No piccies today.
We check out of our hotel just before 11:00am and, with the Starship Prius fully loaded with luggage and 'gas', we say a fond 'goodbye' to North Conway (sob).
Our journey today begins by following part of the route we took to get to the New Hampshire Speedway but, at Meridith - where we find great humour in the road sign 'Entering Meridith' - we head west at the northernmost tip of Lake Waukewan and take the R104 to its juction with Interstate 93. This three laned highway will take us due south at 55-60 miles per hour until we reach Interstate 95 which encircles Boston.
All goes well at first as we saunter past Concord and head south for Manchester. The road is busy but keeps moving well. We comment on the lack of trucks on American highways. It is something we've noticed since we started driving here. There are plenty of cars of all shapes and sizes and small vans and things: but very very few large wagons. We conclude that most freight is moved from place to place by rail and congratulate America for getting that bit right at least.
Just as we are smugly congratulating ourselves on our fair-mindedness, things grind to a halt and we're not even past Manchester yet. It's just like being on the M6 between Birmingham and the real Manchester. Too much traffic and too few lanes. Then we realise that we have hit the bain of all road travellers: road works, or Road Work as it is called here. The traffic crawls steadily forward and we enter a dreaded contraflow. Cones are everywhere. Giant American cones. Much bigger than ours. You wouldn't want to argue with one of these fellas. The Road Work transpires to be some pretty serious blasting. A whole hillside is being dismantled so that more lanes can be added to this busy section. We have mixed feelings about this, as you can imagine.
We get through the Road Work in about 20 minutes (not too bad, then) and take a rest stop. New England rest stops are not like ours. They are really glorified lay-bys. No 'gas' station. No services. Just a parking place and a toilet block of dubious hygiene standards. It's nice to stretch our legs though. The traffic roars past in a constant grumble just yards away. We are tired and we aren't even half-way there yet.
We get going again and turn west onto Interstate 95. It's like the M25 only with ten times the number of junctions. Every minor, major, and intermediate arterial road leaving the centre of Boston has a ruddy junction with this four lane highway. David resolves to keep the Starship Prius out of the 'inside lane' for fear of being drawn down one of the off ramps, in a moment of lax concentration, and being plunged into some strange locality which he will not be able to get back out of again. Cars in America can pass on both sides and, believe us, they do. The Interstate 95 seems endless. Vicky's finger traces our progress on our atlas. Junction after junction goes by. We are still on track. Good. We take another break at a rest place. Eight lanes of traffic constantly rumbles past as we stretch our legs.
After a five minute break we are back on the road. Things are getting serious now. Up ahead the highway splits. North will take us into Boston. We don't want to go there. How will we ever get out? We keep 'em peeled for any signs for Cape Cod, Plymouth, or Highway 3. Amazingly, we see signs for them all and make it onto Highway 3 unscathed. It's a relief. Now we are heading south east on a two lane highway. Still pretty busy tho'. It takes us past Plymouth and then, after another 20 minutes or so, we are driving across the Sagamore Bridge and entering Cape Cod. No sooner are we across it, however, we have to leave it and take the Route 6A to Sandwich. David's brain trusts the signs now and he only worries a little bit when the funny junction appears, at first, to be taking us in completely the wrong direction.
Almost immediatley we are in the little town of Sandwich and driving down an almost deserted Main Street. Even more amazingly, our hotel lies on Main Street and so we find it without even having to get out of the car to ask our way. We are tired and relived to be here in one piece. David parks up whilst Vicky checks in, and then we head for our much anticipated room. The Dan'l Webster Inn is the one hotel we have really been looking forward to. It's an old hotel but it looks great in the Virgin Holidays Hotel and on its website. We enter the room. It is dingy and smells of damp. Upon investigation there is black mould on the bathroom walls and ceiling, and more black mould on the carpet beneath the sink. One of the pillows has unmentionable stains on it. Nice. We have driven five hours (have we ever had to drive for longer?) and are totally knackered and now we can't unpack 'cos we have to go back to reception and ask for another room. We are in a grump again. Reception says they are fully booked and can't move us until after the weekend. We are not happy but we resolve to take the room as we are too tired to do anything else. 'Bloody internet', David mumbles to no-one in particular but to everyone.
Not a good start to our stay in Cape Cod.
The hotel change the pillow at least and we have a bit of a doze before taking an evening walk around Sandwich. By the time we go out it is getting dark and it has started to drizzle. This was forecast, at least. Being a small place, we can't find anywhere to eat in Sandwich (not even a sammidge!), so we resolve to eat in the hotel. Not something we would normally do. True to form it is expensive , the service is indifferent, and no better than what you can get outside. We are totally bummed out now. We wish we were back in the White Mountains.
A smelly damp room and more rain on the way. This final week is going to be a test of our mettle, eh?
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