I've gone 300 miles in 3 days, Boston to Swans Island. Now I'm sitting outside in the cool breeze of the ocean. I have a lot to write about, so I'm taking my time. It's quiet except for the fog horn from the ferry, the birds chirping and crowing, and a not so distant lobster boat rumbling. I'm where I want to be.
Though I'm here now, this post needs to catch you (and my memory) up on quite a few days of relentless travel. The first few pictures are from yesterday evening on the ferry, and then I'll start the story from well before then.
I left off the last real post in Norwalk, CT at Brian and Sarah's house. Taking their gracious offer, I decided to stay an extra day with them and cook some dinner. Here it was:
It was thoroughly delicious.
The next day I was invited to ride up to Roxbury, CT to stay with Daniel's parents, Don and Patricia. (As I said before, Daniel was so good to me on this trip, as you'll see further). They have a lovely 18th century house with a little pool. They do fashion design. Anyway, I got there (~36 miles through CT countryside), took a little swim, went to their studio and graded my students' papers. Then we went back and had an amazing grilled salmon dinner with a quinoa salad, wine, cognac, and conversation till after midnight. Wonderful people.
The next day I got the full tour of Roxbury. Turns out, a lot of interesting and famous people live there. Like Daniel Day-Lewis. And the founder of Bumble & Bumble. it's a beautiful area.
Then I decided to buy a ukulele. I just really wanted an instrument, something other than a bike, something to spice up the air, something other than performance and destination. Somehow music made me feel more centered. This is unsurprising, actually.
So Patricia and I went to the local music store and I found my ukulele. I got a case for it and everything. Not a bad deal. I immediately went back to their place and laid in the hammock and strummed for a while until Daniel showed up from Boston.
We went out to lunch and then drove back to Norwalk. We were going to see some fireworks (it was July 3rd) along the coast.
That was fun. We grilled out, I played on the rocks for a while, then we went last minute to the fireworks-watching beach and got perfect seats right under the explosions. After that, us guys went out to a bar for a while. We got back at 2:30 and crashed on the couch.
At 7:30 I was up to go to yoga with Sarah. ouch. but it was a great session. She's a really good instructor, very focused and precise. I sweat just as much in that practice as with Mitchel, and it got to the point where I just couldn't do another bridge pose. I blame the night before.
(Sarah: thanks again for letting me tag along. I learned a lot. My down-dog is much better now. (or as another friend of mine thought it was called for years, "awkward dog"))
That afternoon we drove down to the Hudson on the Jersey side, partly retracing my path up a few days before. We were visiting other friends of Daniel's for the 4th of July NYC evening. They live right on the river in one of the condos. Perfect location, perfect view. We played cornhole (like bocce for dummies... hehe) and made mojitos. At some point in the night Dewey and I were talking about wine, and he says "hey, here's a bottle of 1990 Dom Perignon. My friend gave me a few bottles and they're probably all vinegar at this point, so here's one for you." No reason to pass that up, eh?
Couched that night, back to CT in the morning, and then Daniel and I continued up to Boston. He's a neuroscientist with a new lab at Harvard, which I was able to check out the next day. We share research interests in sound, from very different angles. Me from the phenomenology/sociology bent, him from the brain plasticity and development of auditory perception side. We get along.
I walked around Boston, went to a pub to watch the Netherlands win!, went to Leavitt and Peirce tobacco shop at harvard :), and...
Went out that next night in Boston to a great mixology bar. The first drink was basically a negroni with chartreuse. The second was basically a rob roy with drambui. these are my two favorite drinks now. OH, and we had this impossible-to-contain-yourself-in-public appetizer. Medjool dates stuffed with almonds, wrapped in bacon, with a gorgonzola glaze. I almost died.
Then we went to a seafood restaurant and I got the bouillabaisse [thank you, spellcheck]. and oysters. and italian white wine. and more food induced freaking out.
OK. keep moving mike, or this will go on forever.
[I'm sitting on the rocks down in front of the cottage. A steady wind is blowing in my face as the fog lifts over the water. The only two things I hear are wind and waves. forgive me for stalling.]
The next morning (Wednesday) I leave Boston at 9am. I didn't really know where I was going. I knew that I could probably get to Maine that day, so I just kept going north on route 1 (basically). I found a box in someone's recycling bin, wrapped the Dom in my blanket, put my iphone holder in there too (no way I was using that again after the Newark incident), and went to the post office. luckily the guy didn't ask what was in the box, so I didn't have to lie. turns out you're not allowed to ship alcohol without a license. oops.
I passed through New Hampshire and all of the beach resorts along the coast. I stop into one and get a mussels marinara at a bar and watch the world cup game. I was rooting for Spain at this stage, so it was fun. a few beers later, back on the road. keep riding.
Get to Maine. crossed the bridge. keep going.
It starts to get dark. I grab a sub at a pizza shop and eat it at the beach. Then I keep going. I checked into a campground to see how much it would cost for me to pitch my tent there. $35. no way. keep going.
It's darker. I need a place to stay. Finally, along route 1 there is a house that seems to be unoccupied. The front door is hanging open, the rooms are empty, and the grass hasn't been mowed. I go to the woods behind it and find a place to lie down. At this point, I had gone 80 some miles out of the city and I was totally beat. I forget the tarp and just get the bivy out and crawl in.
Enter: the bobcat.
When I got to the site, I heard this strange animal sound. It sounded like an old lady, lifelong smoker, who just stubbed her toe and is now screaming/barking in your face as she's coughing. I couldn't quite place the sound (I figured "what it sounded like" probably wasn't what it actually was), but at that point I didn't care.
Couldn't really fall asleep. at 12:15, I hear the barking again, and this time it's really close. a few minutes later, I investigate. I started shining my flashlight in the direction of the sound and I see eyes staring at me in the woods. Then I see, faintly, some ears and a tail. Pretty soon, I'm looking at this 3 foot cat thing 10 yards away who is incessantly staring at me, circling around my area, and barking. bobcats are pretty serious animals, but they generally don't bother people. This thing was intent, however. for about half an hour we danced around, me following it with my light while standing up in the bivy so I didn't get bitten by mosquitoes, it circling me. Finally, it comes up about 20 feet away and just stares me down, pacing back and forth. That was it, I was done. yes, I was prepared to take it down with my bare hands, if I could just get out of this bivy-coccoon-bodybag and kill all these mosquitos first. I figured the better option was retreat.
I packed up my stuff and got on my bike, all the while looking over my shoulder at the winner of the showdown. it was probably a mother protecting her kittens. Maybe I was close to them without knowing it. or maybe it was just some punk bobcat looking for a fight. we'll never know.
I got back on the road. It's now 1am. I go until 2am until I find some hedges to sleep behind next to the road. 92 mile day.
up at 5, back on the road.
I go through Portland and realize that I might be able to reach my destination that day. this destination, of course, was my former boss' girlfriend's sister-in-law's little sister's boss. Seriously. (oh, and Kevin Bacon was there too). they live in Rockland. I had already gone 30 miles that morning since 5, but it was only 85 miles away. so I keep going.
I passed through Yarmouth, Freeport, and a bunch of other places, and suddenly I'm there. 115 mile day. lots of food and coconut water. did I also mention it's really hot? I'm sure you agree, pretty much wherever you live.
That was the most I had gone in a single day. Maine's a lot hillier than I thought, too. Never quite noticed it in the car.
When I show up at their house, they hand me a beer and we launch into a great conversation. Great dinner, more beers, and then suddenly I hit a wall and start falling asleep. they were gracious enough to understand and I passed out in a real bed. a REAL BED!
My thought that day: "oh, the Bass Harbor ferry to Swans Island is 94 miles away. I've already overdone myself today, so I should split that up. But what's in between here and there? bobcats."
My thought upon waking up at 8:30 "I'm getting to the ferry today."
the ferry leaves at 5:15, which means you board at 5. and the ferry don't wait.
on the bike. riding, riding, stopped for a little sandwhich, riding, stopped for an ice cream, riding.
I really wanted to make it, even though it seemed like a stretch.
And then it was 1pm, and I was making great time. I passed a few cyclists going the other way, just waved and kept going. Then I was about to pass this guy on my side, but the shoulder was broad so I pulled up alongside and started talking. His name is George. Cool guy, travels the world with the gov., does bike tours and such in between. we kept talking and riding, stoppped for more ice cream. Then his parents (who were meeting him up in Bar Harbor that day) pull up along side. So we stop, have a snack and cold water, and hang out for a minute.
Well, by this point it's 3:30, but I don't know it. So we just keep going at a comfy pace. eventually we turn off in different directions, saying goodbye and chatting for a minute.
Then, alone again, I stop to take a picture of my mom's favorite bridge and look at the clock. 4:30. ummmmm.....
I still had about 10 miles to go, and I had already done 85 that day. 30 minutes, 10 miles, 20 miles an hour. my average real pace (with stoplights, etc.) is 13-14.
no time to think. clip in the pedals, bound up the hill, push it.
I don't think I've ever exerted myself that much. 30 minutes of pure adrenaline-terror-suspense. no more of this scenic gazing. It was on.
These were the hardest and most exciting miles of the trip. I was heaving and moaning. I probably looked crazy. Then, I pulled up to the ferry dock RIGHT as the ferry was pulling in. I couldn't really have cut it any closer, but I made it. Got the ticket boarded, and whew.
The ferry ride was great, as always. The cottage comes into view just around north point.
Off the ferry dock, rode to the cottage, stayed with my neighbors (our cottage is all boarded up at the moment, but i'm going to take care of that now). had a great meal with them and crashed at their place.
I still don't know how i'm getting back to nashville, or precisely when, but that will happen eventually. And I need to write this dissertation. things happen. Right now I'm just going to breathe.
