Well, the good news is that we got to stay in the dorms at the Coast Guard Academy last night, and today I rode into Rhode Island.
The interesting news is that I evidently have the Stephen King version of Google Maps. The Google lady directed me to a bike trail that is actually a creek bed.
Oh, it starts out sort of looking like a bike trail. And there is a quaint custom we've discovered in the North Eastern states - street signs are an unnecessary luxury reserved for tourist areas.
So. Google Lady says to take something called "New London Turnpike" - and I think, "well, that sounds fancy." I had come to a fork in the road with a dirt path between the two road options. No signs anywhere and she says "Continue on New London Turnpike."
I tried each of the roads and each time she said "Make a u-turn and continue on New London Turnpike." So I went down what I thought must be a bike trail.
The path was in the middle of a dense forest and seemed flat at first. Pretty soon I came to a wide boggy spot. It was too wide to ride around. I thought, "well, if it doesn't get any worse than this...."
After carrying the bike around two more black, stinky ponds in the road, I was committed. Or maybe I should have gotten committed.
The trail became a dry creek bed featuring deep sand in the center and large rocks on the edges. I thought about turning back and remembered the black ponds I'd have to get around.
And- huge mosquitos were buzzing in my face. There were biting flies and these weird moths kept landing on me. But I had slathered on the insect repellant.
So I carried and pushed the bike over the impassable terrain.
Then it started to get steep. I listened for banjo music and tried to get Google lady to tell me how much farther to a road. It showed a crossing at a quarter mile. Ok I can do anything for a quarter of a mile.
So I sweated on as the dry creek bed became an active creek. The "road " Google showed I was coming to turned out to be another path crossing the creek. Like a deer path. There weren't any bike tire marks anywhere. The map showed I had to push on for two more miles. Uh, ok I can do anything for TWO miles.
The only sounds I could hear were furtive rustlings in the bushes. And, of course the mosquitos buzzing in my face. Each time I came to a flatter spot I tried to ride to move faster. I slipped and felt the front sprocket hit the back of my leg. I noticed my sock felt wet. But I didn't stop. I wanted photos, but was afraid I was about to happen upon Clem and Homer's secret spot. I kept moving.
I started thinking about how to escape toothless hillbillies. I had a swiss army knife. Go for the groin. I was reviewing Sandra Bullock's self defense advice from Miss Congeniality. I was not going to wake up in the morning chained to a rusty still in the woods.
And I came out on a paved path! I pulled the bike over the last berm and saw stenciled signs at the opening to the forest that said "Enter at own risk".
I jumped on and started riding, feeling relieved, as a mangy old dog came racing out of nowhere. It snarled and barked and jumped on me while I yelled for it to go home. It seemed like it was right at home alright.
Growling and scrabbling, it actually bit my shoe! I poured it on and noticed I was going 20 mph! I didn't stop till I came to a marked street about a mile farther.
Peter miraculously navigated his way to my uncharted position in "Butcher Holler" and tended to my bleeding leg and hugged me. And gave me a cookie.
I set off again to get the last 20 miles to Providence, RI before dark. Just as Peter drove away, it started sprinkling and I got a flat tire.
So I quit for the day.
And that's the most drama for the entire trip.