So I headed south on Route 100, and straight into some of the most beautiful foliage I'd seen so far:
Iced flames. Just beautiful.
The road was fine. Just wet. But the fields and the trees and the rooftops and everything else was frosted. I drove for miles and miles, through small postcard towns and foliage and more foliage, and gradually the snow changed back to rain.
I stopped in Rutland for lunch and stops at the post office and the library. I mailed a boxful of stuff I'd gleaned from my car cleaning the day before.
After Rutland, the landscape got a bit more rugged, with waterfalls thrown in gratis:
And narrow slot canyons, and more beautiful trees, but no moose, in spite of the signs I kept seeing to warn me of their presence:
I found a nice hostel/ski lodge in the hamlet of East Jamaica, about three-quarters of the way down to Massachusetts, which was mostly full of a crowd of sixtyish hikers, who were most compatible.
The thermometer read 38dF outside, and a fire roared in the common room, and I was very glad to be where I was. And it was supposed to clear up overnight!