Nashua, New Hampshire Shamrock Tour®
I dream of New England. In my mind’s eye, I see picturesque little towns, fall foliage, wooded hills, and mile after mile of quiet country roads. But there are layers to New England. There are stories beyond the stereotypes, characters beyond the clichés. This is a story about those layers, about the people who crossed oceans and continents searching for new lives in the New World.
I can see the clouds from my hotel window in Nashua, NH. This is my home base for a week in late September. Just over the Massachusetts state line, the city offers convenient services and a historical downtown and is perfectly situated for exploring the area.
Eastern Shores
The 2025 Honda NT1100 is wet even before I start it up. It’s one of those gray and wet mornings that immediately has me looking forward to a break. In Haverhill, MA, in the corner of a nondescript 7-11 strip mall, is Dar Rafiki’s, a small Moroccan bakery. The young woman behind the counter came here a year ago for school and work from Casablanca. Yes, that Casablanca. We talk about the local weather, which neither of us likes very much, particularly the winters. The display case is filled with all manner of cakes and desserts. A steady stream of customers comes and goes while I sit at the only table in the corner, enjoying a coffee and a sweet treat.
Motorcycle & Gear
2025 Honda NT1100
Helmet: Shoei Neotec 3
Jacket: Tourmaster Mariner
Pants: Tourmaster Ridgecrest
Boots: Sidi Adventure
Gloves: Tourmaster Tour-Tex 2.0 WP
Luggage: OEM panniers
I stand on the edge of the sea in Gloucester, MA, marveling at the statues staring out to the water. There’s the Fishermen’s Memorial, depicting a sailor at the helm of a ship, looking steely-eyed toward an invisible storm. Not far away is the Fishermen’s Wives Memorial, where a young woman with a baby on her hip and a toddler at her side gazes over the same waters with worry and concern. Since colonial times, thousands of sailors lost their lives out there (“They that go down to the sea in ships” is carved on the statue’s pedestal), and these statues commemorate both their bravery and their families’ loss.
The names on the plaques are solidly British at first: Baker, Williams, Gardner. But by the middle of the 19th century, there is a huge influx of Irish, Scottish, French/French Canadian, and Scandinavian names: O’Neil, O’Brien, McCloud, McKinnon, Laroque, Arsenault, Fredrickson, Gunderson. At the turn of the 20th century, more and more names from other countries appear: Acavo, Santos, Hessian, Cortina, Vogler, Orlando. The names on these plaques reflect the waves of immigration that landed on Gloucester’s shores over the centuries.
America is rooted in immigration, from the Pilgrims escaping religious persecution in England to my own family seeking a better life. Boston is filled with stories of Irish immigrants, the Italian North End, and others. But the closer you get, the worse the traffic becomes. Even out here, a marathon away, I get snarled.