The view from the top of the bridge was stunning. Pink and purple cotton candy streaked the sky as the orange glow of the sun faded in the distance. I was crossing the bridge at the perfect moment, peaking above the coast at just the right time to catch a glimpse of Cape Cod that was truly remarkable. This is hard for me to say right now, as I was planning on trying my hardest not to enjoy the Cape during my trip. I imagined it as a place chock-full of yuppie, uber-rich wannabe tycoons on vacation from 75-hour work-weeks. A place where docksiders and khakis threaten to jump out at every turn and scare me off. Driving over The Bourne Bridge that evening were the first glimpses of something that in no way made me want to run away, in fact I could have stayed there a whole lot longer than the three days that I was there.
The Cape left me wanting more. Maybe it was because I was only able to spend such a short time there, or maybe it was because I left my partner (and dog) there, but somehow I get the feeling that this feeling of longing occurs within a lot of people’s stomachs as they cross the river again northward, off of the island. Until my trip I hadn’t realized that the cape was an island, cut off from the rest of the state by the Cape Cod Canal. That beautiful scene that I witnessed going across the bridge is witnessed by millions of visitors each year, and can cause a massive amount of automobile congestion in the warmest, summer months. I personally saw such an assault of automobiles on my way into the area, albeit far enough away from the Cape to enjoy my ride in. The traffic that I rode into occurred right inside of Boston as I made the switch from I-95 to 93 - a rookie mistake, I know. When Google spit the directions from Portland out, I just assumed that each route was equal. Downtown Boston at 6pm disagrees.
With the insane traffic jam behind me and some great tunes on the radio life was gravy once I was over the bridge. Some cheap Mexican food was eaten and the night was called off due to exhaustion. Up early the next morning I cruised along the peninsula’s two major roads – 28 & Hwy 6. The two roads are very different, 6 being the obvious scenic route, passing by insanely large Cape Cod style homes and scenic views of the water. 28 on the other hand, was stockade after stockade of places to spend your cash.
My favorite part of the area was the National Seashore. We headed up to Truro on a beautiful Sunday and enjoyed the winds as they swept across the dunes. Birds chirped and butterflies were everywhere. We even heard the screech of a hawk, though we never caught a real glimpse of it. Zoe loved it most of all, glad to get out of the car and run around for a day. She really loves to travel and is a great companion on the road, but she really does, like me, enjoy getting out.
While we were at the beach, Chels and Zoe took off for the ocean while I stood atop the dune. The sky was blue, with huge white clouds floating around. I remember the wind being a bit too cold but the sun seemed to be putting up a good fight. Cape Cod felt like the huge pile of sand that it really is at that time and place. When you drive around the island it is amazing how the place feels in no way small. It could have been the lines of traffic or countless ice cream stands but the Cape just has a presence. I just know that when I looked down at Zoe from the dunes she was just a tiny speck of white on the beach.
And that is a lot of sand.
The Cape left me wanting more. Maybe it was because I was only able to spend such a short time there, or maybe it was because I left my partner (and dog) there, but somehow I get the feeling that this feeling of longing occurs within a lot of people’s stomachs as they cross the river again northward, off of the island. Until my trip I hadn’t realized that the cape was an island, cut off from the rest of the state by the Cape Cod Canal. That beautiful scene that I witnessed going across the bridge is witnessed by millions of visitors each year, and can cause a massive amount of automobile congestion in the warmest, summer months. I personally saw such an assault of automobiles on my way into the area, albeit far enough away from the Cape to enjoy my ride in. The traffic that I rode into occurred right inside of Boston as I made the switch from I-95 to 93 - a rookie mistake, I know. When Google spit the directions from Portland out, I just assumed that each route was equal. Downtown Boston at 6pm disagrees.
With the insane traffic jam behind me and some great tunes on the radio life was gravy once I was over the bridge. Some cheap Mexican food was eaten and the night was called off due to exhaustion. Up early the next morning I cruised along the peninsula’s two major roads – 28 & Hwy 6. The two roads are very different, 6 being the obvious scenic route, passing by insanely large Cape Cod style homes and scenic views of the water. 28 on the other hand, was stockade after stockade of places to spend your cash.
My favorite part of the area was the National Seashore. We headed up to Truro on a beautiful Sunday and enjoyed the winds as they swept across the dunes. Birds chirped and butterflies were everywhere. We even heard the screech of a hawk, though we never caught a real glimpse of it. Zoe loved it most of all, glad to get out of the car and run around for a day. She really loves to travel and is a great companion on the road, but she really does, like me, enjoy getting out.
While we were at the beach, Chels and Zoe took off for the ocean while I stood atop the dune. The sky was blue, with huge white clouds floating around. I remember the wind being a bit too cold but the sun seemed to be putting up a good fight. Cape Cod felt like the huge pile of sand that it really is at that time and place. When you drive around the island it is amazing how the place feels in no way small. It could have been the lines of traffic or countless ice cream stands but the Cape just has a presence. I just know that when I looked down at Zoe from the dunes she was just a tiny speck of white on the beach.
And that is a lot of sand.
