Steaming hot asphalt on a Charlestown street back in the day

Oh, this wasn't one of those.

It brings me back to my early childhood — of my father taking us on a ride in the country on a warm, summer afternoon. There were new and interesting things to see along the way, and also different things to smell. Sweet smells of newly mown grass and fields of wildflowers, complex smells of farms, pungent smells of roadkill, delicate but distinctive smells of fresh lakes and pine forests.

And then, unexpectedly, we'd come to a stop in the middle of nowhere, where a crew was repaving the highway. Trucks! Paving machines!! Steam rollers!!! To a five-year-old, it was incredibly exciting! Watching it all as flagmen eventually signaled us through the construction and onto a newly paved lane of traffic. The highway had a new look and smooth feel; it even sounded different; and of course, it had the lingering fragrance of fresh asphalt.

Joys of a little boy— thrilled to be watching his father drive us to nowhere and back on a beautiful summer afternoon. That's what the smell of fresh asphalt means to me!
   
   

      
Here's a route my dad loved to drive (and, well, I love it too!) The road above isn't in Massachusetts— the next closest state is Vermont— but, if you keep following it, you will get to Boston. Can you GeoGuess it?
_{( if you GeoGiveUp, here is the answer )}