An hour plus at least a half of two lanes, divided, carves US Route 6 through the center of the scorpion tale that is Cape Cod. A relief to be in escape from the double clutching stressball that was the reportedly scenic drive that is MA-3A, which turned out to be roundabout after roundabout worth of deinudstrialized Boston suburbs. We ditched plans to solidly do Boston altogether and now found ourselves with plenty of daylight to burn at the tip of the cape’s cod, a gay ol’ place toting itself as Provincetown.
Ptown’s magic comes straight out of a European cobblestone, with a street where foot traffic, pedi-cabs and wayward delivery tricks alike share the shade of a barely more than one lane alley under flags of all prides and persuasions, between boutiques, restaurants and gayeries galore. Winding into and between docks, beaches and all the varieties of characters one man might hope to peruse, this end of the road for Cape Cod is an experience worth revisiting, some tomorrow type day.
As that experience and a jaunt through Rhode Island expired though, tonight I’m happy to be back in the woodlands, around a fire, in the Bus. Connecticut this time, and already feeling it in the ‘Cut.