The Haunting Begins

The night of the elections, I slept in a cemetery in New Hampshire near Dartmouth. Not on the graves, but back in the forest. No ghosts but maybe I woke up haunted.

I don’t carry a smart phone, for a variety of reasons. Mostly because I’m cheap, but also because I know how addicted I’d be and I don’t want to go there. That morning, I woke up not knowing who’d won the election. I didn’t find out until I walked into a Dunkin Donuts and heard the radio.

The rest of the afternoon is sort of a rage blur. I pumped up my go-to angry music and cranked down the road. Glaring at everyone with laser eyeballs. I didn’t come upon any spontaneous protests breaking out in Providence, Rhode Island. I would have joined in if I’d seen one, just to feel the comfort of kindred anger. I found a cheap AirBnB in North Providence and spent the night being dismayed at my Facebook feed. My hosts were both from South America. The Argentinean said cycle touring is exploding in the Andes.

Maybe I should get south of the wall for the next couple years.

All this after a really fabulous rest in Boston. Where I could maybe live, for a few reasons.

One reason to love Boston is Halloween in Salem. Also food. Boston has awesome restaurants.

Leaving Boston was rough. Literally. I had to ride over some truly terrifying rusty bridges.

One jokester drawbridge operator dropped the gates before I could get to the other side and trapped me. Haha.

On the way to my cousin’s house in Connecticut, I gradually woke up to the fact that my bicycle was in dire need of mechanical love. The sort that includes new parts and a real bike mechanic. Riding on the small cogs makes for slow progress. The end of daylight savings means the sun goes down at 4:30 now. Meaning that I had to be on the road early if I wanted to make the most of the day. To motivate an early start, I camped in places where I would likely get ticketed for vagrancy if I hung out too long. Don’t want to get busted in the park by early morning dog walkers.

My cousin (who is not a fembot) lives in Darien, location of the original Stepford Wives. We haven’t seen each other in more than a decade, but family is family and what a comfort that is. The dog has been sleeping in my bed every night. I have a few more days of familial rest while the local bike guys replace my drive train. And pedals. And something else. Basically, they’re going to jack up the bike and install a new bike. Which is still cheaper than a car.

And then… New York City, here I come!