Rexleigh Bridge

After two days of rain we thought we'd get out of the house (and away from the dogs) and go take a look at the covered bridges around Bennington. It wasn't until we were on the road that I remembered I don't actually know where they are, and before we knew it we were in New York.

Crossing into New York from Vermont is a bit like crossing into England from Wales: you don't actually notice it until you spot the little things. In this case it was the number of Trump lawn signs. After getting off the 67 we headed north on the 22, just enjoying the sunny skies, the beautiful views and the absence of dogs.

Our quest for a covered bridge was fulfilled when Alicia spotted the sign for Rexleigh Covered Bridge and told me to turn right about ten seconds after we passed the road. I turned right up a different road a couple of minutes later, missed the sign for the bridge, and ended up going around in a circle.

The road down to the bridge is pretty, and there's a layby where we parked. The river the bridge crosses is the Batten Kill, the same one we visited last week.

  

Across the river is this ruined building, which used to be a mill until it burned down. Unfortunately I couldn't get to it or this post would be a lot longer.

After taking the photos we got back on the 22 and kept going north. I spotted a sign for Salem and got all excited, then remembered we were in the wrong state. After ambling around a bit more we suddenly found ourselves back in the Green Mountain State, and headed south on the 30.

By this point we were starving, and decided to stop in Manchester to eat. We tried two places, both of which had OPEN signs on the doors but were actually closed. On a Saturday afternoon. So we got back on the road. Manchester is pretty much Vermont's version of Laguna Beach: upscale, overpriced, too much traffic, no parking and nothing to do. We followed the 7A home, with me asking Alicia to take pics through the window and Alicia managing masterpieces like this:

And this:

She claimed the camera was "saying weird shit" to her, but I've never noticed that it's possessed by the Shit Photo Gremlin. Once home we let the dogs out and I did the now-traditional impersonation of my dad by unloading the dishwasher and dozing off in the armchair.