Mancation: Cape Cod

2 slices wheat bread, well buttered

generous amount of brie’

1 slice grilled ham

 

2 slices wheat bread well buttered

generous amount of brie

crème and peach infused stilton

grill and enjoy…

The woods gave way to Boston, which then faded into clap board cottages and crab shacks.

Having established an Americana theme of sorts we had to stop where it all started.

Having seen the rock and while walking along the main strip, Kaleo and Preston looked at each other and one of them said, “I thought there would be, I don’t know, something better.” everyone agreed Plymouth was a bit of a dissapointment.

On to the Cape.

Hyannis Port seemed as good as anywhere else so we pulled past the sign that announced opening day was tomorrow. We sat in the sand and pulled out a maple seltzer, Vermont root beer, and some other concoction brewed in no where Vermont. Whatever that “other” soda was, it was better than the others, but we still drank it all.

In the name of seeing more of what the cape had to offer we later sat and watched the Nantucket Ferry come and go. Doing nothing, just watching.

While sitting doing nothing three wise man can solve all the world’s problems, upset each other over political issues, and solve that too. We did all of that and still accomplished nothing. That was our intent. I think that makes us the same as congress. Except Kaleo has a cool beard. Congress hasn’t had those for decades.

It is a pity.

 

Again, shewed away to a truck stop by suspicious onlookers, we slept for the fourth time. Tired.

Early Hours at Plymouth Rock

128 years after the Spanish and Portuguese got things rolling over here in America a bunch of English folks decided to get in on the action.  290 years after that, I followed suit. 

Turkey Dinner, here we come!

 With plans to photograph the site of our nations founding at sunrise, symbolism and whatnot, I arrived in Plymouth somewhere between way-to-early, and 4am.  Upon arrival I remembered a life lesson I have long since known, which is that no matter how early you rise, you will not get out-and-about before either old people, or fog.  This morning I was bested by fog. 

The rigging of the Mayflower... sounds like the title of a historical fiction thriller.

 The Pilgrims sailed a ship called the Mayflower in hopes of finding religious freedom; I drove a vehicle called a van in hopes of finding a little financial security.  Those are kind of the same thing right? 

A reproduction of the Pilgrim's vessel.

 About 50 yards away from the reproduced ship is the rock itself. 

In 1933 a social studies student who had problems memorizing dates, took chisel in hand and created the best cheat-sheet that following generations could ask for.

 Looking down at the walled in stone, fighting to get Malcolm X quotes out of my head, I realized that history is best learned through experience, rather than theory.  So I went for it. 

If the Pilgrims could land on Plymouth rock, so could I.

 Appreciating that oft debated historical piece of geology, I recalled a forgotten principle of physics.  Two hundred Sixty pounds goes down, much easier than it goes up.  Standing at the bottom of that walled in pit, I mused that those who “break with convention” as I had cannot exactly call for help.  While pondering upon this I realized that our fore-fathers, who discarded their native lands religious regulations, had done just that.  They asked for help!  Maybe I could do the same. 

Massasoit was apparently fed-up with helping as he refused to lend me a hand.

Driving on to my next locale I pondered if we can ever know how things really were in the past, just as a reader can never really know if my tale is fiction or not.  My story is written, I have photographs, yet still, there is room for debate.

All I have to say, is no one not cast in bronze was there to see me, so my word is all you have.