One of my main motivations for deciding to cycle the length of Long Island over the coast of Connecticut was the opportunity to ride a ferry at the far end to take me back to the mainland. I rarely pass up a ferry opportunity and I was excited to be able to add another to my growing collection. The vehicle ferry from Orient Point to New London took about 90 minutes and left every hour, but to get all the way to Providence, Rhode Island today I had to be on the 11am sailing. Counting backwards that meant an 8.30am start from Clayton’s lovely home for a morning ride of 22 miles up the bay. I was lucky to be accompanied for this first section by Clayton himself, and doubly so because we had a following breeze on another bright, sunny day. For once, I didn’t have to think about my route and I could just let him lead me to the right place.
It was a pleasant ride indeed across the furthest reaches of Long Island in this outlying part of the peninsula. The road ended at the ferry and we made it with room to spare. I boarded along with the waiting cars and Clayton turned back into the wind for a rather more taxing return ride. He had single handedly transformed the last week of my adventure and I remain ever grateful. I hope we meet again. I feel pretty confident we will.
I ate lunch on the boat, including an Easter cookie that looked better than it tasted. Soon enough we were sailing into the estuary of the Thames River (pronounced as it is spelt, not the English way), and we docked in the historic Connecticut port town of New London, which today plays host to the US nuclear submarine fleet. They also build the new ones here on the north bank of the river, which is linked to the town centre by a high bridge carrying the Interstate highway. I knew this was my best and perhaps only chance today to replenish my stocks of inner tubes, and after yesterday I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. This meant a small detour through the town centre to a small independent bike shop, where I bumped into Bud, an 80 year old retired submariner on an electric bicycle. He was quite a character and kept me company for a good hour as we crossed the bridge together. My cycling exploits seemed of great interest to him, and in return he shared many stories with me about a life in journalism since the 1970s, and his views on the current political chaos engulfing the US. I came to think of him as a cycling version of Bernie Sanders, and it was a pleasure to have made his acquaintance; but it cost me time.
Nevertheless, the ride to Providence proved to be enjoyable and direct, along route 184 and then RI route 3, neither of which was busy. I was momentarily delayed by a roadside ice cream shop that sold 24 different flavours of soft serve. I went for coconut, which was divine. Other options included just about every imaginable kind of fruit, and Crème de Menthe. I made the mistake of asking for a medium sized cone and it was enormous. More time.
When things finally began to get a little more built up I found myself in mill country. It was like being near Stockport or Halifax, with a whole series of tall, brick mills by the side of the river, each with its own distinctive tower. Most seemed in good repair and it all had a strangely familiar feel to it. Threading its way in between these large buildings was a smooth new bike path, the “Washington Secondary Trail”, on an old railway bed that ran from a town called Coventry almost into the centre of Providence. It was a delight to cycle along, completely free from traffic on a wide, smooth, level and freshly marked out tarmac surface. It was as good as a bike path gets, and I flew along here, confident that I couldn’t make a wrong turn. In fact in eleven miles there were no turns to make until suddenly and without warning, it just stopped dead in a scruffy bit of industrial land. That left me to pick my way through the last few miles into downtown Providence, which is a delightful small city: big enough to feel important but small enough to be manageable.
Hopkinton, RI
I arrived in the early evening and was immediately impressed. I crossed the small river from the modest collection of taller buildings, old and new, and found myself on a bluff on the north bank following a quiet street of delightful old colonial era houses and churches, with old fashioned street lights and large trees lining the street. It was like stepping back two hundred years, and it all seemed perfectly preserved. The next street back up a fiendishly steep – if short – hill, was even more lovely and it afforded a splendid view across town to the sumptuously domed state Capitol building, its white stone glowing in the golden evening light. It was all most impressive. And it was here, a few yards up the next steep road, that I found my home for the night, with a different part of Clayton’s extended family. More incredible hospitality from delightful cycling people followed. What a privilege.
We walked into the city to try out a new Indian restaurant and then visited a very cool new pedestrian bridge over the river that stands where there was once a busy highway. It is now a destination for visitors to this delightful town. I once again went to bed a happy man, not quite believing my good fortune after an amazing day. Including the 18 mile ferry ride I had covered 128 miles today. Not bad. Boston now lay within easy reach, and I had a day to get there ahead of the marathon. My plan had worked.
