Day Three

Day Three

Weather-wise, day three was an unexpected bonus.  The clouds separated in the morning and sun and blue sky emerged.  We took advantage of our good fortune by hopping on our mountain bikes and heading out to the eastern end of the island, the little town of Siasconset (pronounced, of course, “Sconset”). 

Nantucket takes the previously noted New England tendency toward odd, tongue-tying names to a new level.  Nantucket itself is a mouthful that has achieved prominence in dirty limericks well beyond its geographic significance.  Add Madaket, Siasconset, Polpit, Quidnet and Cosaka, just to name a few, and you have a world class cluster of peculiar names. 

We rode on the bike path to Siasconset, taking a short detour to ride to the beach at Pocomo on the far end of Nantucket’s large harbor.  We then biked up to ‘Sconset and bought a turkey and swiss with secret ‘Sconset sauce at the local sandwich shop. 

Siasconset has grown a lot in the last 20 years (the last time I had been out to that end of the island).  They apparently just keep building more of Nantucket’s iconic cedar shake colonials every year, farther and farther inland.  The older and cuter part of ‘Sconset has implausibly tiny roads and equally implausibly tiny cottages clustered together near the beach, as though to keep one another warm in a hostile environment.  Many of these are said to be old fishing shanties from Nantucket’s whaling days. They have since been renovated for tourists.

I had planned to look for the McCreary family’s old summer home in ‘Sconset but forgot to bring the address so we rode back to town on Milestone Road (Milestone Road does in fact have milestones, including one marked with a Pi sign, which presumably is 3.14 miles from town).  The whole loop, including detours and stops to gawk at the beach and eat the sandwich, took 2.5 hours, so I figure we probably rode 20 miles total.

Ann is convinced that one of my goals in life is to kill her.  She would cite as evidence (a) several episodes where she felt uncomfortable with the terrain while skiing with me, (b) a couple of mountain biking episodes where she felt similarly uncomfortable, (c) a long swim in choppy water at the Mueller summer place in Canada, and perhaps a few other lesser events.  Her paranoia in this area was regrettably rekindled when I took a shortcut back to our cottages on some very narrow roads that are favored by delivery vans and landscaper trucks, all of whom seem to be in a big hurry.  My strategy was to try to bike as fast as the trucks while hers was (in keeping with the aforementioned low-testosterone approach) to cower in the fetal position at the side of the road until I was lost from sight.  We were reunited but only after thoughts of abandonment, attempted murder, etc. had been firmly planted in her head.

We were greeted on our return to the cottage by a very happy dog who non-verbally communicated that she damned well wanted to go on a walk—now.  We complied by getting the leash, jumping in the Crapmobile and heading out to beautiful park west of town on the north coast of the island.  There was an absolutely enormous house—maybe 15 to 20,000 square feet—adjacent to the park.  We reflected on how the original concept of a simple, low maintenance summer cottage in a place of natural beauty had gotten a little bit twisted with massive McMansions taking their place.  Nonetheless, the spot was absolutely beautiful.  So much so that Ann dubbed it “a poor man’s Ireland”. 

After the dog walk, we drove to Madaket on the far western part of the island and walked the beach.  We saw several seals fishing in the surf.  The Atlantic ocean was crashing on the beach and the wind was blowing maybe 20 knots.  Several houses were in danger of being eaten by the Atlantic, while several others were lucky enough to have their beaches grow at the expense of their neighbors.  In the course of the day we saw a lot of houses that were going to end up in the drink in the next 20 years, but for now they all have great views.

After the beach, I made a move to get back for a nap but the blondes prevailed on me to keep pushing forward on our sightseeing so we went to find Altar Rock (reportedly the highest place on the island) which is embedded in a large nature reserve and reachable only by foot or 4 wheel drive.  We took the Crapmobile out to Altar Rock and took in the view.  It was right under the flight path for the Nantucket airport and we watched a couple of C-130 military cargo planes come in over our heads.  I told Ann that the Obama administration is flying in emergency supplies of designer goods to Nantucket in a desperate attempt to keep the economy moving.

I should point out that the humid salt air and wind has an interesting effect on Ann’s hair.  Turns out that if she doesn’t tend to it, it reverts back to its natural state which is a form of Irish Afro.  Ann, to her credit, decided to totally own it and just rock the ‘fro (not that she had any real choice apparently).

On the way out of the nature reserve we somehow got off the main road and ended up in some pretty rough country and scratched up the Crapmobile a bit.  Got back on the main road and decided to go to the south eastern end of the island to an area called Tom Nevers where we walked the beach.  We had another exciting ride through rough backcountry on our way back and came out near a security fence at the back of the airport.  Crapmobile slightly worse for wear.

Home, nap, blog updating, dinner (a great place called Dune), bed.