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Finding love after 50. The website for middle aged singles and senior singles, providing information and dating advice for middle age dating and senior dating.
This column's topic:
A trip to New
England in the summer of 2000
“Can I have lobster every night?” Greta asked, on the American Airlines flight from Orange County to Hartford, Conn., during the last week of June, 2000.
“If you want,” I said, “we’re on vacation.”
We rented a car in Hartford and headed for Cape Cod. It was one of those “wing it” trips with no hotel reservations. She had never visited New England; I knew
my way around pretty well, having gone to camp in Maine as a youngster.
We’d been traveling 13 hours when we entered the Cape. I kept telling Greta, “Just a few miles more.” We made our way to Woods Hole, on the Cape’s
southwestern tip.
We found a nice inn, and a seafood restaurant with tables on a floating dock. She ordered lobster stuffed with crab, and made a toast, saying we had found the
perfect spot.
After dinner, she noticed a road sign that read, “Ferry to Martha’s Vineyard.” She wanted to go there, so that’s how we started the next day. We spent a couple of
hours in Oak Harbor before returning to the mainland of the Cape.
Hyannis was our next destination. A restaurant hostess told us the only way to see the Kennedy family compound was from the water. I knew Greta admired
JFK, so we took our second boat ride of the day. When traveling together, both need to be flexible. We got within a half mile or so of the compound, with the boat captain
pointing out the various houses where each member of the Kennedy family lived.
Later, we headed east through little Cape towns, searching for the perfect spot to stay. It reminded me of trying to find the ultimate camping site—you just keep
looking and looking until it feels right.
I sensed I was making Greta crazy with stops in Chatham, Dennis, Orleans, Truro and Provincetown, where we finally settled on an oceanfront motel.
At an Italian deli-type place in P-Town, we stocked up on food for dinner, which we prepared in our motel room. There was no lobster that night. With bare feet
in the sand, eating a fresh shrimp salad and sipping cabernet, we watched the sun go down and the lights of Provincetown come up. She said the vacation was perfect.
The third night tested our relationship. After visiting my aunt and uncle at their cottage in Truro, we drove through Boston and well into Maine. At 6:30 p.m., we
hit the traveler’s equivalent of a marathon runner hitting the wall. I was ready to settle for any old dive, but Greta said, “Push on.” There were no rooms available in Bath, where
we had planned to spend the night.
Down the road, in Wiscasset, we found a pleasant inn and a popular restaurant called Le Garage, both with views of the Sheepscot River. We were seated at
a window table. You bet there was lobster that night. It was the most romantic meal we had ever shared.
The next day, the car crossed the Waldo-Hancock Bridge, across Penobscot Bay, near Bucksport. About four miles out of Bucksport, I wanted to show Greta
where I had gone to camp on Lake Alamoosook. It had been 45 years but I was able to find it without a road map. Near camp, Greta wanted to stay at a bed and breakfast place,
but it was full.
We drove over to take a look to see if the old camp was there. There was a car with a Michigan license plate parked outside the main lodge. The family who
inherited the property were from Michigan and I had attended camp with three of the brothers.
Turns out, a fourth brother—Bob Dodge and his wife, Jay—were there. They asked us to be their guests, even though I’d never been at camp with Bob. On both
nights, from our room in a l00-year-old lakefront lodge, we heard bullfrogs croaking and a loon making eerie sounds from somewhere out on the lake.
Greta and I took a day trip to Bar Harbor. Bob and Jay purchased lobster at a roadside stand and we cooked them in a lobster pot and ate them on the same
table and sat on the same benches where I had dined as a kid.
Even McDonald’s serves lobster in Maine—lobster rolls, $4.99. I had never spent $18 on lunch for two at McDonald’s, but we did in Maine, finishing off three of
the rolls. Greta didn’t eat lobster every night, but she had lobster every day, even if some of it was consumed under the Golden Arches.
Saying good-bye to Bob and Jay, we drove to Boston for a three-hour tour of the Boston Tea Party and other historical sites. It was July 3rd and a
feeling of patriotism filled the air. We drove to Hartford to spend the night near the airport.
We survived as a couple the 1200-mile driving vacation through New England. It’s nice to have a partner who’s patient, persistent and appreciative, which I
have. Another perfect trip for us.
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