Rural New England seems like an idyllic place for pumpkin farmers and goat breeders.
But for a college student, Dartmouth's backyard may be less than paradise. What is often overlooked, however, is that a world of possibilities exists beyond the confines of campus. Just becoming a tourist for a few hours can change the way you perceive Dartmouth's environs.
To understand why people pay money to visit New Hampshire and Vermont , I spent last weekend on the road, buying folksy postcards, gawking at locally-famous rocks and discussing mini-golf with middle-aged men in undersized Hawaiian shirts.
Looking for the region's best tourist spots, I roamed from Lake Champlain in northwest Vermont to Hampton Beach in southeast New Hampshire, from the Atlantic Ocean to the summit of Mount Washington.
Catamount Brewery
Along with the Hopkins Center and the Hood Museum, Catamount Brewery stands out as one of the area's top cultural attractions. If you like beer, the free tour of the factory in White River Junction, Vt. is an earthly Eden.
During my 90-minute tour, a guide resembling Norm from the television show "Cheers" explained the biology, chemistry and physics of brewing and bottling. He gave a history lesson that puts beer in a socioeconomic context and that should be included in the syllabus for History 96.
The factory tour includes a tasting of five varieties of Catamount beer, although the tiny size of the tasting mugs makes it difficult to catch a buzz. Young-looking visitors are given ginger ale during the tasting part.
The tour begins where beer begins: in a warehouse filled with malted wheat. Visitors can taste the beer's ingredients, malted barley, wheat, oats and caramel, none of which is very filling.
The tour follows the pipelines carrying the mixture from its humble beginnings to its glorious, sudsy maturity. Because each stage of the Catamount brewing process is so delicate, I will forever approach their beer with a sort of respectful terror.
The sipping part of the tour is, without doubt, the most interesting. The guide treated beer with the same reverence as wine, which is unusual in this era of mass-produced national lagers.
The guide used phrases like "tonic-like dryness" and "citrus-like tartness," prompting a barrage of sophomoric chatter from the tasters.
Not wanting to be left out, I muttered something about "robustness" on my way out.
Hampton Beach
It is easy to forget sun, sand and surf when you live in a place that resembles tundra half the year. But New Hampshire's best beach is only 90 minutes away, with enough seaside fun to please a pirate.
It was overcast, cold and raining when I arrived at Hampton Beach, the most popular tourist spot on the state's tiny 20-mile coastline. For a moment I could see why "New Hampshire beach" seems like an oxymoron.
But Hampton Beach native Matthew Cronin said rain is a freak occurrence.
"It is usually in the 80s and sunny," he said. "It has been like that for weeks, except for these three days."
The ocean is cold and relatively still, and the white sand beach is wide and inviting. On top of the sea wall, an asphalt boardwalk carries pedestrians along the row of shops typical of any seaside without golf courses, security gates and million-dollar homes.
Arcades, fast food, waterslides and stores selling fried dough, swimwear and airbrush t-shirts give the beach a carnival atmosphere.
The boardwalk swarms with boys in baggy pants and girls in tank tops hunting each other.
Hampton Beach is the "coed naked" capital of New Hampshire, where customers can find t-shirts touting everything from coed naked archery to coed naked xylophone.
Cronin said Hampton Beach is a fun place to visit.
"It is great, especially if you're in college," he said. "There are kids all over the place, and lots of little bars and restaurants."
I found a boiled lobster dinner for less than $7 at Le Bec Rouge on the boardwalk. The restaurant's prices and atmosphere are far humbler than its fancy-sounding name.
Lodging and parking are plentiful and affordable, except on the busiest days.
Mount Washington.
Just 6,288 feet higher than balmy Hampton Beach is New Hampshire's other extreme environment, a place that seems lost in a never-ending hurricane or blizzard.
Mount Washington, the northeast's highest peak, is reputed to have America's worst weather. It was 48 degrees, raining and windy when I visited.
The highest wind speed ever recorded, 231 mph, occurred on its summit in 1934.
The mountain is accessible by the Mt. Washington Auto Road ($14 for car and driver, $4 for each additional adult), by the 127-year-old Mt. Washington Cog Railway ($35 per adult) and, of course, by foot.
I took the railway, which ascends the world's second steepest railroad grade. It climbs from 2,600 feet to 6,288 feet in less than three miles. An engine pulling a single car uses one ton of coal and 1,000 gallons of water in one trip.
The trip is noisy and exciting, but it attracts a crowd of model train enthusiasts. Dressed in shorts, t-shirts and Panama hats, they shivered their way to the top, arguing over whether the world's steepest railroad grade is in Colorado or Germany (it is in Switzerland).
Riding the railway is very much like driving a car with the parking brake on. It is loud, jerky, slow and smelly.
A tree could have taken root in the layer of soot that formed on my jeans, if we were not above the tree line.
Jacob's Ladder, where the railway grade reaches a dizzying 37-degree angle more than 25 feet above ground, would have been exciting if we could have seen through the fog.
The man who served as tour guide and brakeman spoke little about the mountain or the railway, limiting his remarks to "Don't pull this" and a modicum of history. But he was verbose and diplomatic when soliciting tips.
Not surprisingly, the weather on the summit was miserable, foggy, windy and cold. The museum on top is fascinating, well worth the $1 entrance fee.
The museum has a tiny exhibit on Dartmouth, which owns nine acres near the summit.
The College even owned the cog railway from 1951 to 1962. The owner, Dartmouth alumnus Henry Teague, willed the College the business and property in gratitude for a loan the College gave him in 1938.
Quechee Gorge
For the seasoned outdoorsman, 165-foot deep Quechee Gorge may represent a repulsive sterilization of nature. Anything remotely dangerous is fenced off, and the path to the gorge bottom is wide and smooth enough to let a Cadillac pass.
The place looks like it would be a favorite of church groups and senior citizens' tours.
But the spot is unique, uncrowded and beautiful enough to merit the short drive into Vermont.
The granite walls are nearly vertical, broken only by a few giant pine trees balancing on narrow shelves of soil. The thin Ottauquechee River, that has hewn the gorge from the earth over the past few eons, fills the gorge-bottom. Its Class IV and Class V rapids make it a favorite among kayakers.
The State of Vermont, which owns the gorge, must have hired paranoid lawyers, since the trail to the bottom is littered with signs saying things like "Warning -- Sound of Horn Indicates Rapidly Rising Water." Rapidly rising water seems less likely than an ice age, and a short stroll would put you beyond the water's grasp.
The mile-long trail leads to a verdant Eden at the gorge's bottom, where the river is split into 100 little rivulets by blocks of granite. It makes a peaceful, sunny patio, a great place to spend an afternoon.
There were no crowds when I arrived at 8 a.m. other than a small army of fishermen, who are traditional early-risers.
The gorge is surrounded by the usual, tacky tourist fanfare that sprouts wherever Americans find a geological aberration. There are the shops at Quechee Village, a kitschy souvenir shop and an impressive-looking hot-dog stand within walking distance.
The bridge on Route 4 is a great place to view the gorge, but do not waste time at the marked overlook. It gives a view of an ugly, unimpressive and industrial-looking dam, and if you like that sort of thing there are better examples closer to Hanover.
Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream Factory
When the age of Woodstock became the age of Saturday Night Fever, Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream began to prove peace and love can be profitable.
At their factory in Waterbury, Vt. you can see where Peace Pops, Cherry Garcia, Rainforest Crunch and all your other favorite flavors come from. The $1 tour involves plenty of ice-cream tasting, and a sneak preview of some previously unreleased flavors (in case you want to scoop your friends).
The ice cream is delicious, as seen in the portly factory workers (who are given a weekly ration of ice cream in addition to high wages).
The workers spend less time making ice cream than cleaning all of the pipes, vats and gizmos, which are clearly labeled in the familiar, friendly-looking Ben and Jerry's font.
More interesting than the ice cream production is the corporation's attitude. My tie-dye clad guide spent 15 of the tour's 30 minutes explaining the ecological rationale for every step of the production process.
When you eat a Peace Pop, it is nice to know no cows were mistreated in its production.
The guide explained workers' wages and benefits in such a way that the factory ended up sounding like a utopian commune. I might look for a job there someday.
The tour is interesting and certainly worth the one-hour drive to Waterbury. Although you may wonder whether Ben and Jerry's is very socially conscious or just a clever marketer, the important thing to remember is that they make wonderful ice cream.
Pico Alpine Slide
What could be more exciting than screaming out of control down a bobsled track at 60 mph?
Certainly NOT the Alpine Slide at Pico, one of the greatest disappointments of my weekend.
For a few dollars, visitors take a chair lift halfway up the Pico Mountain ski resort, then cruise down cement half-pipe tracks on plastic sleds. From the base of the mountain, the tracks look like bobsled tracks, steep, sinuous and sinister.
Watching other people race down the tracks from the chair lift, I actually felt a twinge of apprehension. A Dartmouth student had shown me a scar he earned at the alpine slide at Bromley Mountain once.
But I almost dozed off on the three-minute ride to the bottom. A lever between your legs allows you to control your speed, and full-speed is a lot slower than it looks from above.
Alpine slides are as common as moose in New Hampshire and Vermont. Dozens of ski areas have opened them to make a little revenue during the warm months.
Although hardly worth a road trip, a ride on an alpine slide might make a nice detour if you are going somewhere cool.
Lake Champlain Cruise
Maybe it is not the Queen Elizabeth II, the Big Red Boat or the Fun Ship, but a ride on the Spirit of Ethan Allen II on Lake Champlain in northwest Vermont is still a fun ride.
The two-hour tour starts in Burlington, Vt. and cruises around part of enormous Lake Champlain, sometimes called the "sixth Great Lake."
Lake Champlain is 120 miles long, 12 miles wide and up to 427 feet deep. It is a big body of water for someone used to Occom Pond.
The lake even has its own legendary monster, a giant serpent named "Champ." Seventy passengers allegedly saw the beast in 1984 from the decks of the Spirit of Ethan Allen II, although I did not see any pictures.
In addition to mythology, the captain gave spirited lectures on the lake's history, geology and geography.
The lake forms the border between Vermont and New York, and it extends far into Canada. From its surface, one can see far into each state, including the highest peaks in the Adirondack Mountains and the Green Mountains.
A reunion class from Champlain College was having a party on board, so I even got to stuff myself with hors d'oeuvres.
The best part of the cruise is its point of departure. Burlington is a progressive little burg, with music on every street corner. Its pedestrian-only downtown is reminiscent of Beale Street in Memphis, where the Blues was born.
