I went up to Boston last weekend and did another training ride, this one on Labor Day (see my previous post on my New York ride). My perspective on geography there, at least in the southern part of the city, is that you can get a pretty good ride in without thinking too hard about the route just by picking a direction and turning around when you get to one of the circumferential interstates. Last time, I used I-95 as my boundary; this time, it was I-495. The route was very simple, which is good, because I didn’t make a cue sheet nor bring a map.
My original plan was to go out on route 28 south to Bridgewater, make a right on route 104, and come back on route 138. Simple, right? Read the last sentence of the last paragraph. As soon as I got to Roxbury, I made a wrong turn down Washington Street, which took my right through Jamaica Plain (I didn’t object when I realized my error, because I was curious to experience the ride I had done earlier in the season). I figured as well that I could rejoin one of my two routes, which I managed to do somewhere south of Readville by just following the road to the Neponset Valley Parkway and then to Blue Hill Ave. From there it was a terribly boring straight shot south through various suburban towns. This route would have been awful were it not for the fact that I did the ride on Labor Day – it is your typical suburban speedway, main arterial. On a fixed gear, this was a somewhat demanding route of rolling hills, but certainly not as bad as the western route in Concord and Carlisle I am used to (although much longer!)
Eventually, I started seeing east-west roads with names I kind of recognized. I was feeling a little tired in the legs at this point, as I was approaching 2 hours without a break. Eager to get to my halfway point of Bridgewater, and not wanting to miss my turn because of fatigue, I saw route 106 (not 104!), which goes to West Bridgewater, and took it. I wasn’t quite sure of the geography, and I couldn’t recall whether I was supposed to cross I-495 (I had begun to see signs for it), so it seemed completely plausible. I was wrong; during a later break I talked to my sister in New York, and she located route 104, which did indeed exist. I see I cut out 8 miles from the route with this mistake, although looking more closely at the map, my devotion to route 104 would have probably led me far, far astray, since 104 does not meet 138. (If you’re following at home, look up Bridgewater, MA or Taunton, MA for what I mean.)
On route 106, I stopped at Montreal French Fries (at 10 am on Labor Day). It said open, but the proprietor had no real interest in serving me. I really just wanted him to fill my water bottle, but I bought a pickle and ended up getting no water. I rode on.
I made a left at West Bridgwater onto route 28 to head back home. This took my through the depressed-looking town of Brockton. Eventually, feeling crummy about shortening my ride (it was quite obvious when I hit 28 that this was not the correct way, but I didn’t want to ride south to Bridgewater and back just to say I had done it), I took a detour on route 37 to go to Braintree.
Continuing my penance, I decided I wanted to go down to the water, so I kept going east and north to reach the coast. This took me through a massive traffic circle and almost onto route 3 (a freeway!), but I persevered and eventually found my way to Bridge Street and the water. However, not all was peaches and cream, because the coast here is not flat; it is coves. This means that the road goes up hills, and down hills. I went from standing up on my seat to brake the bike, to standing up on my seat to haul up hill. Eventually, the road seemed to be meandering away and I capitulated, and headed back to Bridge Street. I declined fresh tomatoes from two adorable little girls selling them in front of their house, to a cry of “why not!”. Across the street, a scene straight out of the 1950s gave me three little kids peering, huge smiles on their faces, through a screen at the scene of the girls hawking their wares.
Bridge Street took me to an impressive bridge that rattled like crazy and went past a decommissioned World War II warship. I followed the charmingly-named Southern Artery road to Sea Street and the Wollaston Beach Reservation. I did get my beach for the second time in the weekend, and it was glorious.
Eventually, this took me to another bridge, this one somewhat less friendly that the others to which I have become accustomed; I basically ended up riding in the middle of a real highway, straight into a cloverleaf that had the ramp for I-93. After regrouping for a moment, I darted across the highway and onto Neponset and then Dorchester Ave straight into Boston, and home.
This was a hell of a ride. It got a little lonesome, but the adventure towards the end made up for all that. I knew I was getting famished, however, when I started to have an inner monologue of “all I really want now is…” followed by absurd things like “to jump in the water” or “to eat forever”, when all I really wanted was to get off the bike.
This ride was also about 65 miles (more hills, fewer stops and starts, less knee pain, faster icing of the knees), also 4.5 hours of biking, also about 14.5 mph.
