“Germantown?” “Are you driving?” “That’s not safe!” “You don’t want to go to Germantown.” Thus the two old ladies at the Philadelphia Freedom Center disagreed with the recommendation of the ranger at Independence Hall. Looking for a slice of Philly to overcome my initial malaise of the place, they sent us to South Street.
While Vic and I opted for our first car trip in almost year, cycling either side of the Hudson must be a bit like my trip to France with the short distances between interesting stops, plenty of decent food to eat at along the way, and the well-marked NYS Cycle Route 9
New Bedford is one of the poorest cities in Massachusetts, always an immigrant port, and has some of the highest unemployment in the state. However, in the mid-Nineteenth-Century it was one of the richest cities in the country and the center of the whaling industry, whose rending of blubber lit the lights of lamps of the nation…
Starting in the White Mountains, the Merrimack River once sped the turbines of America’s Industrial Revolution. The towns along it are synonymous with the textile industry, mass immigration, social upheaval, and finally, a near total collapse.
This part of Massachusetts along the Blackstone Canal (1828) was prosperous in the mid-19th Century. Most of the of towns I drove through on the way home were centered around a long defunct textile mill, a white steepled church or two, and a monument to the Union dead.