thank goodness

Karen's and Gayle's families used to have holidays together in Wales.  I've met Karen's mum and sister but it's the first time I've met Karen.  She's been living in the States and Canada for about 20 years but she's still got her scouse accent.  So here we are at her house, after an invitation to join her and Joe for a Thanksgiving with their friends.  The house is up a hill of course.

Joe is from Long Island - a wise-cracking big-hearted man with an obsessive compulsive disorder when it comes to clearing out the fridge.  "I'm just the lodger" he protests to us with a smile and a sideways look to Karen.  Karen is the boss.  She's also in the business of providing footings for indoor horse arenas i.e. the mixture of sand covering the floor.  It's a technical affair depending on, amongst other things, climate, which explains the test samples in the fridge.  The work requires a lot of travel around the country and the occasional tedious trade fair. Now, where are those samples?  Karen searches the large fridge and wheels on Joe, who was last seen scarpering downstairs......

a right pair

After our hasty dash here, we just want to relax and Thanksgiving week is the perfect time.  We meet the neighbours, and visit the delightful Evie, a widow living two doors down.  We're introduced to all their friends down at the local bar.  Joe clowns around and tells us stories, keeps us entertained.  Meanwhile Karen is trying to organize everything for Thanksgiving dinner.  Joe seems more interested in the betting odds for the football games on that day, but also gets into the swing of things.  I'm still glugging diluted apple cider vinegar to no avail.  Come Thanksgiving morning I decide I need to see a doctor.  I tell Joe the problem and he immediately offers to take me to a walk-in clinic in the town.  I have to cough up $100 to see a young doctor of whom I ask for a prescription for antibiotics.  He understandably wants to test a urine sample (the symptoms I suspect may be similar to sufferers of prostate cancer) and I explain that I can't afford any tests.  He is sympathetic but thinks the ciprofloxacin I request may cause me tendon damage.  I promise not to ride my bike for a week.  He relents, and does a urine test just for his own peace of mind.  The test shows I have a UTI.  An hour later I have my antibiotics and immediately feel better, before I've even taken one.

The garden gets a quick tidy, the house straightened, the last bits and pieces shopped for.  The friends call and the women get busy in the kitchen.  Joe and I sit glued in front of the big screen telly watching the first football match and chatting to Tanya's husband.  The traditions have to be observed.  A couple more friends arrive and we all sit down to a feast.  As Joe predicted, there were few takers for the pumpkin pie.  "It's always the same" he declares, "hardly anyone really likes it."  It takes us a few days to get over the gluttony.  And polish off the leftovers before Joe throws them out.  Karen has to dash off for a couple of days and Joe, who works evening shifts at an upmarket restaurant bar, is tasked with looking after us.  He brings home some of the restaurants dishes to try.

Each day I'm feeling better.  We like Karen's little town, they live in a very peaceful place.  We have a lot of laughs with them and Karen is very generous - spoils us rotten. If our next destination wasn't New York we wouldn't be so excited when we leave.

with Karen and Joe

a blur

Our ride to Long Island begins in Cape Cod , Massachusetts and takes in a series of one-night stands with very different but very hospitable Warm Showers hosts,  and boy am I thankful for them.

First off there's Andy and Lynn, who live at the bottom end of Cape Cod.  It's an easy short ride back along the bike path to their neck of the woods.  It turns out Andy and Lynn are considering doing a turn at their local open mic night tonight but after a hearty dinner we end up talking long and we realise we have given them an excuse not to go.  It sounds like they are just starting out performing in front of an audience, nerve-wracking stuff, even when it's just in front of friendly and supportive local folk.  

Our next evening we are welcomed in by Geoff and Susan down on the coast in Fairhaven.   We've been lucky to have another clear day, but it's cold and I realise that I have developed a UTI. I recognise the symptoms from an unforgettable previous occasion.  I really am not comfortable.  Susan almost talks non-stop, in contrast with Geoff who is very quiet, and she tells us, laptop open in front of her, that she has become obsessed with her president in an unhealthy and horrified way.  She used to be a TV news journalist so it's partly understandable.  The dusk light off the sea is mesmerising.  We eat and sleep well.

Cyclists are not permitted on the long bridge over the Rhode Island bay, which is okay by us.  We find a good bike path that leads to Providence and a picnic bench for lunch to shelter out of the rain. I'm worn out when we reach Cindy's appartment, and quite relieved when she explains she has to pop out somewhere but would be back later.  I am not well. Cindy offers to ride with us out of her city in the morning on her recumbent trike.  The city looks good in the morning sun and Cindy zips along the bike paths and leads us out into the countryside before finally stopping to turn around.  For this I am immensely grateful because I'm desperate for a pee and we've not been able to stop while she's been zooming on.  The ride on to Wakefield is happily uneventful and I even manage to find some unpasteurised apple cider vinegar to start self-medicating a home remedy cure. 

zippy Cindy

Ned and Alex

Ned is not home from work when we arrive but we have instructions to put our bikes in the garage and let ourselves in.  I collapse on the bed.  Gayle is in top form for the socialising bit when Ned and his son arrive.  And then Ned's girlfriend joins us for dinner and I am distinctly under par.  I feel awful because they are such lovely people and we only get one shot at making a good impression.  I am a monosyllabic killjoy.  Thankfully Gayle is an expert talker.









We push on towards New London, the port where we can catch a ferry to Long Island.  The best thing is that the cycling is easy, the terrain is benign and we don't have to use any major roads.  As we reach the bay we pass another cyclist coming the other way.  He stops to chat and asks us if there's anything we need.  Well, how do we get onto that bloody big bridge over the bay?  Ray is happy to lead us to the bike path access point.  And is he a doctor by any chance?  No, but there's a walk-in clinic in New London.  Unfortuntely it's Saturday and it's closed at the weekends.  Never mind, at least we have a room in a comfy hostel in the town, close to the port.  It rains all night so this turns out to be a good call.

good grief, they've caught us up

On Sunday morning we take the short ferry to Long Island.  It's not far to Michael's house but the wind is forceful and in our faces.  It's a real slog along lovely country roads.  We pass a strip mall with a typically huge pharmacy.  I go in and try asking at the counter for an antibiotic for my UTI. The guy behind the counter shakes his head no, as I knew he would, and then throws me a lifeline - there's a doctor available right now in that room over there.  I almost kick the door down.  I describe my symptoms and explain to the doctor that I need this antibioic as advised by my own doctor at home.  She nods in agreement to my lie, yes, that's the right antibiotic, but oh dear, she really is sorry, but it's the policy of this pharmacy that she can only treat female patients with UTIs.  I almost faint in frustration.  

Michael, our Warm Showers host, lives in a lonely house in farm country away from the busy main road full of endless strip malls.  We wonder about his quiet life out here when he tells us he is a delivery driver taking stuff into New York city most days.  The hours are long and unsociable - he has to leave early in the morning - and we hope he one day quits and finds a better job.  We leave much later than him, the next morning, and I'm happy to be on the final leg of our dash to Karen's.

on the Cod

all puffed-up with a down jacket on underneath - waiting for the sun to melt the frosting on the tent

We're heading down the coast and it's the second stone-cold day in a row.  At lunch we stop at a strip mall and take refuge out of the wind and in a sun-trap behind the supermarket.  A cleaner comes by picking up the litter and he stops to chew the cud, lamenting all the local 'McMansions' which are still being built when there's no-one left who could afford them or who hasn't got one already. Meanwhile there isn't enough affordable housing.  After this insightful conversation we mush on because we have Warm Showers hosts awaiting.  

The trick is finding the bike path over the bridge to Cape Cod.  We start going on the correct right-hand side but there is no hard-shoulder.  It is only on the final bridge approach we see the pavement on the other side.  Curses.  Once over the bridge it's an easy flat ride to reach the Murphy's house.  Gayle's navigating is impeccable and the light has just begun to fade when we pull up outside.  We are met by Scout and her dad Murphy and led around the back where the horses and dogs live and to where we can put the bikes to bed.  Scout is young but very chatty.  Murphy explains that his wife is working a night shift.  They are both fire-fighters.  She had called to say we were coming because she spotted us on the bridge.  Murphy also whispers sotto voce that he hasn't seen his daughter this chatty.  While he cooks the tea Scout shows us their animals in the paddocks out back and then brings us the book she has written.  Scout didn't do the drawings, "a woman did those", but Scout has made up the story.  It's a children's book.  I feel a pang of envy.

Murphy, Scout and her friend, over breakfast

Later on, chatting about the presidential elections Murphy confesses, sotto voce again, that he voted for Trump. But why?  Well, Bernie Sanders wasn't running and he certainly wasn't voting for Clinton, who "was born with a silver spoon in her mouth".  We feel shocked that a WS host, a vegan WS host no less, could vote Trump - not typical we think.  But we're also shocked that someone who would have voted for a self-proclaimed 'socialist' multi-miilionaire then voted for a nationalist populist multi-millionaire and despised the other candidate for incorrectly assuming she was born with a silver spoon....... Ach!

In the morning Murphy gives us complicated directions to find the way onto the Rail Trail that runs up through the Cape.  After a couple of wrong turns we get to it and then have a really pleasant ride to our next host.  

With the nights starting so early and the temperatures dropping we think it's okay to look for regular Warm Showers hosts and we're especially glad to meet Harrison (Not Ford).  A retired park ranger, Harrison is delaying setting off in his small camper for the winter.  He welcomes us in and we also meet Michael and Natalie, a German couple who have contacted Harrison through Couchsurfing.  Harrison's wooden house is not very big but he's happy to squeeze us in, even giving up his own bed.  We sit and talk after dinner and then Harrison takes out a guitar and serenades us.  He seems to enjoy the really sad songs and the really silly songs.  And then we learn that he has written the really silly songs himself and is heading to an open-mic night tomorrow evening, if we'd like to join him.  We do.
 

I thought Harrison had a nicotine-stained beard but it turned out to be the glass of turmeric he drank every morning

The morning is a bit cold and damp and Harrison offers to drive us up to the main highway to the bus stop.  We want to visit Provincetown, the town at the tip of the Cod.  But we drive on straight past the bus stop while Harrison is chatting away and then we guess his game - he kindly gives us a little guided tour of some of the scenic spots along the shore before dropping us in Provincetown.  On a whim he also decides to do a bit of 'outdoor practice' or busking.  The town is quiet - well out of season - but we have a good wander and before getting the bus back find ourselves in the library.  It's big and airy and the facilities get 4 stars. It would've got 5 except the garden benches were a bit exposed to the elements so we had a breezy picnic.

P-Town architecture (the town is actually very colourful)

The open mic night turns out to be very good, contrary to expectations.  There are clearly a lot of regulars and it's true, most of the people in the bar turned out to be performers, some nervy and new, others accomplished and dull, some confident and brash.  It may seem biased but we really enjoyed Harrison Not Ford's spot the most. His song about a doomed love affiar with a sex doll is topped by Stuffed Bunny Roadkill - a song inspired by a kid's toy found on the side of the road.  He finishes by bringing up a group from one table to help sing The Weight.  He is by far the funniest act, although he is run a close first by the young accordeonist who acrobatically performs some old-time-vaudeville style song (probably from a musical).  Excellent stuff.  We depart in the morning wishing Harrison Not Ford well on his 'tour' in the south and west.

Harrison Not Ford's tour warm-up gig

tea parties and revolution

Trump supporters

On our way to Boston we stop in Rockport and stay with Cathryn and John, old friends of Laina and Keri.  They have a great old wooden house in this funky little fishing village.  The place gets busy with tourists in the summer but now it's autumn there's only a few visitors at weekends.  They show us around their town, take us for a great Italian meal and, the next day, take us to Salem, once a major port but now only remembered for its witch trials. The whole coast here is very pretty and we really enjoy the cycling when we head off south after saying goodbye to yet more super-kind hosts.

John and not-so-shy Cathryn

the light is getting better on clear days

Our plan is to stagger our stay through Boston.  We stop for a night with Warm Showers hosts Ellen and David on the north edge of the metropolis, in the leafy suburbs.  When David opens the door we are surprised to be greeted by an Englishman.  He came here years ago and stayed after landing a job at MIT, a place he hadn't heard of until he came here.  His background is engineering and he's accredited with the advent of the recumbent bicycle, not because he designed it, but because he set up a competition to find the fastest human-powered vehicle, and the recumbent was the winner.  His wife Ellen is a real hoot.  And whilst David has got too old for long-distance cycling, Ellen has recently completed one of the trans-American routes, coast to coast.  She kept a journal sketchbook which is so good we think she should publish it.

with David

Ellen off to church

Our next stop is Boston proper.  We ride through the environs of Harvard and join the other tourists milling around the campus before taking the riverbank into the city.  We are staying with Bob and Norma, although actually Norma is away on her own cycling tour up the Atlantic seaboard and so Bob hosts us in their wonderful old house.  The place is huge, big enough for one of their daughters to live in the lower two floors.  When I ask, Bob explains that the house would have been lived in by two blue-collar families: one owning the whole property and renting out a couple of floors to another family.

We have a great stay here.  Bob is a volunteer tour guide and generously offers to take us around the city centre for the "Revolutionary" tour, featuring the main players and significant locations.  He is very funny and really plays to his audience, emphasising the nasty British imperialists and the rebels who heroically began the revolution.  What's fascinating for us is the realisation that the system of government in the US was drawn up in direct relation to their experience under a despotic British ruler, who only wanted to profit financially and did nothing for the ordinary folk.  Ahh, and what an irony.  Trump's shadow looms large.

Norma and Bob

The city feels almost British - a sprawl of a place built with red brick in an organic, random way.  No grid here. We enjoy exploring, crossing the bay to visit another neighbourhood.  We are grateful to Bob and Norma for letting us stay longer in order to explore.  The Boston Museum of Fine Arts is so impressive we visit twice.   By the time we depart the temperatures have plummeted and our first night in the tent for a while turns out to be a sub-freezing night.

the tea party harbour

calm before the storm

From Keene we head over towards Peterborough where we spend a week at Vanessa's house.  We've rented a room through Airbnb and she is used to people coming for the weekend, not the week and slightly bemused by us at first.  But we are happy to take a pause, work out an onward route, do some bike maintenance and just rest.  Our last night before here in our tent in the woods was to the sound of coyotes.  It was an eerie sound. 

Vanessa

We get on well with our host and we really like the small town.  Vanessa invites us to join her and her daughter one evening to eat at a local bar and then on to the little local cinema for a film.  We know this is not typical of Airbnb hosts - Vanessa is very generous. 




















Our ride westwards to the coast takes us through myriad little roads where we almost get lost.  We finally make it to Linda's in the rain.  Linda has forgotten that she accepted our Warm Showers request to stay a night and at first we wished we hadn't bothered.  Linda has family and friends over and 'parks' us in a basement room, as if we are the drug-addled children of an illegitimate half-brother.  The feeling of rejection soon passes once Linda is free to talk to us and we are so grateful for that basement bedroom in the night when a huge storm passes over.

Salisbury beach

It's still rainy on and off the next day as we ride through Manchester and out along back roads littered with fallen branches.  It must've been very windy last night.  We are due to stay with Matthew in Salisbury for a couple of nights but his late shift means he'll leave the key at the lodge in front of the appartment block.  Just before we get there we are waved down by a woman in a car.  "Are you Gayle and John?"  Oh, how strange.  But not once she explains that Matthew has rung her to ask if she can meet two friends coming to stay.  Monica lives on the floor below with her son Ian and their manic dog.  She tells us that the power is still down from the storm last night and she and Ian were going to cross the state line just north to get something to eat. She invites us to join them.  We've arrived in Massachusetts, but over in New Hampshire they have power.  

with Ian and Monica

 We leave all our stuff in Monica and Ian's appartment and, after walking their dog on the beach, head out to a Five Guys for burgers and chips. Oh such welcome fast food.  And as we munch away Monica asks "So how do you know Matthew?" and there's a long pause.  We don't.  And we explain about Warm Showers.  Monica takes it all remarkably in her stride.  Back at the appartment all is in darkness.  And there's a chill.  Hallowe'en is cancelled.  School might be closed again.  Everything is stopped without electricity.  Instead we chatter away with Ian, who is very sociable, and Monica, who tells us that she's from near to Belo Horizonte in Brasil.  Matthew arrives later and takes us to his flat where we meet his big and tranquil dog.  

Matthew

peace, love and hamburgers

We sleep on the lounge floor and I awake to warm breath on my face.  Not good breath, smelly breath.  I wonder why Matthew hasn't spoken and open my eyes to find his dog staring placidly at me.  Matthew is full of beans and talks and talks.  He works at a Boston hospital and is a serious photographer on the side.  After a day looking around Newburyport we meet up with Matthew, Monica and Ian in the evening. Perversely Salisbury remains without power, an off-grid island.  Matthew encourages us to stay another night and takes us all out for a fish supper in a little clam-chowder hut down the coast.  We really are lucky to share these experiences.