Biking the East Coast Greenway

Today was supposed to be our day of relaxation on the Cape. Vacation day. Which turned into a seven mile (best guess), Lawrence-of-Massachusetts, slog on foot across the endless sand dunes of the National Seashore, sans camel support, plus swarms of mosquitoes.  Bill was not happy, bordering on "I may never see my family again" worries. I could see it in his face. "There's a trail just west of the campground," said neighbor Mark of last-night. "Takes you right to the dunes, where you get a spectacular view of the entire shore." "And from there you can follow the beach right around to Provincetown," added Shoshanna. "Sounds good, let's do it!" Bill and I agreed. Note to readers: Never listen to Mark and Shoshanna, no matter how much free chili they ply you with. We thought we found the  trail, which led to somebody's backyard after passing through the National Mosquito Reserve, then we were sure we found the trail...

Note: This post is for Thursday, September 16. I will upload photos when I have internet. We knew rain was in the forecast, and had packed up the bicycles last night in preparation. The plan was to wake up, tear the camp down, and head to breakfast, four miles up the trail. We waited patiently for a lull in the action, dismantled our sodden tents as quickly as possible, said goodbye to the Mainers, and headed out. At the park office, a staff member leaned out the door as we pulled up. "You riding today? the lady asked. "Yup, unfortunately, we are." " Well you better hurry. There's a big thunderstorm coming and it's just right over there." She pointed at some dark grey clouds to the west. A rumble of thunder echoed overhead. "There's a bridge you can hide under not too far from here if you get in trouble. Good luck and be safe!". That was pretty much all I needed to hear to suddenly be endowed with a set of fresh legs. Bill and I took of...

Note: This entry is for Wednesday, September 15. An eastern screech owl is trilling outside my tent, 5:30 am. Will upload photos when I get an Internet connection.  Note 2: Currently sheltering in a coffee shop as a severe thunderstorm rolls through. Doing our best to support the local economy via cinnamon rolls and chocolate croissants. To be told that some sixteen or twenty thousand years ago Cape Cod was the terminus of one of the great ice sheets that covered North America is an interesting fact, but to traverse it on bike is to experience it first hand. All around you is nothing but massive sand and gravel, sculpted  into ridges that turned our ride into a kiddie rollercoaster of ups and downs. If you let her fly going down, you just about made it to the top of the next one. Erratic boulders the size of your garage sat here and there like sentries; smaller blocks of pink and white granite attested to just how far this material had been moved, scraped off the plutons of N...

  Note: This post is for Tuesday, September 14. I'm going to make this quick - trying to get caught up. Currently lounging in a tent listening to the wind blow. Storm coming... We'll be riding in it tomorrow. I will upload photos when I have an Internet connection, hopefully in Provincetown. I had been dreading this day since I first planned it. Lots of road riding, with no shoulders, and some stiff hills. Bill tried to boost my mood by suggesting that the good folks at ECG knew the best routes, and it turned out he was right. The roads were tight, but traffic was light to non-existent, and we were mentally ready for the hills. It wasn't so bad after all. Our last hard day before "vacation" starts, we joked  Our first port of call was Fall River, where we cruised along the waterfront and gawked at their collection of mothballed naval vessels. It's places like this where I wish I had the time to stop and read every sign, visit every exhibit, but the...

Note: This post is for Monday, September 13. I woke early this morning to a pair of long-eared owls arguing back and forth about “who-who-who cooks-for-you.“  Spent some time writing in the tent, waiting for sun up, and trying to figure out how far we’ve come, and what’s left. Six days in, and I think we’re closing in around 400 miles.  The wear is showing.  Our bikes are covered in mud and sand; every nut and bolt seems loose, jarred free by the constant pounding. Our hands are  numb, we can barely sit on the seats, and we make just getting on the bikes sound like Olympic wrestling. I’m beginning to see the attraction of cruise-ship vacationing, let’s put it that way. Bill and I broke camp quickly, considering neither one of us can remember what bag holds what gear.  After that,  just  another 65 mile day.  They’re starting to blend together. The first 30 miles found us grinding across the punishing hills of the Appalachian Piedmont, where th...