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.
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.
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.
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 |
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.
