Norwich calls itself the Rose of New England, a nickname dating from the days when its elms and gardens drew admiration, and it sits at a point where geography did the planning. Two rivers, the Yantic and the Shetucket, meet the Quinebaug at the head of tide here and form the Thames, which runs down to Long Island Sound. That meeting made Norwich a port and a mill town, and the hilly streets above the harbor are still lined with big Victorian houses that hint at its old industrial wealth.
History here has a hard edge. Benedict Arnold was born in Norwich in 1741, and the town does not make much noise about it. More respectfully remembered is Uncas, the Mohegan sachem, whose burial ground lies in the city, and the Mohegan people's tribal lands and casino at Uncasville are a short drive south. The Slater Memorial Museum, on the campus of the Norwich Free Academy, holds an unexpected collection of plaster casts of classical sculpture, which is the sort of thing New England mill fortunes sometimes bought.
As the beginning and end of a ride, Norwich is practical. It is a real small city, with fuel and food at every hand, and the road north, Route 169, is the reason to be here. That byway runs up through the Quiet Corner of northeast Connecticut, through Lisbon, Canterbury, Brooklyn and Pomfret, rolling over low hills with stone walls, white churches and farm fields on both sides. It is one of the easiest roads in New England to love, and it is rarely crowded, which in southern New England is itself a rarity.
The best time is early morning on a weekday or any day in October, when the trees along the way turn color and the farm stands sell cider and pumpkins. Midsummer is warm and green. Winter is cold, damp and sometimes icy, particularly in the shady dips, so leave the bike in the shed. Keep the speed reasonable on the byway: the curves are gentle, but the road is narrow and farm vehicles are common, and nobody here is in a hurry.