What's that they say (whoever "they" are): Make hay while the sun shines?? Mr. Betty and I tried to make some serious hay over the weekend, as the sun was shining BIG-time, and one never knows when it might stop.
So, among other things, I took a bike ride — no surprise there, except this one took place on the other side of the bridge. The BIG bridge, I mean; I ventured to Jamestown. Mr. Betty was busy doing his own thing, including yard work, which may or may not have included mowing the lawn, which might be considered — if you consider it loosely — making hay.
How I wish one could ride one's bike across the bridge, though I guess it'd be pretty scary. And windy. And potentially dangerous. So, instead, one must pack it up or load it on top or do whatever-one-has-to-do to get across, thus paying a toll just to take a bike ride in an ever-so-slightly different locale. I did it anyway: I threw the bike (gently) into the back of the car and drove across in order to ride more-or-less the perimeter of Conanicut Island. I'm not sure how far it was/is: 20 miles or so?? Not impossibly far, but far enough that it took awhile, especially as I tend to stop a fair amount.
To do nothing in particular, I might add (and I guess I just did), other than a whole lot of standing, sitting & looking around ...
Once, years ago, I thought it'd be a good idea to take the Jamestown Ferry across in order to take a bike ride, but by the time one took into account the fee to cross with a bike in addition to the extra time needed to heed the ferry schedule in addition to the fact that we (my bike and I) required a round-trip fare, the adventure lost some of its practical appeal. Too bad; it should have been a good idea.
But back to Saturday: After I'd rounded the northernmost point of Conanicut/Jamestown, where I spied some really inviting roadside/bayside chairs in which I didn't sit, as they were on someone's lawn, and that would have been trespassing (and there were plenty of signs to remind me or anyone who might be tempted), I headed south — sigh — along the westerly side then up Windmill Hill. I liked the sound of that, though I'd never heard of it, and there was no windmill in sight (!). Maybe when you're in a car, and you're familiar with the terrain, the windmill seems close to the sign announcing its presence, and you know you'll get there momentarily, but when you're pedaling uphill on a bike, and you're NOT sure there's a windmill, or if or when it might be visible from the road, it takes much longer to get there. But at last -- pedal, pedal, pedal -- there it was. What a nice spot (!), from which I could also see the just-crossed bridge; it was cool to see the two landmarks (old and new) at the same time. The bridge, especially, is such a fixture. It shows up out-of-the-blue; it's hard to avoid it. One can't avoid it. Suddenly it'll just peek out at the end of a road or on the horizon. Especially at night, with all those lights. In Jamestown, it even rises above the marsh along that long straight no-nonsense middle road, which gave me a quasi-new angle on it. On lots of things, actually. It's hard to imagine a time before the bridge (isn't it?), 'though it really wasn't so long ago that it didn't exist. Before 1969, everyone had to take a ferry across, or drive a long long way around, every time ...
IMAGINE!!
You'll have to imagine the second half of my bike ride, too (if you want to), because my battery — my camera battery, that is — ran out before I got to Beavertail. How silly of me not to charge it before I left. Makes me feel like a turkey. Although, strange as it sounds, having no battery allowed me to speed up, cover more distance, make more hay ...
