New England

I have to weave my way around Manhattan’s one-way streets in right angles and squares before I can get on the FDR and afterwards to 278 to 95. Naturally I run into a very very long traffic jam in which I simply just sit and wish I were legally allowed to split lanes and get out of this mess. Some dude on a big old Harley rolls by doing that, and then two guys on sport bikes zoom by and I watch them disappear in the distance, past all these cars. I just don’t have the balls, plus I haven’t been pulled over in nine thousand miles and I would like to keep it that way. Eventually the traffic clears and I am on my way again. A ways up 95 the same sport bike guys pass me again, I can only assume they got off then back on again, and instead of giving me the standard nonchalant biker wave, the first turns all the way around once he is past me and has seen my Utah plates and gear packed on the rear, and gives me a thumbs up.
It’s an uninteresting ride to Providence where I have a friend I went to school with in Utah. I get off and find my way to downtown to get directions from Nate, and then I immediately get lost because I did not pay enough attention to the intricate directions, and end up back on the freeway, and have to exit, turn around, and find my way back into town once again. I at least know the street he lives on, so I go around asking people. There is some event being set up for tonight, and I pull over to a parking attendant in a pink breast cancer shirt, but he has never heard of Wickenden Street, or he just doesn’t want to bother helping me out. I ride over to a nearby fire station and the firefighters give me directions in the first Boston accents I have yet encountered on my trip, and it really sets in that I am about home. I go up some street they point me to, probably not the right one because it looks like I am going up a hill the wrong way on a one-way street, and then I take a right until the road is closed off for some festivities, and the guy standing there gives me more directions which get me lost even more. I ask one more woman who points me in what finally turn out to be the right way, and I finally get to Nate’s place. I get myself cleaned up and we head over to the local wine and beer store and stare at an entire wall of international microbrews for about twenty minutes before picking some fancy schmancy stuff out that we drink back at his apartment before walking to downtown, past Water Fire, which is what I saw people setting up for on my way in here. Apparently Water Fire is a recurring weekend event in which torches that line the center of a downtown canal are lit up and people gather around the park at the end of the canal and listen to music and take canal boat tours and generally stare at fire like a bunch of curious primitives. Not to say there is anything wrong with staring like a curious primitive, I do it all the time, but it’s an interesting habit of ours.
First we head to RiRa’s which catches me off guard because that is where Ben and I hung out in Charlotte, and it turns out that it is a small chain, which makes sense. Nate’s girlfriend works there and we have a few drinks there before we head over to McCormick and Schmick’s where they have ridiculously cheap bar food that is totally delicious. It’s like two dollars for a full size burger with fries, or mozzarella sticks or potato croquettes, and really cheap beer too. Pretty excellent. After stuffing ourselves for next to nothing we head back to RiRa’s for a bit before getting a taxi back to Nate’s and partying there for a bit before hitting the sack.