1 Massachusetts--MP153-MP79

I have to go back in time to the beginning of this adventure. August 10, 2013. Ten months ago. I told you a story. When I was just a little boy, my address was RR2, Mishawaka, IN. That's it. It's an address, but it isn't a location. So I was always taught that I lived eight-tenths of a mile north of US 20 on Elder Road. That was a location. Every day--going to church, to school, delivering newspapers, getting groceries, or having a root beer at the Dog & Suds--I crossed US 20. And every time I crossed it, I wondered where it went.

This week, I reached the Eastern-most terminus of my current travels in Boston, MA. My tiny hotel room was just two blocks from Boston Common. I took a walk to find the beginning of US 20.

It begins there, under that historic landmark CITGO sign that can be seen over the outfield wall at Fenway Park. And I'm going to follow it.

Of course, I had to explore around Boston Common a while first. The Common and the Boston Public Garden are impressive. Perhaps even more for the number of people who use the open area as for the beauty of the spot itself. I made my way east to the Park Street Church.

It's presided over the east end of the Common for nearly four hundred years but its claim to fame is sheltering the Old Granary Burial Ground where Paul Revere, John Hancock, Samuel Adams, and Crispus Attucks, among a who's who of the Revolutionary War are buried.

I walked all the way west to the end of the Commonwealth Mall and then looped around to Newbury Avenue to go back East. Among other things, I probably saw more beautiful young women, artfully displayed, than on all the beaches in Florida. After dinner at Legal Seafood, (probably my last Atlantic seafood meal for a while) I crashed to get ready for the big adventure on Sunday morning.

By ten o'clock, I was on the road and at mile 153 in Massachusetts of US 20 heading West. All even numbered US Highways run West to East, so the first number you encounter in a state when westbound is the total number of miles the highway runs through that state. You count down to 0 as you head west. US 20 is the longest numbered highway in the United States at 3,365 miles. I plan to travel all of them this summer, and to find out what else is just eight-tenths of a mile off the highway. The first thing that I encountered, of course--and a blessing at ten-thirty on Sunday morning--was Starbucks at Boston University within the first mile of the journey.

The baristas wanted to know if I was going to stop at every Starbucks along the highway. Do I look rich? I counted four in the first twenty miles, but none thereafter. I did think for a few miles that every town in Massachusetts started with a W as I went through Watertown, Waverly, Waltham, Weston, and Wayland before I got to Sudbury. I think I crossed "South St." twenty times in the course of the day's journey. I wanted a local place that looked popular for my late-breakfast/lunch and found Britney's Café in Northboro where I had an Italian frittata omelet. It was yummy!

At mile 79, about half way across the state, I left US 20 in Palmer, MA to go back northeast to the campground where my trailer is parked near Barre. Tomorrow morning, I will resume the trek at that point headed for New York and my next break at Albany.

I'll be taking my time along this route and don't expect to get to the end before the last of August. Hope you'll be with me on this long-sought journey!

Why I didn't go to New York City

There are lots of reasons not to go to New York City towing a travel trailer behind a pickup truck. It's a city. Parking would be impossible. I've been there before. You name it. The truth is something quite different.

I intentionally bypassed NYC because I did not want to go see the 9/11 Memorial.

And why else go to NYC?

I have a basic and very politically incorrect view of the Memorial and the reason it is there. I have nothing against remembering loved ones who have passed. Heaven knows that I've been in enough cemeteries lately. But the 9/11 Memorial is much more than a cemetery for people who were murdered in 2001. What is it that we remember about 9/11? Most of us are not related to anyone who died that day. In fact, we have lumped the Firefighter killed attempting to rescue one more person with the husband telling his wife he loved her and the broker attempting to close one more deal before he had to leave his office. There was a cross-section of America in those towers. As many people who we would think of as evil as those we would think of as sainted.

What we really keep alive is our hatred--our villainization of individuals, nations, and religions. We keep alive the memory of what those . . . bastards . . . did to us. And with that memory, we keep our suspicions, our distrust, and our hate alive and fueled.

It would be better if we forgot it.

Can we do that? I doubt it. We might have been able to in a generation or two, but we have assured ourselves that future generations will remember the infamy of that day. I remember distinctly joining the crowd around the television at the Pro Sports Club that morning as people watched in disbelief. We watched as the first tower fell, knowing the second would soon follow. I remember calling my wife and telling her to bring our daughter home from the skating rink and that we'd been attacked. We had no idea yet by whom. These memories are still fresh in my mind. I do not need to be reminded. I need to be healed.

I need to forget.

Connecticut and Rhode Island

There is a simple word to describe both of these states: beautiful. I can honestly say that I have not seen a single road (I don’t do Interstates) that has gone a full mile without a curve. The roads go around lakes, ponds, inlets, mountains, and some dude’s farm that’s been there since 1620. Speed limits are 25 to 35 miles per hour. I sometimes have to pull to the side as far as I can to wait for an oncoming vehicle to cross the bridge ahead of me. And to top it all off, Maggie—my Magellan GPS—twice tried to route me on roads that were one-lane dirt tracks over a mountain. I had to back the trailer up to turn around. Bad GPS!

And it rained. Steadily, sometimes intensely.

I didn’t let that hold me back, though. The first thing I did was head to Groton to see The Nautilus. Our country’s first nuclear powered submarine (1954) was named after the famous submarine in Jules Verne’s classic, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. The tour of the sub is extremely interesting and the narration on the audio guide was easy to follow. I’m still not sure how they managed to get a one-way passage to loop through all the decks and areas of the sub and not cross itself. I have to say, though, the head was smaller than what I have in the trailer. The museum is also fascinating.

 

When I left I headed east through Mystic. I stopped at Mystic Seaport, but I decided that $24 to get in and wander around in the rain wasn’t a good investment. So I continued east into Rhode Island. I did the same kind of hundred mile loop that I’d done along the beaches of Maryland and Delaware sticking to US Hwy 1 and 1A to Narragansett and then north along the shore to North Kingstown. From there I headed west cross-country back to my base in Old Mystic. It wasn’t a long trip in miles, though I was gone for several hours and saw beautiful countryside. It never really stopped raining until late in the evening.

The next morning, Friday, I was headed north to Massachusetts and decided that since I was just six miles from the Foxwoods Casino and resort, I’d stop there for breakfast. First, I headed out on Lantern Hill Road which is not recommended for large vehicles. Pulling the trailer along the narrow and winding reservation road at 25 miles per hour wasn’t really a problem, though I wondered at times if the trees that leaned into the road could clip the top edge. I was so fascinated by the trail that instead of turning toward Foxwoods, I continued straight on Pequot Trail and discovered the Mashentucket Pequot Museum and Research Center. I figured I was there, so I should look around. Unbelievable. If you ever get to this part of Connecticut, forget about the casino and spend a few hours in this museum.

Side note: When I was a kid, I had two favorite museums. They were both in Chicago. The Museum of Science and Industry and the Field Museum of Natural History. The Museum of Science and Industry had all kinds of things to do and demonstrations. I can close my eyes and still see the lightning strike they simulated. The Field Museum, though, was amazing. First, it had audio tours. They issued a radio and you walked along as a narrator told you what you were seeing. And what you were seeing were detailed displays depicting everything from the ice age to modern times. If you've ever seen the movie Night at the Museum, you've seen the kind of displays I'm talking about. For over fifty years, the Field Museum has been the standard of what I think a real museum should be like. No more.

 

Had I had an inkling of what was here, I would have spent the previous day instead of making my 100 mile loop. I started at the top of the tower and looked out at the resort where I thought I was going. This is a single observation deck about twelve feet square with a total capacity of 18 people at a time. Looking the other way, way down in the corner, you can see my little rig in the parking lot.

I did not take pictures in the museum, though it’s permitted. It was simply too overwhelming. I spent nearly three hours there including lunch and could have continued another three easily if I weren’t committed to a campsite eighty miles away. So instead, I’ve included a link to this video. The Pequot Village exhibit was so fascinating that I probably could have spent all day in it. The figures were molded based on native people from across the U.S. and were so realistic I expected them to start talking.

Maggie, the GPS, struck again when she attempted to route me through the Lake of Isles Golf Course and over the mountain. In just the truck I would have been fine, but I didn’t see any possibility of towing the trailer over that one-lane dirt road that kept disappearing on the GPS. I know it would be possible, but not without a guide. That wasn’t the only time that day that Maggie would try to take me on an abandoned road.

The other time, though, was in Massachusetts.

Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey

Sounds like a rock band tour schedule, but was actually several relaxing days. Got to College Park, MD on Tuesday afternoon the 27^th and set up camp. Sister-in-law Laurie came over to see my rig and brought me my mail forwarded from Michele in Seattle. A few things that made me smile and some that I needed to take care of. Laurie and I had a great dinner at a Chinese buffet with more variety on it than any I’d ever seen. The food was great and reasonably inexpensive.

Wednesday, Laurie picked me up and we went to Baltimore. I’d only been there once thirty years ago and that was for work so I didn’t see much. Otherwise, I’ve flown in and out of the airport on occasion, but missed anything interesting. This time I really got to see some of the cool old buildings and head up to Federal Hill. And how could you visit without going to Poe's grave? The views were great and some of the artwork we could see was a little whimsical. We went into the old part of the city down a street that was only a car wide and finally got to our late lunch spot. I’m sure everyone has to try this place and I’ll add my vote. Eat Bertha’s Mussels. Bertha’s Café was great. The food—I had crab cakes and Laurie had mussels—was outstanding. Our waitress had a marvelous attitude, brought us four different beers to sample, and then served us the two we chose, then made sure I had the other two “to go.” That is in cans to put in the fridge. It was a great day!

 

Thursday was my day to sightsee in Washington DC. Not. It rained hard all day Thursday with thunder and lightning that sounded like it was inside the trailer on Wednesday night. I’ve been to DC a number of times and didn’t feel like my trip was ruined when I decided to stay in and write instead of sightsee.

Friday I moved my camp to Delaware, a state I’ve never visited before. I had a great campsite at the Trap Pond State Park for the weekend. Friendly neighbors, wonderful smell of woodsmoke in the air. Truly relaxing weekend. I did some writing and some exploring.

Saturday, I went to find a piece I needed to fix my ever-problematic plumbing in the trailer. While I was out, I inadvertently crossed back into Maryland to the south and saw a sign that pointed to “the beaches.” I figured, why not? I turned east and my hour errand turned into a hundred mile loop as I went to Ocean City and explored the Boardwalk. I turned and headed north along the shore before looping back several hours later to my campsite. What a great, unexpected little journey.

Sunday I did a little hiking and just relaxed with a book. I picked up a bumper sticker that now rides on the trailer. It says, “I took the road less traveled. Now where the hell am I?”

Monday I drove north through central Delaware and was impressed again by the beauty of these eastern states. I know that at one time my opinion of the East was all based on visits to cities. Driving through Delaware and New Jersey left me marveling at the amount of rural beauty I could see. In general, the roads are narrower and they wind around a lot. There are frequent small towns, but much less of the strip mall sprawl that I saw in the West and South. Pretty cool. This is the Morgan Oak at Princeton Battleground.

Monday night, I bought a stack of firewood and decided to have my own little fire, forgetting that I had no kindling and no paper. I managed to solve my firestarter problem with a ball of hemp twine. It lit and burned and eventually, I managed to get my fire gently roaring.

Tuesday, I continued north, cleverly weaving my way between Philadelphia and NYC and not touching either. That took me through Princeton and past several battlefields from the revolution. Again, New Jersey strikes me as more rural than urban. I touched Pennsylvania for half an hour before winding my way into New York and finding my campground near Mountaindale in the Catskills. Just barely got this photo of the sunset before it disappeared.

Next, into Connecticut.