I woke up at 4:45 AM on the dot, extremely disoriented. There was a dream where I was asleep in my tent when a train came flying through the woods. Suddenly, it derailed as a man holding two pistols leapt from the crash. He ran off into the dark. After a few minutes or however long, a group of people were coming through the forest heading toward the derailed train. I revealed myself from behind a tree and one man pointed a gun at me. Long story short, it was the police and I told them where the man had gone.
You can imagine how disoriented I was waking up, believing it to be real.
Anyhow, I was up and out of my tent in the woods by 5:30. Josh and Mike never met up with me last night so I just kept on riding. It was a beautiful morning, albeit cold.
Before the town of Thompson, (the team goal yesterday) I caught out of the corner of my eye, a large body of water. I turned off the road and cruised down to the brink of this lake or pond. What a blessing it was for my phone to be dead. It seemed like my senses were finally awake. I noted a beautiful orange/yellow bird with a black head playing with an identical bird, knocking into each other on the tree branches. I was later able to identify it as a Baltimore Oriole.
I also meditated by the water for the first time in months. The last actual time was probably in India about 7 months ago and it never ceases to amaze me how good I feel afterward.
Later, I stopped in the town of Thompson where I found a peculiar power outlet rising out of the ground in the town square. I put my bike in front of the outlet so it was slightly hidden and took a seat underneath a tree and continued reading my new book, "The Eagle's Shadow". So far, I've finished "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote and "The Monkey Wrench Gang" by Edward Abbey. Around Thompson, I began to get ever so hungry.
The peanut butter sandwich I ate housed tons of energy for me but after passing through three or four towns and many miles, I craved a place to sit and rest. These places seemed to exist NOWHERE.
After Thompson, the path veered into Rhode Island, seemingly for the hell of it. Once in, the path led directly out as if it was just an extra state to knock off, which was fine by me. Heading north, I desparetly needed food so I went off-route to the town of Douglas, MA. Oh yeah, I also crossed into Massachusetts. Anyhow, I finally got food there at a restaurant and met a very nice gas station woman named Sue that promised to watch my bike. And holy shit, the Boston accents are everywhere. Despite how nice she was, I have this drilled-in gangster association with the Boston accent, which is dumb but I couldn't help it. Everyone just sounds tough as nails but it couldn't be further from the truth.
After food and an hour of hanging out, I got back on the road to Whitinsville and enjoyed a lackadaisical ride to a Mcdonalds. It was here I planned on resting, charging batteries, and drinking soda. It was now about 1230. I closed my eyes for a bit but couldn't escape this vagabond/vagrant feeling and the staring of judgemental eyes, so I didn't actually sleep.
A man who I'd been watching at the establishment addressed me outside as I was getting my stuff. His name was Skip. He'd been at the place as long as I had and seemed to know everyone.
"Where you coming from, buddy?" He said, puffing on his cigarette.
I turned to look at him as he got closer and millions of thoughts ran through my head. He was probably around sixty years old but something had seemingly aged him much quicker. His eyes had a profound sadness in them or a distance. It almost looked like he was looking through me. The left eye had a small brown smudge underneath it that appeared to be a bruise.
"Your heading to Maine? I got a house in Brunswick I never use, you're more than welcome to it."
"Really? That'd be wonderful!"
"Yes, sir. Don't go out there too much. Gotta be careful though, can't trust anybody. Some lowest of the low out there."
"Yeah, I know."
"My son did drugs, cost me over 60 grand, twice over. He's clean now but I told him, 'You ever get on them again. You're better off killing yourself', I told him. 'It's slowly killing ya anyway and goddamnit, I can't stand to watch it.'"
Skip was a good guy. He told me he never touched drugs and from what he said, I believe him. But the look in his eyes... I felt like I saw what real loneliness does to someone. I think he may have lost something very dear to him in solitude somewhere.
Anyhow, around this point is where a lot of drama happened. Mike and Josh got a Warm Showers the night before and ended up enjoying their stay until early afternoon. So after I cycled the whole morning, they were just leaving and I was gettig tired of waiting. We argued a lot and there was a lot of stress.
Finally, we all came to our senses and came to the agreement of meeting back up in Whitinsville. I was in Upton at this point ten more miles down the road. We arranged for a peace agreement somewhere in Whitinsville... but there was nowhere to go. No hotels, no campgrounds, nothing.
For whatever reason, I just expected the next town of Westborough (pop. 20,000) to have a hotel so I began heading there. A few miles out I thought I'd check.
Nope.
I thought I'd call the local police and see if there was anywhere I could just camp out. Again, the answer was no.
Damn it all.
Finally, I found a Motel 6 another ten miles away. I was tired, pissed, and stressed the hell out. Add to the fact the lodging was located on an extremely busy Interstate, I was pretty much done.
This is probably the first hotel visit I'm "cool" with. There's a guilt attatched to the other visits, like I'm cheating. It's also exhausting my funds. However, on days like today with mental and physical exhaustion, a small dose of civilization is very much appreciated. Plus, it won't be long until we're out West where these "doses" are few and far to come by.
Anyhow, after attempting a shortcut to this motel, it turned out to be way too much trouble. It took about an hour to get the last three miles because of all the traffic and shit. It was just dumb.
At the same time, Mike and Josh had nowhere to go. They told me, "We're going to try and make it there, send us the address." Given the last few days, I thought there was no way...
However, the boys are on their way now (it's 10pm) and only a few miles away. I really can't believe it. Obviously, my opinion isn't much but I am so impressed by my boys. Just when I was beginning to have my doubts, they do something like this; travel through the night to get back together. Shame on me.
I love these guys and they're my best friends. And they continue to inspire me.
Nestled off the road, past Bigelow Park, I found a pretty solid stealth camping spot.
The Eleanor Slate Hospital. Passing this place, it looked like the perfect haunted, dilapidated hospital found in movies. A woman in a vehicle also stopped to take pictures of the place. She told me it housed some of the most complex mentally deranged people in the states. Well, after doing some research, she was wrong and I was wrong. This specific building on the "campus" was now used for storage and no longer housed patients. It used to house patients of tuberculosis until the disease was eradicated. However, behind it was a beautiful hospital that housed peoples with cerebral palsy, multiple sclerosis, and spinal injuries. Situated next to a beautiful lake, it wasn't all that it appeared to be.
On the ride into Whitinsville, two bodies of water surrounded the road providing a scenic roll.
A mural commemorating the soldiers of the Korean War and WWII in Whitinsville.
On my way to Westborough, taking my own route that proved to be safer and more enjoyable than the map trail.
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