see how fast they could chant the cadence and pedal to the same rhythm. They were laughing – I’m not sure at what – because, clearly, this situation was no laughing matter.
It was at this point that I realized I was living amidst blog material. Team Muehe vacations. Gotta love ‘em! Anyways, I figured it best that I take notes. I mean, who wouldn’t want to remember every single detail of this hell I was forced to participate in? I whipped out my handy dandy iPhone and pulled up the Notes app. I began pecking out the words: Rail Bike. My phone knows me well enough to know that I’d never agree to such bullshit and promptly autocorrected to “robot”. Obvi that *brilliant* idea wasn’t going to work so I switched to voice dictation. It was interesting to see what my phone came up with as it had to decipher my voice amid my huffing, puffing, and cussing plus the girls laughing/singing/rapping in the back row. I’ll hand it to Apple on this: never, at any point, did my phone struggle to add in my side commentary (aka cuss words) as I huffed, puffed, and pedaled. “Rail Bike excursion near Lake Winnie P. {oh my damn, my quads are on fire}
The first words of my dictation were, “this is the biggest motherfucking bunch of bullshit” and then me asking Coty how long the ride was and at what point we reached the bar. I nearly choked when he replied, “five miles and there is *no* bar”. Are you fucking kidding me? Did you NOT read my blog post, ‘y’all, I don’t exercise’? I know that he knows me better than that. Or, he used to. He tried handing me some bullshit about, “it’s a ride with a view” to which I responded, “this is truly the best place to hide a body”. There were no roads – only a lake with some railroad tracks running parallel. #nobodysgonnaknow #theyregonnaknow #howwouldtheyknow
Even though each rail bike was meant to be 200 feet apart, the overachieving motherfuckers behind us got too close. The guides had said, “respect the pace of the riders in front of you”; to which I interpreted to mean, “fat people pedal slow”. How dare they attempt to participate in *our* fun? Did we pack tomatoes or eggs? What do we have that we can throw at these assholes? Slow down; I’ll grab rocks.
Again, I got busted with my feet propped up on foot rest and again I got yelled at, “come the fuck on, Karen. PEDAL!”. [Yes, my children cuss. Are y’all surprised? And, no, I don’t care. If it’s the worst thing they do, I’ve done something right. Cuss all you want. Just be a contributing member of society]. I politely reminded my little darlings that I did not sign up for a work out today and that their claim of “a fucking leisurely ride” was a full-on “fool me once” situation”.
Fortunately, we were in NH and not FL. It was warm but not hellaciously hot. The breeze was just barely enough to prevent sweat running down my ass crack; however, my makeup was suffering. I kept asking, “how much longer until the break”? only to be told that we hadn’t completed the first mile, yet. Maybe I’m the soon-to-be dead body that someone is planning to hide out here?
Annddd…here comes motherfucking Boy Scout Ben, running by with the flag again, and we were forced to stop at a traffic crossing. If you’ve ever been on a surrey bike, know that this thing was similar. That is, getting it moving is no easy feat. To stop for things like “moving cars headed in our direction” was unnecessary IMO. Drivers could undoubtedly see that I was struggling. Like, it’s possible that video exists on TikTok. #troubledtourist Have respect for the old bitch on Bike #3 as she is apparently overheated, overwhelmed, and sober. As I bitched about my quads burning and my ass going numb, Coty had the audacity to tell me, “pain is weakness leaving the body”. Yeah, well I’m good with my weakness staying right the fuck where it is.
At one point, one of my little princesses suggested, “let’s take turns pedaling by ourselves; Coco, you go first”! WTAF? Our bike nearly came to a screeching halt when it was my turn to pedal. #greatidea #aintnoway #feetonthepedalsbitches
We continued to pedal up the side of the mountain. OK – maybe it wasn’t a mountain but it wasn’t a flat surface. We passed a downed tree and I questioned why I could relate. The further I pedaled, the angrier I became that I had put on makeup and shaved my legs for this shit. We were in an area where I could literally foresee a serial killer jumping out at us and I thought, “fine; take me first”. I tried, “Hey, Siri. Call me an Uber”. Go figure. No fucking service.
We were warned by Boy Scout Ben during our safety training, that the third intersection we encountered would be a dirt road leading to a state park on the lake. We were told to “stop, look both ways, and proceed with caution”. Oh, Ben. Sweet, sweet Ben. As we approached the dirt road, we collectively agreed that it wasn’t worth the effort to stop and start again. If this is where and how I die, so be it. Hopefully, the car will be big enough and moving with enough momentum to take me out. However, with “Muehe Luck”, I’d likely go home with a broken hip and Coty would be forced to wipe my ass for weeks. But honestly, he deserved it. After all, this was *his* idea.
Unlike my last bike ride, this time I had water. What I didn’t have was enough water. My water ran out before we hit the halfway point. Do y’all think I panicked? Of course I fucking panicked. We were in the middle of nowhere with some weird ass families that claimed to be having fun. Where are the snacks? Holy shit; I didn’t pack snacks *again*. I refuse to die with an empty stomach! When my autopsy is eventually done, I expect the mortician to find a belly full of chocolate and vodka tonic and a pickled liver. #aboutthatdeadbody
As we reached the half way point, my Apple Watch was obviously displeased. “You’ve closed your rings, YOU’VE CLOSED YOUR RINGS!” Pull over, Karen. You’ve covered steps for the week. Continuing may burn too many calories. Prop your feet; no more pedaling. Take a break. Have a drink. #bartenderineedadoubleshort
The half-way point was literally a place to stop and stretch our legs – something I should’ve done before the “scheduled ride”. As I dismounted my rail bike, I pulled my shorts (and my husband) out of my ass and tried to remind myself that we were on vacation. I decided that I was ready to get home and back to work. There was a homemade (no shit), make shift device that lifts the rail bikes from the train tracks and turns them around to pedal back towards the station. And, guess what? That’s right bitches, last in the line. Who’s making fun of who now? If we could’ve ridden the ass of the bikers in front of us, we definitely would’ve.
Our rail bike had been parked in the sun; so, when it came time to clamber up, we got our free gift with purchase: burnt asses. That should’ve been included in the safety training, Boy Scout Ben.
Pedaling back towards Hobo Station, we got the opportunity to appreciate the freaks on our “scheduled ride”. I mean, here I am in my cute Judy Blue shorts, a clean white t-shirt from The Gap, and my wrap-around-tie Sorel tennis shoes; these other bitches are in workout clothes. Work. Out. Clothes. What the actual fuck? Please tell me that you are from here? Like, seriously: did y’all pack that shit for a vacation? It’s not a vacation if you’re still working out. The best was the “granolas” (as we call them) in the Columbia zip-off pants. Like, “I’m cold – zip on legs; I’m hot – zip off legs” pants. Who the fuck even wears those? I can tell you. A couple of women with the “business in the front, party in the back” hairstyles and their husbands. They had shoes from Columbia that matched their pants. #trendsetters However, I’ll say this: they showed up with enough water. Hell, I bet they had snacks. Maybe I should’ve made friends?
We didn’t stop at the dirt path intersection on the way back, either. In fact, I think everyone pedaled harder and prayed for a car to take us out. Maybe it was just me? I was subjected to the rest of my family “singing” (in quotations because I use that term loosely) Michael Jackson tunes, then Elvis, then Dolly and I wondered where I went wrong. My pondering did help the ride back go by a bit faster.
I look around and see people my age out here mountain biking and ziplining and I am over here feeling good about myself because I got my leg through my underwear hole, without losing my balance, on the second attempt this morning. Oh, who am I kidding? I was sitting down.
The rail bike ride was Coty’s “one and done” activity idea for the trip. From here on out, I’ll choose the excursions.