(Killington, Vermont) On Interstate 89 along Lake Champlain, the rain turned to snow a little past St. Albans, the home of John LeClair. In just a few minutes, Vermont, known as the Green Mountain State, turned from green to white.
Published at 8:00 a.m.
The Americans did not have it easy on this great day of pilgrimage for Thanksgiving. On the highway, only one lane was passable, and beware of the reckless who attempted to overtake! Guaranteed skidding above 70-75 km/h.
PHOTO SIMON DROUIN, THE PRESS
L’Interstate 89
Second peak of the Green Mountains (1289 m), Killington is located in the middle of nowhere, in south-central Vermont, east of Rutland (15,000 inhabitants). From the 89, we exit at Bethel to take route 107. We follow the White River for a few dozen kilometers, before turning towards Pittsfield and its Tweed River.
The tall conifers were shedding the heavy snow which fell in ribbons. At the last turn before Killington, an SUV had crashed, its fender all dented. A police officer was keeping watch. At the ski resort, where the main parking lot was full, more than 30 centimeters had already accumulated.
After an hour in the Grand Resort Hotel, for an interview with Valérie Grenier, I had to take out the broom to clear 6-7 cm more. Down the road, my hotel, the rustic Mountain Sports Inn, was dark. “Power outage, a car ran into a power pole not far away,” explained the receptionist after putting down his shovel.
PHOTO SIMON DROUIN, THE PRESS
Parking in Killington
To write, I had to fall back on one of the few restaurants open on this holiday, Choices. Fortunately, the weather conditions led to the cancellation of half of the reservations. The waiter suggested the traditional meal of Thanksgiving.
“So I will be treated like a real American,” I pointed out to him.
“No, because we’re going to be nice to you,” he replied, proud of his effect.
So I typed in front of turkey, cranberries and mashed potatoes, under the intrigued gaze of a family of three. Upon learning that I was a journalist from Montreal, the man, a cameraman for the World Cup, brought out his rusty French. A Mr. Huot, from Maine, whose grandparents obviously came from Canada. “We would love to come and live with you,” he concluded. For what ? “Trump,” he simply replied.
Around 8 p.m., the snow almost stopped. It was time to go see if they had reconnected the electricity.
