Atlantic Crossings

It was a great 10 days in the Berkshires. We’d made it for the birthday and a week later greeted all for the family reunion. The days blended into each other with walks around the lake or deep into the woods. A visit to Norman Rockwell's Stockbridge got us into the Christmas mood early. It was cold but the skies were clear and the early morning frost made the grass glitter over steaming mugs of coffee.

After the party we joined the dearly departed and headed to Hartford, CT and caught a flight to Dublin. It wasn’t raining when we landed but it certainly was pouring by the time we arrived home. That’s Ireland for you. Still….we did get some dry days. It was cold but the warmth of family more than made up for it. Fran also attended his 40th school reunion, his first, and last. The general consensus was: he didn’t like skool then and he doesn’t like it any more now. So that’s it for another four decades.

We arrived back just after Thanksgiving. I suppose that means that 2016 was our last celebrated Turkey Day. Pity we didn’t know it at the time. We picked-up the bike and headed off into the wild blue yonder. Weird…..we’d been off the road for over 3 weeks. You kind of put down roots without meaning to. We were a bit heavier setting-off what with all the Irish chocolate on board (both inside and out). Our first big stop was Mt. Laurel NJ where I said hello (and goodbye) to my old work colleagues. The New Jersey towns were pretty (there IS a reason they call it the Garden State), but dots on the map also meant endless traffic lights which made for a very busy and extended journey. Driving through Trenton was very, very sad. There’s more than one America out there. Being in the northeast made us realize just how unused to crowds we’d got. It’s a bit like wandering in the desert for months and suddenly finding yourself in the middle of a colorful but chaotic souk.

We drove into Philadelphia on the morning of the Rugby International. We got lost about a mile from Rittenhouse Square but made it in time to see the final minutes. ‘Couldn’t believe it but the first building we inquired at was the right one. Jim, on duty in the lobby, looked quite skeptical when Fran rang the doorbell, in full black bike gear, but I guess certain brothers-in-law carry a certain weight and from there on in we were treated like royalty. What a blissful sojourn. The hustle and bustle of downtown was sophisticated and energizing after months in rural America and the quiet interior of the apartment, wafting waves of choral music of a Sunday morning, soothed like a healing balm. After a long weekend of sidewalk cafes, the Barnes Foundation, Mozart and the Philadelphia Orchestra and the University’s Italian Film Festival, I could have stayed forever. Pass the Prosecco please….

Ferry Tale

All good things come to an end. We left for the South. Hey…..we survived the winter! It can only get better now. From the heart of the City of Brotherly Love to the dunes of Ocean City, Maryland. We had decided on the coastal route to bypass the madness of DC and ended up on the ferry from Cape May, New Jersey to Port Lewes, Maryland. We were first on board. What a peaceful hour and a half, gliding through the calm waters, suspended in time with nothing to do except gaze out at the pale blue horizon The boat was almost empty, just a few kindly souls who smiled when they saw we were with that funny little bike parked at the bow. Then off we bumped into the orange sunset and Hwy. 1. All the way down we were surrounded by water with the ocean on our left and the back bay to our right. Next morning we walked the empty beach and dipped our boots in the Atlantic. The coastline continued for miles with empty monoliths of hotels and closed souvenir shops. Huge bridges spanning the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay carried us over the water. One minute we were flying high, the next, plunged into darkness before being spat out the other end of a long tunnel. And just when you thought it was over, it started again.

Oh how good it is to be back in the wide open spaces, even if we were being charged a toll for the privilege.