Usually I am anxious to chronicle my summer travels, at least as a journal of how each segment of each trip went and what I may want most to remember about them through the long dark winter evenings ahead, but I have had some hesitation getting started this time.
I had already committed to a bus ride up to Cape Cod late in June and made all the arrangements for a couple of courses during the annual Iowa Summer Writing Festival for early to mid-July when I learned the specifics about my sister and her family driving out from Washington state to visit with our Wooster, Ohio cousins. I was able to get out there for a couple of days to join in their activities, but missed all the others who flocked into town later in the week. Missing any or all of these gatherings is always a disappointment since we are scattered and do not connect often.
On the bus ride to Cape Cod there were 49 of us and the driver. Once we rolled across the state boundary into Massachusetts, the scenery became more varied with striations of mountains sliced into for the highways, so my camera got more exercise than it had up to that point.
Every day was sunny and warm and we were constantly on the go, off to get the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard and once there we divided up and packed ourselves into a few vans for additional touring. Our van driver took us to a fresh fish market where we got the best “lobster roll” sandwiches, we were also able to get them at the first Mc Donald’s inside the Massachusetts border. From that point on it was fresh lobster at every opportunity including a lobster salad at a place called Fresh Ketch.
There are many small towns which make up Cape Cod and we went through quite a few spending the better part of a full day in Provincetown or P-town as the locals call it, where I was able to break off from the group and wander at my leisure, taking pictures and going at my own pace. We heard tales of sea captains and a haunted hotel, there were beautiful Victorian houses within a sneeze of each other, we walked through the John F. Kennedy museum and his memorial in a local park; we stopped at a glass factory and crossed the street to fill our water bottles at a spring which was reputed to have healing waters.
Our tour bus driver told us about his experience driving a bus of people out of New Orleans right after Katrina; he later told us that he and his wife after raising children of their own, are raising her niece’s two young children, who were not being properly cared for. So I was not surprised when Dave suggested that those of us on the bus, step aside and let a few local customers at the last restaurant we stopped in before crossing back into Ohio, ahead of us, as they had children sitting at tables, and he would not leave without any of us. A few of our number did not feel so inclined, but a few of us did as asked and I said to him, “Dave, you are a good man.” It seemed to me he never misses an opportunity to be his best self.