Every day should begin with a swim. As I floated on my back in the middle of whatever the lake inside Wells State Park is called, gazing up at a spotless blue sky and treetops along the shore, I felt very wealthy. I am at the very beginning of this journey, and already it feels like an incredibly lavish gift of time, beautfy, and rich experience that I don't really deserve.

I left Wells State park with my tires freshly inflated and spirits to match. Route 49 brought me to Route 9 which Dennis had described as "hilly, but bikeable" so it seemed like a good choice. I decided to seek out a public library to charge my iPhone and update the blog, but arrived at the one in East Brookfield just after it had closed for lunch. With an hour to kill before it reopened, and the roughly 700 calories I'd consumed for breakfast already long gone, I stopped in at the Trolley Stop across the street for a bacon cheeseburger.

The Trolley Stop reminds me of diners in my hometown, full of people who seem like they go there either every day or at least most days. Not at all fancy, totally familiar. One of the waitresses, Sharon, is about to become a grandma and is hoping that the baby will be born this Friday, a few days ahead of his due date, so he'll have the same birthday as a number as his grandfather and great-grandfather. Sounds like her daughter-in-law is doing all she can to the baby along—Sharon caught her waddling up a huge hill the other day. "Do you want to have that baby right here on the sidewalk?!" she yelled, to which her daughter-in-law replied, "That would be nice!"

Then it was back to the East Brookfield Public Library where the super-friendly ladies in charge commissioned me with a fun task: to deliver a few of their bookmarks to various public libraries I stop at along the way.

A dozen miles up the road I stopped for ice cream (this is already becoming a daily ritual) and took some advice from a few locals to bike through the Quabbin Reservoir which features a paved bike path and loops back onto Route 9. I heeded their advice without consulting a map—once I did I realized I was adding at least 3 miles and some not inconsequential hills to my day. But in the end the spectacular views of the reservoir, the Winsor Dam, and silently flying down a looooooong hill on perfectly smooth pavement at the end of the loop made the extra effort worthwhile.

This excursion put me just a few short miles, mostly downhill, from my evening's destination: the wonderfully chaotic and friendly Stone Soup Farm, down yet another long hill from Belchertown Center. More on that later!