Roadtrip: Part II (To Boston, with love)

Surviving to this point of my summer is a huge accomplishment for me. I've never had four weddings, all in a row. It's like getting hit by a wave, having just enough time to catch your breath, then getting hit by another one. Sure, it's fun swimming in the ocean, much like attending weddings can be fun; but it can get exhausting. Since I had a full six weeks between the August and September weddings, I decided to take a trip for a little rest, recovery, and relaxation. It had been a long while since I'd been up the beltway, so I decided it was north on 95 for me!

As a 17-year-old, I made my first trip to Boston. The vibe was something that resonated within my adolescent soul, from Quincy Markets, to Fenway, to the bay (love that dirty water.) I remember passing a building with the words "Harvard Law" chiseled in the side and thinking: "Yes. I will go there." Wandering around the city, I could feel the history that lives there buzzing out of every alley. The strange accents that created words like "pahty", "cah", "Hahvahd", and conversations that included the word "wicked" at least once in every chat totally charmed me. I had a crush. I even picked the Red Sox as my postseason team. (Because you need a backup when your hometown team happens to be the Pittsburgh Pirates.) I vowed to return as an adult to live there happily ever after. (This was obviously before I had any concept of a little thing called "cost of living.")

Finally, ten years later, I pulled out a map to make my triumphant return. Could Boston be done on a budget? I recently learned about this great little site called "airbnb." Basically, you stay with people at their homes. I wasn't convinced, but as I searched in and around the Boston area, I found a charming place in Concord, complete with a poodle mix. If I'm being honest, the poodle mix is what clinched the deal. Concord is about 30 minutes outside the city, and if you know your history, you'll recognize it as one of the sites of the first battles of the American Revolution. It was close enough to Boston for me to visit, yet far enough away that I did not feel like I was close to a city at all. My hosts were amazing. The house was everything the photos said it would be, and their poodle mix quickly ingratiated himself to me. I spent many quiet evenings with him by my side. The house where I stayed was within walking distance to several local sites including the Old North Bridge (Battle of Concord), Sleepy Hollow Cemetery (final resting place of several American authors), and Walden Pond (made famous by Thoreau's book of similar name.) Also local were Orchard House, home of Louisa May Alcott, and Ralph Waldo Emerson's house (his family seemed to own half of Concord.) 

I think the best thing for me about the trip was that I had nothing I had to do. There was no agenda. No checking my watch. I made plans to meet up with a DC friend in nearby Lexington (thus completing my Revolutionary America tour) and had tentative plans to visit another college friend to do lunch on the Cape. I drove around, soaking in the old churches and houses. It sounds hokey, but it warmed a spot in my soul. 

Boston was there and I kinda sorta was maybe going to stop by, but I was falling for Concord. If Boston is an old crush--that popular guy who was friendly, but too busy keeping everyone else happy to notice you much--then Concord is that guy's good friend. Maybe not as big and strong, not as fashionable, a little quieter, but more attentive. More character. And while you may have been crushing on Boston, you're falling in love with Concord. 

One thing I hate about New England though is its affinity for traffic circles. I was delighted to find a Trader Joe's a mere two miles from where I was staying. The bad news? I had to navigate a traffic circle to get there. And it's not the cutesy, small down traffic circle--it's a larger, fast-moving, whirling dervish of death. I may or may not have closed my eyes when I entered. I made it to Trader Joe's okay, but on my way back to the house, I heard sirens just as I encountered the traffic circle. In my hurry to clear the way, I exited the circle at the wrong spoke. I had my GPS so I knew I'd find my way back eventually, but I decided to follow the road for a bit. I had no place to be, after all. I entered a small town called Sudbury, where I found a Starbucks, a sports store, and an interesting collection of painted tires that resembled Captain America's shield. 

The next day, I was up early to get ready for my ride over to Lexington. One of my DC neighbors and I were meeting to catch up. Lexington had a weird traffic situation, but I'll give them the benefit of the doubt and blame it on construction. My friend and I parked, grabbed some coffee, and trekked to Lexington green. If I understood the history correctly, we picnicked with her son where the Lexington militia assembled to whoop up on the British. It was great catching up. After chilling on the green for a while, we wandered around a bit then said goodbye. It's nice to have those people that you can catch up with even if you haven't seen each other in five plus years. Upon my return to Concord, I fought with my GPS until I finally figured out where Walden Pond was.  I parked and grabbed my camera, surrounded by families in varies stages of dress (or undress) heading to the beach. I paused by a shack that was, in actuality, a replica of Thoreau's cabin. There was a woodstove, a bed, a small table, and a trunk. Thoreau's deal was wanting to get back to nature in its purest form (it's a Transcendental thing) so off to a cabin near Walden Pond he went. I debated hiking around the pond because I was wearing flip flops, but I knew I'd lose daylight if I rerouted to get shoes. I didn't know what the weather would be like the next day and I didn't want to miss my chance to hike around Walden Pond, so off I went! The beach area reminded me a bit of R.B. Winter State Park, aka Halfway Dam; a small beach area near where I grew up. I followed signs that read "To Thoreau's Cabin" and passed several pockets of swimmers along the way. Further from shore, I could see the serious swimmers taking the length of the pond. The trail kept the pond in sight for its circumference and was an easy walk. I veered off to check out the pile of rubble where Thoreau's cabin once stood. There's also a small plaque from where the woodshed was. (Important woodshed, I suppose.) I feel like no matter how many words I express about it, I can't do it justice. It was just a pond, but the aura of it was all-encompassing. I was once again wrapped in an overwhelming sense of relaxation. I'd never guess Boston, with all its bustle, was a half hour away on a four-lane highway full of Massholes. 

For my last full day in the area, I visited an old college neighbor. She and her husband had recently returned to the Boston area for his job. She was freelancing and hanging out with their new daughter. It just so happens her brother-in-law runs a restaurant on the Cape; and why not hit up the Cape while I was in the area?! The day dawned rainy, but by the time I made the hour-long drive East, things had cleared up. We loaded mother and baby and further East we went! For the record, if you're ever on the Cape, be sure to stop at The Lobster Trap. Cute place with delicious clam chowder (chowda.) Due to traffic congestion, we took the scenic route back to my friend's place, taking a side trip to her church. The building itself has been around since the 1800s, but its founding goes farther back than that. The congregation was founded by the grandson of a pilgrim. I commented on how bizarre that was to me, tracing roots back to a pilgrim, to which she replied she was able to trace her roots back to the Mayflower. So weird to me. (The bulk of my family didn't arrive in America until after 1900.) We wandered around the sanctuary and she shared her funny childhood memories of the place. In the lobby area, there was the headstone of the church's founder, as well as an impressive lineup of the past rectors. The dude from the 70s had a nice 'stache, but  Pastor Muttonchops from circa 1875 was pretty spectacular. After hugs goodbye, I thought I'd check out the pilgrim history in the area and headed to Plymouth to see Plymouth Rock. They (the NPS) keep it under a portico in a cage. I guess souvenir hunters have been chipping away at it for centuries so that's how they keep it safe. Aside from the Rock, there wasn't much to see in Plymouth. There's a Mayflower replica in the harbor. After seeing it, I decided I might have lived with religious persecution rather than face the Atlantic in that itty bitty ole thing. Sheesh. I will say the coastline was everything I think of when I think of New England coastal towns; and once again, I got that feeling that's so rare these days: relaxation. 

That night, a storm rolled through. I tried to organize my thoughts as I packed, wondering why I hadn't written a word while in New England. I anticipated epic writing sessions, but instead greeted the pillow each night with no thoughts to put to paper. Thinking on this, I was surprised when the poodle mix followed me into the room and laid down to watch me pack. I was tempted to stuff him in my bag and bring him home. So lovable. 

And then the morning dawned and it was time to hit the road. I was surprised to receive a hug from my host, but it was such a great stay I didn't mind it. I got on the road late enough in rush hour to miss the congestion. My plan was to drive about halfway, stay with the parents of the bride I was just in, then finish the trip the next day. Somewhere in CT, I heard a rock hit my windshield and knew it wouldn't be good. In New York, I hit the Hudson Valley, saw a sign for West Point and thought "Why not?" So I took a side trip to check out the United States Military Academy. I was hoping for some breathtaking views but had to settle for the museum and gift shop. There are tours, but I didn't have 2 hours to spend, so after wandering around and snapping a few pictures, I hopped back in my car. I think I passed the entrance to every practice range West Point has, and also saw a baby black bear. A fun side trip, but by the time I rolled in for the night, I was exhausted. However, as so often happens with good friends, you some how find the energy to visit and share a few laughs. I feel so lucky to have these folks still in my life. The mother of the bride and I had a great time chatting about various vacations, her time in Hawaii, reminiscing about once upon a time when I lived there. 

It's always so hard to end trips like these. Because they afford you a chance to get away and forget life for a while. Returning to reality is always a bit of a bummer. But c'est la vie. One more wedding and onto the next adventure!!