Newport or Bust

Waking up around noon, it was decided that something needed to be done with the day. But – first? We'd need to figure out what tomorrow, and tomorrow's tomorrows would hold.

It's all fine and well to sit around a lovely place, that's costing us nothing, with high speed internet access (Dr. Who – caught up with! True Blood? Ready to go.) and think about what we'll be doing today – but soon the time to move on will be with us. And where do we go? The planning sheet says Boston. The fifty dollar camp sites, and the one hundred dollar motels say – you know what, forget about Boston. That would make a lovely trip in the future, wouldn't it? Close enough and beautiful enough to be it's own dedicated hop.

After far too long of internet searching, and freaking out, and price checking, and all that fun stuff our next few days were put together.

(N for night/sleep, D for day)
11N Scranton
12D Gettysburg
12N New Cumberland
13D Philadelphia
13N Absecon
14D Atlantic City
14N Newark, DE
15D Baltimore
14N Washington DC / Alexandria

What made this difficult to plan was the fact that there is no cheap way to see D.C. Our Lonely Planet has nothing about camping, and it also doesn't mention anything about how if you stay in Alexandria, how to quickly commute to DC without a car. Dear Lonely Planet – why are you so crap these days? Never again.

You know I want to take road trip – that's why you have a map with various routes highlighted for such occasions. But the average traveller who wants to take a big road trip across America can not afford the 150.00 motels you suggest. Camp sites – just saying, way at the back, there was state parks throughout the country, does not help me! Remember when you used to care about budget travellers? Sigh – those were good times.

Still – we had made a new route, bypassing all of the Boston area which was to be our next hop. Looks like we really are headed clockwise without much backtracking.

I can honestly say that I really dislike planning for travel. While on the road hostelling, I would only have to figure something out every week or so. But here, now, it's going to be a daily battle to find shelter that doesn't bust the bank. But – I won't be alone in doing it. Not having a place to stay when you're alone? that's a potentially terrifying an upsetting experience. Doing the same with a partner? Well then it's an adventure.

When the dust had finally settled, we decided enough of the day had been wasted. It was time to head out into the cloudy, rainy day, and discover what this Newport place was all about.

Known as a beach town, Newport is an hour from Providence. This makes it “vacation territory” for many of the R.I. locals. For us, it was a half day trip. Arriving in the town we drove past all the twenty dollar parking lots, and found some free street parking. Step one? Find a visitor's centre and grab a map. This took us through the historic district, home to the Gap, and a block away, Baby Gap – both historical parts of the town, I'm sure. The map we got said little in the way of what to do – just being a basic road map. The people working, however, sent us walking down a street, and then pointed out the beach two miles away.

We walked the main strip, looking down the piers where good food was said to live. I've walked some piers in my day, and saw no reason to do these. San Francisco has ruined me I think. In the way that when you see St. Paul's, you no longer need to see another church – when you've wandered SF's piers, there's little more any others can offer.

There was a pop cultural art gallery with a characterized bust of Bill Murray out front. This was enough to get me interested enough to peek inside. There were paintings, and posters, and sculptures, and t-shirts all depicting stylized versions of celebrities in their famous movie roles. The shirts were only twenty three bucks. And for something this unique, they were almost worth it.

Had I not dropped so much money lately, I might have been keen to buy one. But as it stands I wasn't in the right mind space. Maybe a few weeks from now. Maybe by the time we're in their flagship gallery in Florida. Lucky.

Then it was off to the beach. We walked half way there before we realized that our two hour parking would be up by the time we made it there and back. Two miles is a big further, doubled up, than the two K I was still thinking in.

There was a free lot by the beach, which offered convenient access to the Cliff walk, showing you the back yards of lovely homes while over looking the beach. If I were here on my own? I would have felt the urge to go do it, for something to do. As it was, I was content to pull the two folding chairs from the back of the car, set them up on the beach, and read volume two of Scott Pilgrim, while Katherine got to work on the first one.

I should have read these books long ago – as they're based very much in Toronto, and as I would have been the right age group when they came out. Also, the earlier prints may not have cut off the letters at the extreme edges of the page. But, it has taken this long. The final volume is soon to come out. Only one is released a year. On that note, I'm glad I'm only starting now – I'd hate for this random nonsensical bouncing around narrative to be interrupted by so long that I'd have to read the whole thing over for the next volume to make sense. That's what I have Eva for.

At any rate, I'll finish before the movie and game come out.

We watched the waves come in, and go out, coloured blood red. I can only guess this is from the algae or some sort of aquatic plant. Then again, maybe the sharks were busy?

With the books just finished the first drop of rain fell. Back into the car, everything went, and back home for a final night. Laundry was done, gear was packed, final internetting – internetted. And that was that. Soon it will be Good-bye Rhode Island hello Penn state.

Normally I'd be upset with transitions, leaving one home in search of a new one. But I'm not – not anymore. As terrible as I feel putting it to words, it's true – this time my “home” is travelling with me.

Beaches and Clambakes

Waking up, we hit the road, looking for all those things that Warwick, RI had to offer. Step one? Head on down to Conemicut Point beach, where there was said to be a light house out in the water.

Now, I'm not one of those people who travel around to see every light house they can find, but they still make a nice little photo. I suggested to Katherine that we try that lifestyle, and plan all of our future vacations around seeing these towering structures, with revolving lamps. We could learn their histories, and what makes each special, the names of all the models and bulbs, “Ah yeah, that's your C-37 Arizona house, with the L854 mega bulb. She's a beaut.” Her look put a quick end to all such thoughts. She was, shall we say, not impressed with the idea. It was probably for the best – I choose this time to tell her about our trip to Japan next August. Seeing as how she had no idea about it prior to this point, she took it well. After three months of reinforcement, I'm sure she'll see the light.

At the beach there were people wading around in the water, in their full set of clothes. At first I thought there must be a sand bar party, where people were swimming around, but the closer I got, the more it looked as if the people were bending down and grabbing something from beneath the water's surface.

When the lady with a pool cleaning net, attached to two plungers walked by, I knew I was missing something. But what could it be? Sure there was the lighthouse – I expected that, but everything else was a confusing mess. All the benches were really tombstones with faces, and dates of birth / death, the signs all pointed arrows to where the people were, warning about the pollution, and everyone here at the beach was in the water in full clothes – not a bathing suit to be seen.

What had we come across?

“Excuse me sir, but what's going on here?”

“Diggin' for Steamers.”

Ahh yes – steamers. Of course. Right. I assumed they were some sort of delicious from the sea thing. But more than that? It didn't look like I'd be getting any answers. Pictures taken, we headed back the way we had come, towards beach number two: Oakland beach.

This one was more to my expectations. There were board shorts, and bikinis, and frisbees, and kids running amuck. This was a beach. Before the surf and sand could be explored, hunger would have to be answered. Luckily for us, Iggy's was near by. What is Iggy's? Just the best Clam chowder is the state (or so I was led to believe by the line down the street – forming just behind us, as we stepped in right in the nick of time). Chowder, burgers, fries, and coleslaw ordered by the pint, were devoured in a wonderful salacious feast.

When eating at Iggy's it is best to go in pairs – one orders, while the other goes inside, and hawks the tables and booths, waiting for someone to get up, so you can swoop in before any of the others doing the exact same thing can make a move.

Once the feasting was over and done with we moved our New England party down to the water's edge. I threw down my towel, dropped my bag, and took out some Scott Pilgrim to – finally – read. Katherine ran straight for the surf.

I should note that at one point I could no longer see her, an worried she might have been dead. I wondered how long I'd give her, before finally deciding I had to leave. It was noon. Would four be long enough to assume she wasn't coming back? What about two? At discovering that I believed her swept out to sea, an that I didn't act – so much as walking to the edge and looking out – she was not enthralled. But, you know, I figured she was probably alright. It's like when I need to check my pack every twenty minutes to make sure my camera's in it – even though it couldn't possibly have been anywhere else.

Just after two we finally said goodbye to the sun and made our way back to our borrowed paradise. We had to get directions to the beach house our host was staying at. She invited us over to see it, and hang out. What should have taken five or ten minutes stretched out to over an hour, as the town she described did not exist (turns out a few letters were wrong, which would have pointed us to the right main street, but the township itself had a different name. Random googling an hoping for the best, finally paid off.) But never mind, we were on the road once more.

When we finally made it to – Manutuck (and I only have the pretend spelling here, the real one being forever lost once more) – I was once again greeted with what I felt this state should look like. The town appeared from nowhere off the high way, going from no traffic, to trailer parks, and roads overflowing with people.

Shan greeted us both with big hugs – we greeted her with a case of Bud Lime (All I knew was that it sold out back in the day – I'd yet to learn this was not a beer anyone in their right mind should ever drink... fruit beers, I should have known.)

This place was on a small lake – well, actually an inlet from the ocean, but as that twisted and turned out of sight, it appeared we were on a secluded property accessible only by those who owned in the area.

The patio, that's where we sat and chatted. Two of her friends from work, and her boyfriend, showed up. Then vegetables started to be chopped. Then grills were lit. Then it dawned on me that there was to be food. Real, delicious, local food. We were at an honest to god New England clam bake.

The clams were dug up only a day before (we were told that Steamers were soft shells, and these Quahog's were hard shelled.) and the veggies were out of her garden where we were staying. Everything we were about to eat was made from scratch, without anything being purchased from a super market. This was real eating.

The chowder was Rhode Island style (different than both Manhattan, an New England, in that it has more of a clear brother. I'd never heard of this. If their can be a third type of chowder – how many more, unknown to me, can exist?

This was followed up by shrimp skewers (let it be known that I, apparently, like shrimp – so long as it's not cold and covered in sea food sauce). Then there was the corn. Then there was the clams, covered in the most delicious sauce (which strangely smelled exactly like McDonald's Cheeseburgers) put right on the bar-be-que. By the time the food finally stopped, or rather turned from that which is more hearty, to succulent little cherries, we had been eating for three hours.

But we'd not just been eating. We'd watched a full double rainbow appear over the lake, seen girls canoe around the pond – impressed with the girl sterning from behind, as her two friends did very little, not even quite sure how to hold the paddle. We were curious about why three people took their boats twenty feet from shore to dump them and then swim, when they could just as easily have walked out that far. We were – distressed – as one tried to climb back into said boat, losing his trunks in the process.

We had chatted, and laughed, and run inside five minutes at a time to escape the brief rain, only to return once more.

This was relaxing with good friends, and having a great time. And it struck me – Three of these people I'd only met hours ago – another I'd known for a week, nearly a year ago, and the last was one who I'd seen far too infrequently over the past ten months. But this – this is what travel was all about, what it should be about.

Or maybe it goes beyond that. This is what life, and living should be about. Relaxing outside with good people, good food, and good conversation. Being in a small house on the ocean in Rhode Island? Well that's just the the proverbial fruit, stem tied with tongue, isn't it?

Onward to Rhode Island

Leaving New York behind us, we pushed on to Massachusetts. This state has an incredibly difficult name to spell, and as such will become my bitter rival (almost to the same extent that the “D” key on my netbook's keyboard has become – working only when it decides to and without any discernible reason or rational.

As we drove down the roads, entering and exiting one speed limit after another for reasons that are far beyond my comprehension, we passed a “Bear X-ing” sign. This, of course, put me on the defensive, causing me to lock the doors – bears being known for their ability to open an enter the doors of vehicles travelling in excess of forty five miles per hour.

I've seen deer crossings, kangaroo crossing, elephant and giraffe crossing, but this was the first time I'd seen a one for a bear. I would have stopped to take a picture, would that not have exposed me to the danger posed by these lethal, overgrown, ewoks.

All this was soon forgotten, when entering Williamstown. It was lovely, and quaint, and full of wee ones looking around, taking a tour of their potential future university. We were finally getting a look at the America that would have been missed if travelling by plane or train. To be honest? It's not much that would have been missed. One small town looks like any other. I'm sure there's local flavour and something that makes it unique – but as for right now, I couldn't say what that was.

Probably stopping and getting out of the car would have helped though.

The roads switched back and forth through the mountains, as we climbed higher an higher, seeing more and more of what the state had to offer. Driving through part of a reservation, and then native land, we were greeted with all number different souvenir shops, an stores with giant wooden Indians, taller than most houses – sights that would have been offensive were they in any other location, but being here, well – it's hard to really judge.

The peak flattened out, and was adorned with a little diner. I can't say what they had on offer, as I wasn't quite ready for deep fried anything, just yet. I can't say I'm every all that ready for that, but I feel as if I had better start getting used to it. While the diner, itself, didn't offer much – the parking lot looking over the towns below was a worthy place to pause a moment or two and snap a few pictures. Having spent most of the day driving it hit me that the whole reason we were on the road was to see and record things. Never stopping to shoot off even one or two shots, that was a disservice to the trip.

There were green trees as far as the eye could see, and they reached out to the horizon, meeting the bluest sky. It was nature, in the middle of a country that I thought had forgotten all about it. I know that wilderness abounds here, but I had thought that it was, less. These were forests you could get lost in for weeks. Places where exploration still held danger, and – well – there were those bear signs from earlier, so I'll just stay in the car, thank you very much.

But it was something to see.

With podcasts playing, we entered into Rhode Island, crossing that imaginary line on the maps. A visitor's information location was said to be just off the next exit in the town of Woonsocket. How could I resist a trip to a place named Woonsocket? Katherine – less impressed, more desiring to just get to where we were headed before night fell. But, again, if you're on a road trip and you don't explore, well then, what's the point?

Entering the town we followed the arrows to the visitor's center, until they led us out of the town. There was no sign of this place. It had taken ten minutes, five signs, and lots of twisting and turning to get us to this nowhere – and finally I had to agree that it was time to turn back and head for the highway. However, on the way back another sign popped up. Well, we'd made it this far, hadn't we? We might as well press on to the end.

This time, it took only four signs sending us in nonsensical directions (of all the things Garmin programs into their GPS, you'd think an information centre would be one of them. Oh sure, they can show me every K-Mart for thirty miles, but a place to get a map and some coupon books? Nope. You're on your own.)

By the time we finally rolled up – not actually thinking we'd ever find the place (if the last signs didn't play out, why would we assume these would?) - Katherine was less than pleased with my little detour. Still, until the end of time, we can say we've been to Woonsocket. And if we ever meet someone from there? Instant friend!

The visitor centre had closed and locked up ten minutes earlier.

Of course.

Back to the highway.

An hour or so later we rolled up to a small little blue house, the type you'd expect to find in Rhode Island in the nineteen fifties in some movie that attempted to show how everyone here lived, completely removed for all sense of reality. The path from the driveway to the door was slaps of rocks, with sea shells between them. Out back was an herb garden, and a vegetable garden, with all boundaries sectioned off with clam shells. A collection of star fish, and conchs, and other goodies from the ocean shore adorned wall-mounted displays.

We had pulled up to the house of a girl I'd met back in Iceland when I was just starting my trip over ten months ago. When she heard that we would be making our way through America she was quite adamant that we stay in her place. She often rents it out as a bed and breakfast, and since she was off at a beach house for the time we'd be in the area, we could crash there for a few nights.

I don't know what I expected Rhode Island to be – and after driving past Providence, seeing just another city with tall buildings on the skyline, I became quickly dissatisfied. But stepping through the door into this place? Well, I quickly realized this is what I had wanted from the small state.

Not only that, but there were hot showers, and a laundry machine in the basement. Now, if I had reached here two weeks from now, those things would seem even more exciting, still, who am I to look any gift in the mouth, be it house, horse, or otherwise.

There was a little letter explaining the best places to go for food, and fun. But all that could wait until the morning. A big comfortable bed was calling, and I'd been driving all day – exhausted to the point where I gave up on my manly desire to never say die, and pass the keys off to Katherine.

The T-Shirt I, newly purchased, at the Target beside our morning's motel may assure you that “Die” is something that a Goonie will never say, but as for myself? I Shall not pretend to be one of those until we reach Astoria, Oregon. Then? All bets are off.