The road is home

Since I arrived in Boston I've been planning to rent a zip car and get out of town for a day, explore Massachusetts a bit and indulge my wanderlust. So last Saturday at 7am, fresh from a short nights sleep after a long exam and a long days work, I hopped in a bright red Ford Escape and headed North.

Halibut point

I took longer than planned to get out of the city as I was bent on avoiding highways. Apparently, this is a bad idea at least within the chaos that is urban life. I did eventually find my way to winding seaside roads, however. I perused a library book sale, bought pumpkins, walked along the waves. My main goal, beyond my wander-fix was to scout potential highline and waterline sites to appease my slackline addiction. I did find one potentially amazing site, an old quarry with sheer man-made edges dropping off into deep water. Unfortunately it is protected land and far too public regardless. I guess I'll have to take another scouting trip soon.

Not for the first time, I noted something interested, however. Like initials carved into trees or in more frustrating cases, carved into Stonehenge and Greek temple pillars, we humans seem to have this undeniable urge to mark our territory, to anonymously announce to future visitors that "I was here." In this case, however, the markers made me smile.

I hadn't been myself for the past couple weeks. Exams, work, and trying to continue my slacklining, photography and life in general can be a bit exhausting. Lack of sleep had caught up with me. But on those winding roads draped in autumn leaves, I felt at home.