We leave the Thimbles early and head out into the Long Island Sound once again. Today is almost an exact duplicate of yesterday, minus the loss of a valued crew member of course. The heat, the lack of wind, the flies; it’s enough to drive one insane. We rig up a pasta pot with some line to use as a bucket replacement – we’ve been calling it “Mrs. Wilson”.
We enter the Race near the end of the afternoon, and it is wild. Of rather short duration, the Race is a spot towards the end of the Sound where the depth rises quite suddenly from 200 feet or so to around 100 – half as much. All that water is pulled by the strong tidal current over a much smaller space, and the surface boils like a pot of soup. We whip around in the mess, but we’re prepared for it this time. When we left Barnegat Light that early morning last week we neglected to batten everything down; no wonder there were pots and pans and other things flying around inside the boat. We are wiser and safer now of course, but maybe things are a little less exciting too…
Once through the Race, everything changes – the water is a deep blue, the air is cool and smells of the ocean, and the flies almost magically disappear. Rick considers this the turning point of the trip; in fact we are about halfway in every sense, having been out two of our four weeks and having come 250 miles or so. We are now officially in the northern waters. We sit together on the bow and watch the approach to Block Island.
Block Island is a sort of pear shaped mass of land with a natural round harbor in the middle called Great Salt Pond. Arriving is real cause for celebration, and Rick surprises me with champagne and my favorite snack in the world – popcorn!
We plan to have dinner at the little marina restaurant, but a storm is brewing and Rick is worried about our anchor holding, so we stay on board. The storm is impressive, with heavy winds, lightning and plenty of rain. In the end our anchor is fine, but some unlucky boat fairly near to us comes loose and the emergency tow boat has to come out and haul it away before it does damage to the other boats. Who knows where the owner of that boat is, but they’re in for a rude awakening when they get back from dinner…
We awaken the next morning with the sound of someone yelling. It turns out to be Aldo, the muffin man – a bakery owner who sells pastries and croissants out of his boat. How incredibly decadent! I think I’m going to like it here.
We decide to take the day off from traveling and spend the day exploring Block Island. This is the first day off since Cape May, and I am really up for a day on dry land. We take the dinghy in, and rent bikes for the day. Rick shows me a map of the island and we choose a route that follows along the coast. I purposely choose this route because I’m assuming it will be mostly flat; boy am I wrong! It’s a rolling landscape with periodic views of the water, and while I love the New England cottagey feel to the island, I wish it is an easier ride (or that I am in better shape). Some saintly entrepreneur named Zoe has set-up a self-serve roadside lemonade stand at the southern end of the island, “Zoe’s Zesty Lemonade,” and we take full advantage.
Our intention is to ride around the circumference of the island and end up at the marina for the dinner we missed last night. When Rick has visited Block Island in the past, he has always eaten there; the food is OK, but the real attraction is the setting if you can get a table outside. Rick is of course leading the way on his bike as I struggle up the hills, and when we pass by a big beautiful inn he can’t resist checking it out. The Spring House is a big white Victorian affair in the grand style of seaside resorts of the day. It reminds me a great deal of the Grand Hotel on Mackinaw Island, MI, with its white façade, wrap-around porch and angle towards the water. It’s quite a bit smaller than the GH, but clearly the same vintage.
We decide to stop for drinks; I don’t know if this is a good idea since we still need to balance on top of our bikes for the rest of the ride home, but what-the-heck, we’re on vacation. The other guests on the porch are casually, but stylishly dressed in that preppy, yachty (snooty) way that only those who don’t fit in will recognize. I still have on my trusty baseball cap, because underneath it I have a wicked case of hat-hair. Both of my calves are literally covered in bicycle grease, and my hands are both black from the handlebars. All the same, the staff treat us like VIPs, and the view from the porch is so wonderful, we decide to stay for dinner after all.
Just a word about Rick’s beard – It is getting quite out of hand! Beside the fact that it is very grey and contrasts with the hair on his head, it obscures the handsome, boyish face that I love. He’s past the prickly stage, so I guess I can deal with a furry face, but it’s starting to feel like kissing Santa Claus. I’ve been calling him, “The Most Interesting Man in the World”, after those Dos Equis commercials from a few years ago. We still have almost two weeks to go, and by then he’s going to look like Rip van Winkle.
Here's a clean-shaven Rick on the shake-down cruise, three weeks ago:
And here's... what can one say:
We move to the other side of the Spring House for dinner which is unbelievably good – it’s a bit pricey, but absolutely worth every penny. By now definitely tipsy, we get back on our bikes with just enough time to race back to the marina before dark. We pass through the village proper where they have erected a statue of “Rebecca”. We learn from a local that, ironically enough, she was a prohibitionist heroine of some sort.
It is well after dark when we climb into the dinghy, but the full moon on the now still water lights our way. Back on our boat, I have to say that I love Block Island. Can we just stay here?
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