I love to travel. I could spend every day in a different place soaking up life. Much of my travels happen during race weekends going back as long as I can remember. It started long ago during my rowing days. Boston was always one of the main stops on the rowing circuit. It never grabbed me for some reason. I always seemed to gravitate to gritty Philadelphia over Boston’s more polished appearance. But to Boston’s defense, my lack admiration came purely out of hunger. Every time I was in Boston I was starving. I was a lightweight rower and not a skinny one at that. I stepped out of my hotel room with not a care in the world today. I knew Chris had his own journey to contend with racing the marathon in sweltering heat this morning. My one responsibility was to find him somewhere under a Capital “S” after it was all said and done (hey, it’s not as easy as it seems). I was somewhere near the JKF library. I walked towards the T and (since I’ve never been very good at following directions) just got off at any old stop. Boston virtually make’s no sense when it comes to direction. Water seems to be everywhere, roads twist and turn and everyone seems too young to ask for directions. When I stepped off the T, I felt directionally lost as I looked up at the sun and it seemed to give no answers in return. An old building caught my eye and I headed that way. Stupidly, I wasn’t traveling light. I had brought three lenses, more than I needed on a hot day, but my camera equipment always hijacks me. I easily had 20 lbs on my back and 6 hours to kill. Looking around, I wondered where all that tea had been dumped. Staring into the water, I saw no tea bags and moved on. Hoping for Paul Revere’s horse to get me around town, I knew a ride would be unlikely. But around the bend, a row of bicycles were perfectly aligned, begging to be ridden. I had found my noble steed. Looking the tourist in every way, I read the Hubway directions a hundred times. Get a bike, pay 5 bucks on a credit card, go to another “hub” within a half hour and continue the cycle. It was a commuting service, but I was going to make it work as a tourist. I would repeat the routine 6 times throughout the morning bringing me to every corner of Boston. I felt like a kid getting her freedom wheels as I rode along the Freedom Trail. The Boston I had in my mind was quickly becoming a thing of the past. This Boston had little surprises around every bend, beautiful brownstones, blossoms everywhere and history…so much history. The city was mine to discover. As I did this, 30,000 others were discovering it too, marching like soldiers from Hopkinton to Boston's city boundaries. …
To be continued... (isn't that what life is all about anyway?)
No crates of tea here.