2025 Tour: Cape Cod and the Islands, again

The National Seashore. Thursday, the 21^st of August, dawned brilliantly as the sun bounced off the wet streets of Boston. With everything packed for the ride, Cheryl and I made our way into the blinding light on Kneeland Street, then north to the Seaport area. The World Trade Center pier was our destination, but we made a turn too early and ended up on the wrong side of the pier. Turning around, we rode back to Seaport Boulevard. Cheryl rode on street level, but I was stuck on the upper level, the pier itself. As I approached the landward end of the pier, I saw steps leading down to the street. I knew that I could not brake on the slippery wooden pier, so I tried a gravity deceleration. Too late. I felt the bicycle sliding sideways to the right. I unclipped and put my foot down to catch my fall. My left leg slid away from the bicycle and I found myself doing a side split as I crashed. I am not a gymnast nor a dancer. Splits are not something that I have ever done. My reactions falling were still as good as ever. By the time anyone noticed and people starting rushing to me, I had flipped to my hands and knees and started getting up. The pain in my left hip burned and flowed in waves from the joint. I was afraid that I had dislocated it. That was unlikely with my cobalt-steel joints, so I moved slowly to let the pain subside. In fact, I had sprained the muscles around the joint. I pushed the bicycle around the pier building to the side where we should board the ferry. It hurt, but not so much that I could not limp along. Cheryl followed me, carefully monitoring my movement. By the time we approached the gangplank of the ferry, I could walk normally. What I could not do was to mount the bicycle while rolling, or anything that required twisting on my left hip. That was far too painful. However, I could mount and dismount by holding on to something (e.g., leaning against a wall or signpost). Despite the crash, we boarded the fast ferry to Provincetown in plenty of time. The ship left us at the MacMillan Pier in Provincetown at 10:30. The hostel did not open until 16:00, so we rode to the Stop N Shop, Mac’s Seafood and Far Land Provisions Company before riding out US 6A to Truro. Cape Cod had changed little since 2023. Returning to HI Truro was a special treat, We had to wait, because the doors were locked when we arrived. However, one of the guests let us in the side door, so we could take shelter from the wind. Cheryl and I walked to the National Seashore. The wind threw sand in our faces, but the clouds were building slowly. Standing at the highwater line, I showed Cheryl what a squall looked like at sea. The black, rectangular mass between the dark cloud and the ocean surface was moving toward us. Not wanting to repeat my frequent experience of driving a ship into a squall to rinse the salt off the vessel, we walked quickly back to the hostel. We made it just in time. Emily checked us in. Catherine, the manager, remembered us. We chatted about our respective plans and what had happened to HI staff that we all knew. HI Truro occupies an old Coast Guard station, which the National Park Service leased to HI USA in 1974, when the Atlantic coast of the Cape became a National Seashore. From September to May, the building hosts a university environmental science program. Compared to other hostels, it takes much longer to make renovations to this hostel, or even non-essential repairs, because it is never vacant. Catherine pointed with pride to the cloths covering the ceilings, the fresh paint outside. The week after we left, a contractor would replace the roof before the university students arrived. HI Truro is two miles from the nearest place to buy anything (The Truro General Store). This isolation makes it a destination, not just accommodation. Birdwatching and hiking are the main activities, along with enjoying the beach. The beach was unusable while the hurricanes were building out in the Atlantic. I had rarely seen the water stirred up so much that you could see riptides on the surface. The people at this hostel are part of what makes it special. Though school groups and families come by often (we met some last time), this week most of the guests were older. The kitchen and community areas of HI Truro are laid out better than any other hostel that I have seen, and the arrangement encourages conversation, sharing and getting to know one another. Meeting new people is a key part of hostelling. We spent seven nights on the National Seashore. My hip healed quickly, though I could not twist it at all for the first week. Near the end of our stay, I could mount and dismount again while rolling. At no time did pedaling prove difficult. We rode to Wellfleet, and we followed the East Coast Greenway north and south of Truro. We rode back to Provincetown to ride the bike paths of the Province Lands part of the Seashore. On our way back, we shopped at Far Lands Provisions Company (Cheryl’s favourite) and ate our Far Lands lunch at the Truro Winery. Sitting on Adirondack chairs with a glass of wine, we enjoyed watching the people of all ages mingling or sitting in the sunshine. A special treat was to eat at the PB Boulangerie anytime we passed it. One had to allow for the long lines all day, but it was worth the wait. I developed a fondness for their aptly named Bike Trail Cookies, heavy disks of nutritious goodness. The weather cleared the first night, replaced by the sunny, cool weather that makes Cape Cod such an attraction. One day we rode to the Coast Guard Station in Nauset, where we saw the Nauset Light and the Salt Pond. We had ice cream in Eastham before taking the Cape Cod Rail Trail (CCRT) back to the hostel. Everywhere, we were shaded by friendly woods, both from the sun and the wind. Always the bloodhound for sweets, Cheryl found the Ice Cream Café and the Cottage Street Bakery in Orleans when we visited that town for its fish market. Fresh fish and fresh ice cream: life is good! The Cottage Bakery was closed, but we came back on our way south to go to Hyannis. All in all, a week on the back roads of the Outer Cape proved to be the perfect rehabilitation routine for me, and a delight to Cheryl, who likes climbing hills more than I do. After all, she is lighter, stronger, and faster than I, though she denies that. The Lower Cape. By Thursday, the 28^th, my hip was much better, surprising me only occasionally when trying movements that crossed my left leg. We rode to Hyannis on the CCRT, using Buck island Road to avoid the terrible surface of the municipal connector trail in Dennis. Over the last three visits, we have learned where the bad patches of bike path are. Judging from the cars during rush hour, the locals favour Buck Island Road and Forest Road, too. I could not help feeling a little smug as the CCRT bridges took us over the bumper-to-bumper traffic lining up to leave the Lower Cape every day. Frankly, the rush hours were so busy that I could not detect a difference between Labor Day traffic and the normal commuting. During our five days at HI Hyannis, we discovered alternatives to the Colonial Bikeway and MA-28 to almost everywhere we could go on the Lower Cape. Lower County Road and Old Main Street took us through and past Harwich, West Dennis and South Yarmouth. We rode to the end of the West Dennis beach that runs for miles to the Bass River. These back roads run through pleasant residential neighbourhoods. Not as dramatic as the vistas of marshes and salt ponds on the CCRT, but also quiet and safe. Last time, Cheryl and I got separated riding to Chatham, so this time, I followed her to the Chatham Light and stopped at Sweet Dreams for ice cream. Riding to the west, we returned to the quaint towns of Osterville and Hyannisport. By the way, Osterville is named for Oster, its founder, not the mollusk (Oster, not Oyster), although the ritzy gated community we could not enter called itself Oyster Harbor. Fancy’s Market and Four Seas Ice Cream belong on anyone’s bucket list for the Lower Cape. The former boasts a local inventory that is carefully curated to offer exactly everything its discerning clientele could want, from sandwiches to a wide selection wines, fresh produce, and gifts. In spite of the holiday weekend, we found the roads off the main throughfares pleasant and uncrowded. One needed simply to cross all main roads at right angles. Tick-Tock on Martha’s Vineyard The day after Labor Day (the 2^nd of September), we boarded the Hy-Line Ferry to Oak Bluffs. Martha’s Vineyard Family Campground was an easy 5-kilometre ride from the pier. We had camped here before, and enjoyed the facilities. However, this time we opted for one of the cabins. Though simple and rustic, the cabins felt luxurious to us. Each cabin had a fully-equipped gas grill, lights, electrical outlets, refrigerator, picnic table, and, of course, the quiet at night that comes from living in the woods. The grilled fish that week was the best we tasted on the entire trip. The New York Times ran an article shortly before our tour about the problem of lone star ticks on Martha’s Vineyard. Fully half the local inhabitants tested had been bitten, most coming down with alpha-gal, which made them allergic to red meat, and, for some, dairy. We asked about that as soon as we checked in. The manager told us that most folks did not take the warnings seriously at first, which is why so many were affected. As with Lyme disease (also endemic to New England and the islands), one needed to avoid walking in the woods or among the bushes with uncovered skin. To be safe, I purchased a can of the powerful repellent spray recommended for clothing and camping gear. I worried about any small prick I saw on my skin when showering, but none was a tick or a bite. We did not have occasion to hike in the woods, and the space around our cabin was clear. I have eaten dairy and red meat since coming home, so I expect that we were successful in avoiding ticks. Not so easy to avoid were the skunks. Every evening, the little critters would come to our dinner table looking for a handout. The staff told us that someone in our cabin earlier had fed the whole family, so now they were spoiled and kept coming back to our site. We probably could have insisted on moving, but turning our headlamps into their eyes seemed effective at driving them away. After a while, they stopped coming by, but we moved dinner time up and worried whenever we approached the cabin in the dark. A pleasant feature of the MV Family Campground is the nightly fire in the fire pit by the main building. Adirondack chairs around the campfire gave everyone a chance to gather, chat, swap experiences and answer questions. The fire is also a signal: when Bill put it out at 22:00, all campfires in the campground needed to be out. An easy rule to remember. On Friday, the 5^th, we joined a shipload of day trippers to Nantucket. We rode to Sunset Beach and got an update on the old HI Hostel, which I reported on last time. The developers who bought the site from HIUSA were crushed by the pandemic before they even started redeveloping the site, so they sold it back to the Town of Nantucket. Someone from the city mows the grass, but the old lifesaving station and the barn-dormitory behind it are still empty. We enjoyed a marvellous day on Nantucket. From Sunset, we rode to Bartlett’s Farm for lunch (of course), then to Madaket and the end of Smith Point, as far as we could on the west side of the island. We had ridden the east side when we stayed on Nantucket in 2019. On the way back to the ferry, I bought a bicycle jersey at Young’s Bicycle Shop, to add to my collection of destination jerseys. Some people collects spoons, some tee-shirts, some figurines… I collect a bike jersey or a bike cap for each tour. Ranging far and wide (not!) On Tuesday, the 9^th of September, we rode to the HI Hostel Martha’s Vineyard. This was the first youth hostel in the USA, and it has always been a favourite of ours. We learned that just this year the seven-day limit at HI MV was extended to 14 days to match the rest of the HI hostel chain. MV Family Campground was nice, but we would have booked the full two weeks in the hostel, had we known. This time, we explored all the beaches on the south side, and determined that Aquinnah was our favourite. For me, a big part of that attraction was the availability of rocks to place under my Helinox Chair Zero, so that it could not sink in to the sand. Suddenly, hanging out on the beach was fun again. Blessed with blazing sunshine, but cool temperatures, we luxuriated with our feet in the white sand. Even the seagulls on Aquinnah were not as aggressive as those closer to Edgartown. We went out to Aquinnah twice. The second time, we rode around the point to the north shore. The bike ferry was in operation, so we paid our five dollars and boarded the pontoon boat for the short ride to Menemsha. With more fresh fish from Larsen’s Fish Market, we pedalled back to the hostel. It would be the longest ride we enjoyed all week: Martha’s Vineyard is only twenty miles (33 km) across as the crow flies, so it is hard to put in serious distance on a bicycle. If I could live on Martha’s Vineyard, I would not even want a car. Everything is a short bike ride away. The MVTA bus is free, and runs frequently. All the buses have bike racks. The day we rode to Long Point proved to be an adventure. Nestled in the Long Point Wildlife Refuge on the south shore, the beach lies at the end of several miles of unpaved, rutty roads through the woods of oak and pine. Once past the gate, we found ourselves trying to ride on sand that had not been packed down since last year. We walked to the beach, and set our chairs up on the toughest piece of dune we could find. Except for the other tourists, the view was an unspoiled as any place I have seen. No habitations blotted the wildlife refuge. On the way back, I rode as much as I could. Two crashes in the soft sand later, I welcomed the unpaved surface of Scrubby Neck Road. We discovered that Vineyard Meadows Farm Road is paved, so next time, we can ride comfortably at least halfway to the beach, if we choose to go. We spent a week at HI Martha’s Vineyard. Adam, the manager, remembered us, and his team was as friendly as ever. As at Truro, the other guests were mostly retirees, with time and inclination to enjoy the community-building of hostelling. Most had been hostelling since their youths. However, some were trying it for the first time, wanting to visit the island, but unable to find affordable accommodation. As before, we shared a 20-bed dormitory room with a handful of different travellers. All shared interesting stories. No slobs or loud guests. We slept soundly after every day’s ride. The Road Home. Tuesday, 16 September 2025. We rose early to catch breakfast at Winston’s Kitchen in Oak Buffs (another bucket list item for those planning to visit the island). After the round trip to Nantucket, taking the ferry to Hyannis felt like a local taxi ride. Now that it was after the Ides of September, we enjoyed a room to ourselves with only a couple of fellow hostellers bouncing around the building. We made a quick ride to the Clothesline Laundromat, then repacked our panniers. Another excellent dinner at Spanky’s Clam Shack. We said good-bye to Tsiona, the manager, and turned in for the night. Tsiona joined Carol and Carmelo in a string of excellent HI Hyannis hostel managers that we have been delighted to know. Wednesday, the 17^th of September, was the day I worried about most. Although 80 km is normally not a challenge to either of us. I worried about my hip holding out. I had not ridden as much as I thought I needed to this year, and I also feared that the loaded bags would slow me down. I need not have worried. We set out along the northern edge of the rain showers that were building over the coast of the lower Cape. By noon the sky was clear, and the wind picked up. We had lunch in the park near MacMillan Pier and boarded the ferry in mid afternoon. Back in Boston, I retrieved the bike box from storage while Cheryl showered. For our last night together, I treated us to Legal Seafoods. Fish almost as fresh as we had enjoyed every night of this trip. On Thursday, we broke our fast early and packed the bike. By now Cheryl is an expert on rigging her bike into the box, so she had time to repack her panniers, too. We waited in the lounge for the Über. Some problem early in the day delayed all flights from Terminal B of Logan International Airport by two hours. However, Air Canada had a late flight from Montréal, so Cheryl was home at midnight. Her bicycle made it, too, without being held up at Customs this time. I treated myself to linguine alle vongole at Legal Seafoods on my way back to the Hostel. The next morning, I was up before dawn. Northeast Regional 171 left South Station on time at 0812 with me and my bicycle. I rode all the way back to Charlottesville, spent the night with Daniel, and drove home the next day. Special memories of the 2025 Tour will include baking or grilling the freshest possible fish, and putting greens and veggies from local farmstands next to it. We ate fish every day. The pleasure of returning to the campground or hostel for a good meal and a quiet, comfortable night without needing to pack for the next day convinced me to spend more than overnight in the places along the way from now on. We also enjoyed the best weather ever, in spite of some threats. Looking ahead, I can’t imagine what the rest of 2025 or 2026 will hold. This will be a year of big changes for Daniel, and I have promised to help him. Where I will be myself next year is a big question. But I will probably be on my bicycle, and you will read about it here. Meanwhile, enjoy my short stories and sea stories on the author’s page, jthine.com. Smooth roads and tailwinds, JT © 2025, JT Hine