With a new Zero Gravity board already waiting for us in Boston and nearly two weeks already spent in Maine, a bought of responsibility overtook us and we decided we needed to get on down the road.
To They That Go Down With The Sea.
Down the road put us right in the Perfect Storm. Gloucester, Massachusetts; only thankfully on the day of our visit the weather was gorgeous and not at all threatening. Apparently a popular tourist town, Gloucester streets were filled with sun lovers who had come to stroll the sidewalks and boardwalks and streets of this historic fishing village. We biked the entire length of the town, and into neighboring Rockport. Sailing and fishing vessels dotted the bay, a schooner glided in from her afternoon cruise, lighthouses in the distance began their pulsing caveat. Dusk was not far behind us.
Look familiar?
We pedaled over to the Cafe Seven Seas and settled into a booth in the enclosed patio area. Our seat was front row to a trio of swordfishing boats at dock. The ceiling was hung with lobster trap bouys and retired nets. Francis, looking like he'd rather shoot us than serve us, came over with a couple glasses of water and a frown.
"How are you today?" I asked him. "Besides absolutely loving your job?"
Looking twice, he cracked a smile. From then on he was our good buddy, even though we weren't up to the fancy cuisine that was offered on the menu. We were feeling not-quite-that-hungry-but-interested-in-some-local-flavor. I had a clam chowder craving, too. So we ordered steamer clams.
When the bucket arrived, we told Francis we need a lesson. He laughed at us, first, but then scooted into the booth and gave a quick demonstration, which went something like this:
- Pick up a clam and remove squishy contents from the shell.
- Locate the neck (yeah right, like clams have necks).
- Remove the rubber casing from the neck.
- Dip remaining squishy contents into hot lemon water to rinse.
- Dip into hot drawn butter.
- Put into mouth and try not to make a face cause they taste (and smell) terrible.
Aryn, not overly enthused about clams.
We decided to head into Boston the next day, just after the morning traffic had reached it's destinations and left the highways semi-clear. We had to go to Logan International to get the board, and we were going to try to stay at the airport, since there was just no such thing as a campground in Boston. I called ahead to Continental Cargo to get directions, which the lady kindly gave.
They seemed clear enough, and we followed them diligently with rising hopes and diminishing driving fears. That is, until we found ourselves in the fourth lane of the toll booths at the entrance to the Sumner Tunnel and the toll booth attendant held up both his hands and stepped out of his booth, shaking his head with great sorrow. It was at this point that we realized our directions were great, except that they were from the south, not the north. Minor detail.
"OK, here's what you've got to do," the toll boothier said sadly. "Massachusetts state law doesn't allow any RVs in any tunnels. It's the propane, see. So back up, I'll help you, then cross those three lanes and make your first left. Make another left, and then a sharper left, and you'll end up right back here facing the other direction. Head up the road on the right, and don't get into the tunnel lane."
So, amidst heavy Boston traffic six lanes across, we backed up trailer and camper and then cut across three lanes and inched down a street crowded with parked vehicles on both sides. It was a two-way road made into a single lane by an immobile vehicle border. Just short of a miracle, we made it around the multiple lefts and out to where we needed to be.
With a great reception by the Continental cargo crew, we picked up the board and a bit of help with the parking situation. We made our way carefully out to Satellite Parking Lot One, where we were greeted by an attendant who gave us a special spot and hoped we enjoyed our stay. Boston reception was great so far!
Aryn underground.
Parked and settled, we hopped on the airport bus connections to get to the T, the oldest subway system in the United States. Basically foreign concepts as a day-to-day fixture for us, we loved taking the T. We cruised under the bay over to downtown, got off at the first stop per recommendation from the shuttle driver, and walked up by Quincy Market. There was a live swing band playing outside in the plaza, excellent restaurants lining each street, and street performers drawing huge crowds at either end of the market. We even picked up a great book at the Discovery Store: "The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook." Now we've got a quick reference guide for how to escape from quicksand, wrestle an alligator, maneuver on top of a train, and other rare and unusual, albeit potential life-saving, techniques. We explored until about 10:30, and then headed back to our campground at the airport.
Yo Chang rocking out at the T.
Waiting for the T, there was a young man who had drug quite a bit of electronic equipment down to the depths of the subway. He had a mike, synthesizer and an amp-in-a-can set up, and he was performing an Ani Defranco song when we descended the stairs. Shy from the few claps of applause he received, he announced his name was Yo Chang. We think he was a Harvard student who moonlighted as a musician, which was what he really wanted to be anyway. He then went into an impassioned Tori Amos song, convulsing over the keyboard in an effort to transfer the emotion this song apparently evoked in him into the unresponsive plastic keys. The train came in the middle of his rendition, so we missed the grand finale. But he was definitely INTO it. Good luck, Yo.
