So my first shift at the Cheesecake went well, even if it was just a training shift. I needed to have one before hitting the floor live, just to get acquainted with the floor plan, table numbers, and the general flow of the restaurant… of which I must say I really like, so far. I got out of training around 9pm and decided I wasn’t going to sleep in the parking lot again—I made a general rule to try not to sleep in the same place twice in a row if I’m in my car. So I searched Massachusetts’ crime rates by town/city, and saw that one town by the seacoast, Gloucester, had a pretty low crime rate. Boom—I set off, figuring I’ll probably sleep in my car again, but at least it will be in a safer area.
Thirty minutes later and I reach Gloucester. I parallel parked between two other cars under a street lamp, across the way from what looked like the local bar (with a biker couple sharing a cigarette outside the front door), and a marina storing lobster-trapping tugboats. To ensure people passing by wouldn’t see me, I put my sun-shade up into the front windshield. To my left (if you’re looking out the back of my car) I have a three-tier plastic bin holding my clothes, accessible by opening the back passenger door. It’s tall enough to block the entire window. To my right, I have my work clothes hanging up, plus a soft, roll-out storage set that is meant to hold make-up, but instead I have lighters, sunglasses, headphones, a hairbrush, mints, batteries, and more. For the back window, I have hung up my red, lion tapestry that my friend Dan gave to me for Christmas. I have two bungee cords hooked onto notches in my car, which allows me to drape the tapestry over. Then, I use clothespins (purchased from a thrift store, 50 for a buck, and have been one of the best investments for this trip so far) to pin it up onto other notches in the car so it drapes and covers the back window. All people can see from the outside is a gold lion with a jeweled crown holding what I think is a trident. So hippie, so rasta. I love it so much.
The next day (Friday) I woke up to the sound of families rolling in for their weekend vacations. As I took down my tapestry and crawled my way into my front seat, I tried to avoid any eye contact from those walking by, but was definitely seen by some. I wonder what they are thinking. I don’t necessarily care as to what they think, but I definitely wonder. I made way to the closest Dunkin Donuts I could find. It’s 9am, I am wearing raccoon eyes, and have a wrinkled, stained t-shirt that I’ve been wearing for three days now (however not to the Cheesecake). I had to slip in to the bathroom for a painfully long morning pee, and then ordered an iced butter pecan coffee. I figured I could use a shower, but before going through the hassle of all that, I decided to go to the beach, and maybe go in the water, providing how hot I got. I drove to the next town east, Rockport, and realized that, for what little beach they have, the price of parking was horrendous. I mean we’re talking $25 for the day. YIKES. I’m used to not paying a dime for parking at the beach in Florida. Granted, we have more real estate for beach-goers than Massachusetts does, but I didn’t expect to pay a whole week’s budget of food on parking. So, I did the unthinkable. I parked in a motel parking lot labeled “PARKING FOR MOTEL PATRONS ONLY, CARS TOWED AT OWNERS EXPENSE.” I figured I’d test my luck, again. I was less than 500 yards from the water and another 500 yards from the pay-to-park lot. I flipped open my computer to realize that they even had free Internet; I just had to type in some bogus email address and voila, instant access. I lay in the back of my car and began to do some tinkering online. I think it’s against the law to tow a car if there is a person within the vehicle, so I was comfortable enough relaxing watching tourists trek to the beach with arms full of chairs and coolers.
A few hours went by and I got a good whiff of myself—I was in desperate need of a wash. So I locked up my car and walked to the bathhouse to use the shower, which was outside, and freezing cold. I wore my bathing suit and lathered up my hair and body with some Camp Suds, bathing me over in the rich smell of mint and pine. My feet started to hurt from the hard plastic mats they laid down, and I started shivering when the sun got caught behind the tree. After showering and changing, I headed into town to get some food, and I instantly fell in love with the area. Downtown Rockport is made of these tiny shops that are painted a mix of bright colors. There were shops selling sandwiches, ice cream, beads, books, and paintings created by local artists. The blend of languages spoken by passing tourists filled my ears—French, Spanish, Chinese, Indian—to think they all flocked to this one little sweet piece of paradise on the east coast. As usual, I wasn’t up for spending a ton of money. I had an apple and a peach for breakfast, so I figured a good ice cream cone would suffice for dinner. I ordered a peanut butter soft-serve with chocolate jimmies, and for fifteen minutes, I was enjoying a little slice of Heaven as it dripped down my chin.
I drove about half a mile out of the hustle-and-bustle of town, to discover some free parking (until 10am) right beside a mini beach. I made the decision to give it a real effort to wake up at 5am so I could see the sunrise. And to my surprise, I actually did wake up. It was the most pristine, beautiful sunrise I could ever imagine. I grabbed a coffee and sat down to enjoy the view of this burning orange and red ball cresting the horizon. God and Mother Nature, when they combine, become two vastly astonishing, powerful forces that can create the most peaceful moment in time; so serene, it’s a type of feeling that calms the soul, and brings you back down to earth, even if for a second, and lets you forget all the calamity occurring in this busy world.
I spent the whole day being happy, and thankful, that I woke up so early. I love to sleep in late, but it’s not conducive to being productive. So getting up THAT early, for me, was a real treat. I spent the morning by giving my car a little love (cleaning it out and reorganizing everything), and then enjoyed breakfast at a busy diner closer into town. I drank about three more cups of coffee while savoring my egg and cheese omelet with a side of rye toast.
Afterwards, around noontime, I was starting to crave a nap. I drove back to the motel and noticed the lot was full, so I pulled around to the pay-to-park area. This time, there wasn’t a sign stating “$20 to park” so I pulled in, but was immediately stopped by some kid in a blue shirt demanding money. I mentioned that the sign was down, but he still demanded I pay. “No way! You can’t advertise parking without the price.” I started to drive away, but figured I’d test my luck out once more. What’s the worst that could happen? I swung by him once more, threw up my hand and spread out my fingers, and yelled out my car window, “How about five dollars?” He shrugged and responded, “Yea, sure I don’t care.” Awesome! I hand him the five and thanked him a couple of times. I parked and walked over to the beach, where I proceeded to take a two-hour nap.
As for sleeping arrangements that night, I just stayed in the lot I paid to park in. Several nice beach houses surrounded me, with much activity going on outside and in them, and there was plenty of light around so I wasn’t blacked out of society. For dinner, I made a tuna fish sandwich with mayonnaise and whole wheat bread, and dipped some carrots into a spicy chipotle hummus I purchased a few days earlier.
The next morning, a knocking on my glass window woke me up. An older man, wearing the same blue shirt as the kid from the day before, said to me, “I’m sorry miss, but you cannot be here.”
“But I paid to park here!”
“Yes miss, but that was for yesterday. It’s Sunday now.”
Shit. I had planned to wake up at 5am again to hit the road, but I slept through my alarm clock and it was now 10am. People were getting parking-hungry.
“Okay, I’ll be out of here in a minute, I’m so sorry.” I stumbled out of the trunk door and hopped into the driver side, still in a daze from my overnight coma.
“It’s okay miss, you may use the restroom to freshen up if you need to.” He was doing his job, understandably so. But when he asked me what I was doing sleeping in my car, I could only tell him the truth. “I’m road tripping and needed a safe place to stay. I felt this was sufficient.” He smiled and said back, “A road trip eh? God I wish I could have done that at your age. The bathroom is right around back.” I sensed his understanding, and could see him picturing himself doing the same thing at my age.
I drove back to the place I slept two nights before, beside the beach. It was after 10am so I threw a few quarters in the slot and rested in the back of my car while listening to the waves, the gulls, and the people meandering by. I ate two Nutri-Grain bars and gave my back a few good cracks. That’s when I felt it hit me—I needed to sprawl out! I needed a bed! After a couple hours passed, I headed west towards inland to find a place to camp. That’s when I remembered reading about Harold Parker State Park; it’s only a 30-minute drive from work (which I had the following day), so I pulled it up on my GPS and headed that way.
Upon arrival, I was greeted by a couple of friendly faces. I purchased a campsite for three nights, one close to the bathroom, and of course close to other people. For dinner, I cooked lime-vinaigrette marinated chicken over the grates of the fire, along with asparagus that I covered in garlic salt (my favorite). And finally, I busted out the cast-iron skillet and cooked kidney beans on it. It had that smoky flavor from the flames and the firewood. I ended up making so much; I was able to have it for dinner two nights in a row. S’mores are always on my agenda when a campfire is in sight, so I divulged in about three or four. I didn’t go to bed hungry, that’s for sure.
Monday, I worked a double and made $200 in cash, so that started off on a positive note. I was off Tuesday and spent it by relaxing, reading this new book I picked up a few months back, titled Dewey’s Nine Lives. If you’re an animal lover, especially cats, this one is perfect. Although I just started, it’s a nicely written and an overall inspiring book. Dewey is a gold and white, long-haired tabby that, as a kitten, was thrown into the book chute of a library on a cold winter night. But for 19 years, he roamed the shelves of a library somewhere in Iowa, inspiring and touching every person he met. It’s a sweet story.
I worked Wednesday morning and then headed back up to New Hampshire, but only a couple miles into the state, near the seacoast. Some close family friends are allowing me to stay with them for a few nights while I’m in the area, which gives me the opportunity to continue to explore more and see friends in the process. Yesterday, I visited the new Smuttynose Brewery and proceeded to get nicely lit up in the process, and only enhancing my buzz by getting a margarita with a friend from high school. I ordered a plate of killer BBQ pork nachos and dove right in.
After two nights of sleeping in an actual bed, I’m back to the woods, camping again in the state park from earlier in the week. I have to work practically all weekend; any other of my free time will most likely be spent sitting beside a warm fire, popping from the sap on the pinecones mixed in with the wood. I’ll be bundled up in my Ithaca sweatpants and a grey knit sweater, drinking boxed red wine, with ice, in a pilsner glass. Weekend, I’m ready for you!
BLONDIE WANDERS... 