There were more cows than cyclists.

Hundreds more, in fact.

During a recent adventure on the Missisquoi Valley Rail Trail in northwestern Vermont, we didn’t have to tell fellow cyclists to “moo-ve” over as we passed because, for the most part, we had the trail all to ourselves.

Nearly 53 miles of it.

If starting in St. Albans (just past a quaint and surprisingly bustling downtown), as we did, it’s a 26.4 mile path to the end point in Richford. We passed farms, wetlands, fields and forests. Gone was the stress of work and everyday life. We were surrounded by nature near the Canadian border.

Less traffic. Less headaches.

Yes, there are some road crossings, but the vast majority of the trail features gravel/crushed stone. My companions, old friends Jon Kinson and Mike Woelflein, guys I worked with during another lifetime in the newspaper business, are avid cyclists. Me? I’m a runner who has quickly grown to enjoy cycling.

As someone who had never cycled more than 35 miles, the task of pedaling from St. Albans to Richford and back to St. Albans was more than a little daunting.

Of course, Mother Nature had some curves to throw. To say that it rained hard in the hours leading up to our adventure would be the understatement of the year.

Opening the curtain to my hotel room, I laughed as torrents of water flowed down a street and emptied out at the bottom of the parking lot, creating a mini-Lake Champlain.

Yikes.

Undaunted, we hoped for the best and set out to meet shortly after 9 a.m. As it turned out, we were granted a window. And so we began.

The first five miles flew by. The scenery was gorgeous, the company terrific. Then I had a moment of doubt. Cycling on gravel soaked by inches of rain requires more effort than cycling on the cement rail trails I had trained on. Much more.

Gulp. Could I do this for nearly 50 more miles? Luckily, the lush scenery distracted me. Soon we were crossing over the Missisquoi River on a picturesque, rain-slicked bridge. The skies, so ominous, broke. The sun popped out.

What a great day to be alive.

The three of us were seemingly in our own world as the miles flew by. At about mile 9 we intersected with the Lamoille Valley Rail Trail, a 93-mile trail which goes through 18 Vermont towns and is New England’s longest cycling trail.

A woman agreed to take our picture. It was stunning to see another human. The vista changed. Crossing a road, the land opened up and it felt like we were cycling in Iowa. Amid corn fields, the path stretched for miles, as far as the eyes could see.

Soon we were in Enosburg Falls, once known as the “Dairy Capital of the World.” The trail is well marked. Well, maybe too well marked. There are mile markers every half mile. As we neared the halfway point, I began to dread seeing them.

Finally, we reached the midway point in Richford. Returning to pavement (I wanted to act like the Pope and kiss the cement), we cycled a half mile to the downtown and dined in a delicious family-owned eatery.

Enjoying a respite from our bikes, we were waiting for our food when a waitress excitedly approached the table. Beaming, she showed us her phone.

“This doesn’t happen around here often,” she said.

There was a tornado warning. We knew heavy rain was in the forecast, but a tornado warning? Eating quickly, we opted not to cycle two more miles to take pictures at the Canadian border. It was time to head back as the skies began to darken.

Forty-two miles into the journey, we saw our first cyclist. Soon three followed. They were the only four cyclists we saw in more than five hours of cycling. Within minutes, the wind picked up and it began raining. As our luck would have it, we were in the most open stretch of our ride. Conversation came to a halt.

We were defenseless against the weather. Luckily, it only rained for about a mile. We thought we had dodged a major bullet. But it wasn’t to be. It rained for much of the final 10 miles — including at least 30 minutes of downpours.

Soaked to the bone, my white shirt caked with mud, the time for enjoying the scenery was over. This was now time to put the nose down and get back to the car as quick as possible. Surprisingly, the trail is almost completely level. There were few hills, although the final four miles, of course, included two consistent climbs.

Suddenly, the rain stopped. Jon and Mike were slightly ahead of me as I soaked in the scene while being, well, soaked. The final destination was a mile away. The end of the Missisquoi Valley Rail Trail was nearing.

Pulling into the parking lot, an enormous sense of satisfaction came over me. Counting the foray into Richford to grab lunch, we had cycled 54 miles. Weeks before, I had purchased a gravel bicycle with the trip in mind. My previous bike purchase was for my youngest daughter, who’s been out of college for five years.

Let’s just say the price of bikes have gone up a more than a tad. But cycling the length of the Missisquoi all the way and back with two friends in weather conditions which changed several times?

Priceless.

Yes, it’s a long ride to the rail trail for Massachusetts residents. I live near the New Hampshire border and it’s about three hours and 45 minutes to St. Albans. But, trust me, it’s worth the trip.

Owned by the state of Vermont, the Missisquoi Valley Rail Trail goes through seven towns. There are several gorgeous mountain views. And such history. The New England Central Rail Line has connected Missisquoi Valley communities since trains began operating in 1886.

Pack the bike. Soak in the scenery. Catch up with longtime friends. Get some exercise. And look out for tornados.

The author, left, Jon Kinson, center, and Mike Woelflein in St. Albans, Vt., before they cycled the Missisquoi Valley Rail Trail. (Barry Scanlon photo)
A stunning view from just off the Missisquoi Valley Rail Trail in Vermont during a recent Sunday. (Barry Scanlon photo)