Go West

No small irony: tomorrow I leave Cambridge to return home. And only today I discover a glorious ride. This time I turn inland, heading west rather than for the coast. And I find myself rolling along empty roads, small narrow streets with names like "Shade Street" (and am very pleased that it does not undersell: over 90 degrees and humid, one is sensitive to such promises). I make a mistake at one point and find myself entering a military airstrip. The guards very kindly, and with no small alacrity, point me to the way out. My route is a kludge of a few local rides, and a few times I have to make it up to get from the end of one map to the beginning of another. One road proves to be stubbornly elusive; I ask at three gas stations, wave down a few motorists, but it is the beer-pushing baseball team that gives me the right directions and a few unsolicited huzzahs. People are bemused to see a lone woman cycling, and i can't figure out whether it's because I'm alone or whether it's because I lack all of the paraphernalia that typically identifies "real" cyclists: matching team-logo'd lycra, expensive new bike, mirrored shades and plastic shoes. Or maybe it's just the heat.