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| Friend watches me read outside Airbnb, Wellfleet |
I took a little break, this time on another getaway, not as exotic as
Costa Rica, but beautiful, and according to a friend who has traveled around the world, one of the most exotic places he's seen.
He was referring to Race Point, in Provincetown, and the bike ride we took through the dunes. Savoring the spring blooms still out, the beach flowers fragrant, the distinctive smell of the sea...we stayed for a while after finishing the loop. (Detouring here: Did you ever wonder how to describe that ocean smell? I looked it up and found that from poets to biologists, people had plenty to say.
Why does the sea smell like the sea?, from Popular Science, takes the romance out of it but is an interesting read.)
I'd only been biking a little, and for some reason, though I went to a lot of spinning classes at the Y last year, it didn't speak to me this year. I do something most every day, so I think I filled those slots with yoga and a little more tennis because I joined an extra group.
(Tennis detour: I'm more relaxed as a "fun" player and during my outdoor summer league season with the Holyoke Dolls than in the regular leagues. My record is pretty good with the Dolls and not so good anymore during indoor league tennis. Yesterday I played twice, first with my Monday morning group, and last night at Forest Park for the team. I was worried that I would be tired, but despite the heat and humidity, I was energized and played really well, getting balls out of range, I think surprising the other players and also surprising myself. My excellent, fun, partner and I were a good team; I set some up and she smashed them. It was very convivial, more so than indoors, with chit chat on the side changes and laughter between two courts. We won, 6-1, 6-3. I wish this and other summer scores counted in my rating; scores in this league don't count. But, rating, shmating, it's like a test score that might not reflect what you do. I kind of understand why I didn't get asked to play this year on a senior team for which I didn't earn a win, but still, despite the "maturity" of advancing age, it's hard to always separate self-worth from tennis-worth. That's why last night was great, and it's also great that George says I'm playing my best tennis ever. It must have something to do with the light therapy on my blood, the
extracorporeal photopheresis, although to be honest I can't exactly explain it except for saying it's loosened up my skin and made me more flexible.)
Therefore if I had fallen off my bike tottering in granny gear going up one of the Race Point hills, I might have had a better fall than my past crashes. But maturity overcame my desire to prove a point when I was going so slowly up a steep hill that I could have lost my balance and fallen off. I GOT off and walked to the top, congratulating myself on knowing when I had reached a limit. I can't think of other times when I've gotten off; I didn't love doing it, but it was better than falling.
Another unusual thing for me was talking to a cat. That's Fiddle, the dog-like cat who hangs out at the sweet Airbnb where we stayed in Wellfleet, a short walk to town. Besides my cousin's (late) cat, Chloe, she's the only dog-like cat I ever knew. She sat with me when I read. I didn't do much reading, though, because I was either doing some work or doing outdoor activities with the friend who wishes to remain anonymous. Highlights included a hike around Great Island and walks along the beach and a last-day bike ride starting on the bike path in Wellfleet and then turning left for a ride to Coast Guard Beach.
We watched a couple playing with their grandson on the beach. It made me wonder how I can be a grandmother now, while, just the other day, I was in high school, riding around these beaches in a jeep with that first love who creeps into my thoughts in places that are connected to him. The beach can do that to you. I'm pretty sure that when we walked along the beach separately, me walking through the shallow water and him on the harder sand, that he was having his own thoughts too.
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| Entrance to Coast Guard Beach, Eastham |
When we were exiting up the path, the grandpa was walking down with the lunch that he had gotten out of the car. I asked (jokingly) if we could have some. We got to doing the "where are you from" thing. He said he lives in Munson. I said I used to work for the newspaper (The Republican) that covered that area. He asked if I knew Jim Gillen. I said of course! He was an editor at the paper. The grandpa (Andre, I think, said he is a lifelong friend of Jim's and was staying in Jim's Cape house. He asked if he could take my photo and text it to Jim. I said of course; when he sent it I wrote a cutline saying "could I please have an extra inch?" That's how it used to go at the paper, with space getting smaller and reporters begging for more space.
It was the last week before the crowds arrive. The bike path can get crazy in season, but we had it almost to ourselves. It made me more relaxed because my concern on crowded bike paths is not so much falling, as it would be on a hill on the road, but bumping into kids or having kids bump into me.
I'm looking forward to going back in a couple of weeks, this time to Diane and David's, with my three (plus one grandchild). It took a lot of engineering to try to get everyone together, but I think that, with different cars, we'll manage at least one dinner and part of a day together. A friend took everyone on a cruise to accomplish a similar feat, but I'm not quite up that.
