Edgartown, Martha's Vineyard
So I guess this blog is about the road less pedaled. It's a path-side view of my transition from bike as hobby to bike as primary mode of transport. This story begins on Martha's Vineyard, an island off the coast of Massachusetts.
On a blistering hot Tuesday morning in early July, I managed to bring the kids back from the dead - apparently - pack them up, load four bikes onto my GL450 and head off to Cape Cod. There we left the SUV in an open lot, bought ferry tickets - for people and bikes - and boarded the Island Queen. It was exciting in every way!
Somehow I managed to get kids who are a delight to travel with; patient, intuitive, easily entertained and at ease in unfamiliar surroundings. We needed only one stop on the journey into deeper New England, and that was for me, for a desperate 'comfort' stop that turned out to be not so comfortable with my initial target having toilets under construction :-( In a desperate search for spot number two, no pun intended, I became hopelessly blank minded and in just a three block stretch, the children figured out that they could ask me anything and I would respond, "uh, ya, ok." I think I agreed to give them each $1M. When we arrived at a trusty McDonald's all I remember is shouting, "Everyone freeze!" as I rushed inside, ironically letting in heaps of 100F air through the door I left hanging open. When I returned I experienced my first ever post-poo standing ovation, and life began again.
Eventually our happy bikes found their way into the racks on the boat, so we let them bond as we sought breezy relief on the open deck above. 35 minutes later we pulled into Oak Bluffs, and zoomed off to find The Madison Inn. As always, someone asked me for directions first, and even tho I had only been on the island for about 90 seconds, I had studied the street, topographical, and satellite maps the week prior so knew where they needed to go.
We dashed to our room to catch the World Cup semi-final, only to find the AC was not functioning. One room change later, the kids were joyfully planted in front of the flat screen and I ventured out to see where I might find the game AND a pint. To my utter delight, the town was filled with soccer fans! We had 20 somethings hollering for Uruguay at the Offshore Ale Co, dads rooting for the Netherlands at the Island House Restaurant and just rowdy ol' mixed salad crowd at Sharkey's Cantina. I was hankering for some proper nachos (because I'm ALWAYS hankering for nachos) from the Mexi-bar, but I retrieved the kids at halftime and they opted for the Island House instead, since they wanted to be among other Dutch supporters. Always a delight to catch an exciting game at the pub.
After a wander and a nap we decided to check out the beach. We had been asked to lock our bikes into the hotel shed when we arrived and I was feeling a little lonely for them right about then. I was picturing modern art bike racks just outside our window, for some reason, and wanted to be grumpy about their absence. But I was actually thrilled that any accommodation was made at all for bikes. Every night there were about 20 of them in there, and although I never saw another rider, I know they existed because all the bikes kept getting shifted around. Do the world a favor next time you use a shared bike shed, and don't lock your bikes together and place them just inside the door. I had one of those oh-how-I-want-to-heave-this-effing (but gorgeous) Cervelo-against-the-iron-shelf moments, but managed to pull myself together for the sake of the kids.
Rocks on the board? I think they lost the plot.
So down to the beach we went, about 100 yards from our room. My middle son, while nursing the worst sun burn of his life managed not to pack a rash guard, nor, not as surprisingly, underpants. While the kids pushed each other off the hotel boogie board in the calm surf I enjoyed watching Roving Phone Roger, Too Cool For This Freezing Water Franco, Big Boobs Betty lying in the surf and trying unsuccessfully to look sexy, Beer Guzzling Brad and Gayle, Daddy Dan with Toddler Taylor and nameless people with dogs. There was talk among my clan of snacks, no, dinner, no, snacks, no dinner. Note to self: Coordinate levels of hunger.
I found myself estimating just how many minutes I had until the tide would jump out and attack my flip flops, so I knew it must be time to go. Even my 14 year old begged not to leave Fat Albert The Rock and in the blink of an eye a wave of joy washed over me. There's something about silliness in a teenage boy that is as sweet as a fresh picked, ripe strawberry. As we stepped off the sand the kids couldn't contain themselves and ran a 20 yard dash straight into the park sprinklers. Their contagious laughter quickly turned three into a herd, as content parents all around the edges sat back on their white hotel towels with goofy smiles on their pink faces. I watched the VTA buses load and unload passengers and appreciated the seemingly efficient system.
Open space, well-groomed flower beds, ferry horns in the distance, jubilant and active children, courteous drivers allowing cyclists time and space, it was a moment of bliss I wanted to bottle. Instead, I reached for my iPhone, out of habit, perhaps - kids engaged, sitting down, must check emails - and found that at 7:37pm, it was 87F on Martha's Vineyard and 99F at home.
We walked back via the Flying Horses Carousel, the oldest in the US, and grabbed pizza to go, since The Reliable Market was closed :-/ In the shower I noticed that in my morning stupor 14 hours earlier, I'd shaved only one leg. I'd also brought three of the same top in different colors, and discovered more grace for my son's packing faux pas. Exhausted that morning and now re-exhausted that night I poured myself into a spongy bed next to a sleeping princess and ran tomorrow's plan through my head. After I banished one son to the floor, just for being a boy really, we all fell deeply asleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment