Friday morning, I put the Surly Trucker DeLuxe on the hitch rack on the Prius, and drove up to Beverly to pick up my daughter Betsey and her Surly Cross Check. From there we headed up to Rockport, parking near a friend of hers who lives in the Folly Cove neighborhood. It was a hot day, and there were rumors of thunderstorms, maybe, you betcha.
Betsey's friend had just put her baby daughter down for a nap, so we took off on the bikes on the hilly Rte 127 and adjacent roads. Soon enough, we found ourselves riding on the gravel paths of Halibut Point State Park.
Halibut Point is a dandy place to ride, well put together with woods, quarries, and shore vistas in quick alternation.
Betsey explained that seabirds flock to the fresh-water quarries to bathe, ridding their feathers of accumulated salt.
We watched a couple of fishermen, after striped bass, I'm guessing, having a different kind of fun in the swells.
Some of the gravel trails offered a bit more gradient than we were willing to try our luck with that day. No sense ending up in the swells with the bass fishermen.
A map denoting the distant features of one of the shore vistas advised us that there was a whole lot of Crane's Beach across the water opposite.
We rode out of the park, and rambled around the town. Quarry Road had a quarry...
Chapel Lane had a chapel.
We cranked up and whizzed down the plentiful hills of Rte. 127, finding our way back to Betsey's friend's house after stopping for a tasty lunch. Turns out they have a quarry in their back yard, a fine swimming hole. After a quick change into our bathing suits, we jumped right in. Perfect water for the heat of the day. I felt a little like those salty seabirds.
Our departure was endorsed by distant thunder. The rain fell as we headed back down Route 128, well timed and harmless.
rod