Just when it couldn't get worse....

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.