...or, "I'm hungover but it's too nice a Saturday not to go out, so I'll
just stay close to Boston."
After the BBQ with the Neuros Friday night, I realized that hanging out with
them tends to be a lot like hanging out with Loog: intensely animated good
conversation, followed by a guaranteed hangover. So Saturday, at the crack
of 11:30, I dragged ass out of bed and got out the map. The one area I
haven't been to that's close by is the South Coast, down towards Plymouth.
So I ate half a burrito, pulled on friday night's clothes, put the shower
off till later with that handiest of Guy Rationales ("aw fuck it") and got
underway.
Scituate is about 30 miles south. It's a nice little harbor town. I knew
of it from Another Bullshit Night In Suck City, by Nick Flynn - it's where
he anchored the boat he lived in for awhile, and he talks about how dingy it
was, and how he was glad to leave it. I didn't see the connection, myself.
I thought it was gorgeous:
[img][650:464]http://img63.imageshack.us/img63/5935/dscn2907wa2.jpg[/img]
That guy walking with his wife is Chip. As I parked, he walked up, saw my
tag, and said "Wisconsin, on a little Vulcan?" Yessir. He then tells me
he's Kawasaki's sales manager for southern New England, shakes my hand, and
asks how she's running. "Like a top, sir. Could use a 7th gear, but
otherwise all aces." Big smile. He noticed all the park patches on my
jacket, and I showed him where we'd been. Bigger smile. Bare in mind, this
is Kawi's cheap bike, the entry-level cruiser, normally relegated to newbies
and wives. People don't take EN500's on 750-mile round trip weekends to
Maine and Canada real often.
Check Flickr for more of the goodness around Scituate, including the old
lighthouse. Lots of huge fishing boats, boulders, waves, lobster traps,
Atlantic ocean, etc.
So then I drove down to Plymouth. I parked downtown, and walked down to the
water, where I discovered the Rock. There's not a whole lot to it, just a
little building on an inlet, and you look down on it. Still, if you find
yourself in Plymouth, it seems a waste not to make the effort. Again,
Flickr.
Plymouth didn't hold my attention very well, though, so I headed back north
along the coast. This time I decided to go through a lot of the residential
streets right on the water, to see what I could see. I was rewarded in
Marshfield with a bridge road that went out through the salt marshes to an
island, which had maybe 7 or 8 nice houses on it:
[img][650:487]http://img130.imageshack.us/img130/9609/dscn2927rv8.jpg[/img]
They have marsh on 3 sides, and the ocean on the far side. I don't know how
in the hell you get one of these houses, but once you do, you don't ever let
go of it. Their view on the other side:
[img][650:487]http://img162.imageshack.us/img162/8540/dscn2932gs3.jpg[/img]
By now I'd been out from noon till about 6:30, so I started heading back to
town in earnest, so that I'd have time to shower off the funk and get set
for Mrs Neuro's fabulous going away party. I got back on the road going
north and put the hammer down, and was making great time until I drove past
this:
[img][650:488]http://img222.imageshack.us/img222/6387/dscn2937hq9.jpg[/img]
It's one of a million little roadside seafood shacks, but something in my
head exploded in protest when I drove past it. I keep hearing that these
are THE deal for seafood, and I hadn't been to one yet. So a quick u-turn
later, I found an empty spot on the shoulder about 10 cars up the road, and
went in. A cursory scan of the wall revealed roughly 25 awards for their
food, and lots of them were for the fried clams. So that decision was easy.
"I'll have the clam plate." "You're number 16. NEXT!"
As you can see, these places are no-nonsense:
[img][375:500]http://img113.imageshack.us/img113/1261/dscn2936ks7.jpg[/img]
...no seating for diners, no extra nothin', just a big-ass kitchen and a
little-ass counter window. You get in and then you get out. But the place
had a steady stream of people, so I knew it had to be good. Then it occurs
to me... "where the fuck are you going to eat a plate of fried clams,
genius? You're on a motorcycle." Too late. And of course, the plate was
enormous, and greasy. So I lugged my prize back down the road, and perched
it and myself on the bike (plus a can of coke betwixt my legs), and
proceeded to do some damage:
And the verdict:
This was the best food I've had in New England, bar none. Those things were
Huge, fresh, juicy, sweet, and delicious, and there had to have been a pound
of them on the plate. I ate until I was retarded. I made moaning,
contented, gurgling noises. I ate until the sun went down, literally
finishing up in the dark with the help of car headlights whizzing by. And I
am thinking, right this second, about doing it again.
Got home, showered, found the party locale, had fun. Whole trip was like 7
and a half hours, maybe 110 miles total. Pretty light, but it was rewarding
all the same. I only have one weekend left... where to go?
