this is hull

We biked to Hull today. It took a lot of cajoling on my part to convince my bike partner that we could do the whole trip. Not for the distance--one way is only 15 miles--but because we have to go through a lot of South Boston before reaching the more aesthetic coast. Warnings of dangerous neighborhoods dancing in her head. But I am insistent... and we pack our bikes with swim suits and a map and head through the city. It is not an ugly ride, mostly fascinating to see the varying shades of class so firmly defining each neighborhood we encounter.

At Quincy we head over to the coast and briefly engage in unfriendly chatter with a senior biker--he's mad at us for riding two abreast. We handily pass him, listening to his incensed breathing as he tries to catch up... Jokes on us, however, as my partner gets a flat shortly after, and we wander around a tiny coast-side town in search of a bike shop. (She swears, never before has she embarked on a trip without a spare.) We get to our hosts sometime in the afternoon; people are lounging on a floating dock, about 30 chickens have given themselves to the cause, and a sweet youth runs among the adults, reeling in all of the attention. The water is perfect; I fantasize about convincing my husband to give it all up for a house with a dock on the bay.


In the evening, we walk along the isthmus that appears at low tides to an island. We misjudge the time of the tides, and race against the rising water. The sun comes down behind us, intense reds streaked with shades of fuschia and peach. My east coast childhood tugs at me: memories of the warm Atlantic come flooding back. I dearly love the West Coast, but there are two yearnings it will never satisfy: thunderstorms and warm oceans.