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50 States, Day 153

50 States, Day 163 Nashua, NH to Sterling, Mass.   213 miles
 
"Take the first step in faith.  You don't have to see the whole staircase.  Just take the first step."
~Martin Luther King, Jr.



 Cape Cod! All my life (yours too) I've had pictures of the wealthy, beautiful people strolling along the beach, the women wearing gold sandals, the men perfect shorts and polo shirts over their fit, tanned bodies. Wrong! The ride into the Cape led the trip in disappointments. The highway, cutting through the center of the peninsula like a spine, carved through Super 8 motels, MacDonald's, KFC, strip malls, and cheesy motels. This is Cape Cod?
Where's the water?
We rode on, mile after mile, nothing but junk on either side, until they became nicer motels, with names like 'Seaside,' 'Sandy Shores,’ and 'Beaches.' But looking beyond them, no water. Finally, a sign, beaches to the right. We found a parking lot and walked the sandy beach of Cape Cod, along the Atlantic.





They must have held a sandcastle contest yesterday, as sculptures of an alligator, octopus, lobster and even a castle (clever) lined up along the beach, a talented bunch of local folks. People strolled the beach with dogs, couples sat on decks facing the grey ocean and sky. Boats dotted the horizon; fishermen out for a Columbus Day excursion, perhaps just like Chris and his gang. Okay, maybe not.  



We elected to ride the remote roads to the North and West and found more treats-Cape Cod style houses (obviously, where we got the name) sat beside McMansions and lots of woods. The roads wound through it all, a delight of smooth curving lanes lined with trees, a biker's dream.


Searching for a restaurant, we settled for a strip mall bar called Bobby Byrne's Pub, a local joint that served a delicious Baked Scrod, which was tender, moist and flaky fish covered with a crisp breading atop it. The rice tasted good too, but the carrots and beans were overcooked. Quilter Girl enjoyed a Chicken Corn Chowder that tasted great with little corn, and a forgettable chicken salad sandwich. More schizophrenia in Cape Cod.

We rode an hour to a KOA and set up the tent. No surprise but terrible nonetheless, the cover that successfully keeps all the wet off the tent while traveling, kept the wet in the tent ever since we took it down in the rain of Bar Harbor. Setting it up, it smelled like a wet dog, water and dirt having migrated to places it didn't start. We got it set up, fired up the heater and wiped down the surfaces and it's beginning to look and smell like...well, less of a wet dog.

And a tip of the face shield to Thomas Kelley who left a fine West Coast Chopper belt buckle as a gift on the bike while it sat at the beach parking lot. He left his card too. So if you're in need of surveying or engineering in Cape Cod (and who isn't?), Thomas is your guy. Thank you, Mr. Kelley!


And now, not smelling like a wet dog, it's the tent I swear, Quilter Girl!

I can sure see why people flock here to vacation.  The sand is powdered sugar fine and the waves are gently lapping at the sand.  The houses on the beach have a small staircase from their yard to the beach.  There is lots of sand that the water doesn't normally touch for lounging in, altogether a great beach for spending the day.  In warmer weather!  

Yesterday was a quilting day for me, after staying in bed to finish my book.  I cut some 2" squares for the Irish chain quilt from the pieces I found and three more 50 states blocks. Then I sewed 4 patches, lots and lots of them.  However, after piling all the finished squares in piles of 10, I still need 100 more.  One more day of 4 patches and I will have enough for two Irish Chain quilts.  I can do that.  Also, we found a JoAnn Fabrics in Yarmouth.  Everything is prettier on Cape Cod, including the strip malls.  They had the fabric I needed for the Irish Chain quilt along with a stack of 5" squares to add more variety.  I really am addicted!  
QG

Tomorrow, Connecticut. You know what that means, right? State 25. Half the states visited! Thanks for following.


 
 

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