The Maryland Eastern Shore, Part 2

It was late March when I began planning a stay in the Berkshires for the summer. I’d discovered an area near Mount Greylock offering a rail-to-trail, a lake and an affordable room in a Victorian house. My thought was to use this pleasant location as my summer home base to write, ride, hike and tour, while traveling to visit people and attend events.

Of course, there was just one glitch – Was the tenant leaving this room in June or renewing his work contract through summer? The answer wouldn’t come till mid-May but I was feeling positive and being patient. It felt just right so it was destined to be mine.

In mid-April, I rolled into Talbot County from Virginia on a Saturday morning and this was a traumatizing experience. The drive from the Auto Train was 92 miles of fear and stress, so unnerving that with just 20 minutes to my final destination, I stopped to spend an hour walking to decompress. When I arrived at the farm stay, I was so pleased I had chosen a relatively calm, semi-rural area.

Sunday, May 31 (post-Memorial Day weekend) was the date on my calendar to begin the journey further north. Since I was convinced I was heading to the Berkshires, I plotted my way from the Delmarva Peninsula onto a route that would keep me away from mountain passes or insane cities. I planned a 2-night room stay in Pennsylvania and a 4-night camping stop in New York, before alas, I’d be there. I did discover my route -- 81 North through Pennsylvania -- is under construction until 2031 and, no surprise, is a more dangerous mess than usual.

You know where this is going, right? On May 15, the bad news arrived about my perfect little summer situation just as I was two weeks from departure. Spending 30-40 hours, I kicked many tires looking for an affordable spot in Massachusetts or Rhode Island where I could at least ride my bike, damn it. Most people didn’t bother to respond to my inquiry. One woman sent me an essay assignment to complete before consideration. Another household story kept getting more and more complicated. I had less than slim pickings.

During this time, I also discovered the World Cup is about to disrupt the already maddening summer travel in Massachusetts, while simultaneously realizing the nearby DC celebration is a 16-day hullabaloo. How the hell was I getting out of here and where the hell was I headed? This was what I began to ask myself at 3AM too many mornings in late May. Yes, I was tired; fear was setting in about driving north; and it wasn’t clear what I was pushing toward. Finally, I was without a doubt, mentally and physically immobilized.

Wow, I do remember when travel could be spontaneous and definitely fun. Perhaps it was the two full moons in May. Perhaps it’s the toxicity blowing east from the Beltway. Perhaps it’s simply the universe having a good laugh by trapping me in the place I said so long to many moons ago.

Thankfully, my host was flexible, so I’m in a comfortable place. Where do I go from here? I’m taking a short pause from thinking so my head doesn’t explode. More to come, hopefully.​