It's taken me two days to figure out that I've been sweating at night because I've got a heavy quilt on top of a heavy bedspread, blanket, and flannel sheets and it no longer freezes outside overnight. In fact I had the air conditioning on for a while after I got in camp today.
In the news is the fact that I'm not the only one who is letting things get to my head. Seems a certain Canadian Vice-Regal appointee is getting too big for her britches. Head of state indeed. This from the same gal who raised eyebrows by eating parts of an endangered species. I suppose we can be thankful it's only a five year appointment. We must remember that she comes from the same province that calls their premiers Prime Ministers and their provincial parks, National Parks. Somehow methinks this can best be handled by ignoring these little pufferies and not giving them more attention than they deserve. For the record our governor general acts as head of state in the absence of the Queen, gets her appointment from the Queen on the advice of the Prime Minister of Canada. The position is largely ceremonial but for all that would you rather have Stephen Harper acting as Head of State?
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It would seem we owe the existence of Cape Cod to the last ice age and its alluvial action. However it was created in its present form it looks like the shoulder and arm of a man showing off his biceps with Chatham being the elbow, Truro the wrist, and Provincetown the clenched fist. The difference between National Seashores such as Cape Cod, National Parks such as Acadia, and National Reserves is somewhat lost on me but whatever else those differences might be there are no fees for entering a National Seashore. If glaciers served to form Cap Cod, the weather continues to reform it by way of the wave action of the ocean and sand blown by the wind. The contours of the dunes and shoreline are constantly shifting and being reshaped. To my way of thinking the Graveyard of the Atlantic will always be Sable Island but the waters surrounding Cape Cod have claimed over 300O ships and light houses and life saving stations have always been a feature of life on the islands though the shifting sands have forced their relocation over and over.
Provincetown's claim to fame is that of being the site of the first landfall of the Pilgrim Fathers on the Mayflower. Although they rejected this site and eventually landed at Plymouth a monument soars into the sky marking their visit. The rich marine life supported by these constantly churning waters has attracted fisherman and whalers before and ever since but it is the clean salt air, endless sandy beaches, and the refreshing climate of the place that has made it a haven for those seeking the restorative powers it possesses. That their sheer numbers threaten those qualities is another matter. Cape Cod has attracted the wealthy, the poor, authors and artists, bird watchers and oceanographers.
In a less charitable mood I decided that having depleted the soils with bad farm practice and destabilized the land by cutting down the forests to build boats; the farmers turned to fishing and fleeced the sea of whales and fish before turning their hands at fleecing tourists. The chief agricultural pursuits today on the islands are grapes—Martha's Vineyard has its own VQA designation and cranberries, 10% of America's production are grown here. I am also struck by the contrast in attitudes presented by Acadia and Cape Cod. Whereas the Cape is a sandbar constantly being reshaped by the elements and in danger of disappearing completely it is promoted in the most glowing of terms; meanwhile the dramatic rockbound coastlines of Acadia and its bald mountains are described in the most self-deprecating of terms, Mainites could almost be Canadian.
On Monday when I drove up to Race Point the wind brought tears to my eyes when I walked up to the cliff overlooking the ocean. The Provincetown Visitors Centre was open and the lanky park warden manning it seemed to know his stuff. In North Truro I was pleased to discover that not all resorts on the Cape are clip joints. I camped in the middle of a pitch pine forest. I walked out to the old Coast Guard Station Site by the shoreline and saw the lighthouse, now surrounded by a golf course. On Tuesday we actually got a sunny day. Remarkable how quickly the sea subsides here when the wind stops blowing. What was missing, I determined was the boom of the surf when I got up. Wednesday I drove down and took the North Shore Drive along the base of the Cape. The area is dotted with what has become know as Cape Cod Style homes, narrow winding roads and quaint shops, inns, and small towns. Fortunately for me there was not a long line up to get off the island via the under construction Sagamore Bridge.
At the other end I discovered the only way to get where I wanted to go was to turn right, make a 'U-Turn' and come back. Next up was another staple of the area, a roundabout. Fun when there are more exits than the GPS knows about. Stopped for gas and to replenish my cash for the inevitable toll roads ahead. The coastal highway lacks level crossings and underpasses, instead locals get onto the highway and take the next 'U-Turn' or turnaround lane to get there. Guess it makes sense here. Settled on Fisherman's Memorial State Park in Rhode Island for my next Campsite. Getting there involved driving through dozens of small towns by way of back streets and along wooded pathways; what you get when you tell a GPS to get you there the shortest route. The shortest route took over 4 hours to go 150 miles. Somehow it's disconcerting to be dependent on a small electronic device that tells you to make a turn when you have absolutely no idea where you are and there aren't any road signs to inform you either. Somehow it got me there again as I've come to expect it to do. The 200 site Campground, when I finally reached it was near but not on the water at a point of land sticking out into the Atlantic. The campsites were all drive-through with a berm of grass and shrubs between each site, a female worker with a long shock of hair standing on end was out clipping the shrubs with a gas-powered clipper.
Thursday Morning I was on the road by 7:00 AM headed for New York City on I-95. Just short of the city I stopped at one of the service areas to use a MacDonalds Washroom and take a break before the challenge ahead. The highway never widened to more than 5 lanes with exits making the biggest challenge finding the right lane to be in to continue on the route I wished to take. Fortunately there were no collisions ahead and traffic never slowed below 20 miles an hour and then only in a few places. My GPS was of no assistance keeping me in the proper lane to stay on the Interstate where the third outside lane frequently became an 'Exit Only' lane creating the need to find a safe break in traffic to get left before I was forced off the highway. I'm happy to report that somehow I managed to avoid getting lost and made it across the George Washington Bridge and safely through NYC to the New Jersey Shoreline.
Alas the park I'd settled on for last night did not appear to have any campsites and I saw no staff to assist me. Allaire State Park does have a miniature railroad, an interpretive centre that was closed, and a large parking lot. Having gotten there I needed to get back onto the Interstate headed south again but easier said than done. My GPS is not always clear on which of the three off-ramps ahead one should take and when it tells you to turn right too often one finds out one has made the wrong choice and are faced with a 2 to 4 mile drive up to the next interchange to drive back. When this happens three times in a row after a 300-mile harrowing drive patience can wear thin. I got to my first park by 11:30 but it was 1:30 before I reached Cedar Creek just north of Atlantic City. The place has a pleasant odour of cedar about it, a well-stocked campground store and canteen area along with a large well-stocked games room. And the showers are free! Figuring out how to make the water come on can be a challenge though. This single control tap required a forceful outward yank.
I am reaching more southerly climes. After arising to frost patterns on my picnic tables I saw the thermometer top 75 degrees yesterday and last evening saw stars, a crescent moon, and heard crickets again along with common night hawks. I took the quilt off my bed last night and slept the sleep of exhaustion.
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