City life – RobinCravey

Neptune Hotel, Providence

It’s a funky old downtown hotel, several steps up from the sidewalk. The esthetic seems to be artsy threadbare. Several good bars are just around the corner. The train station is about a mile away.

A friendly clerk handles check in at the desk and explains that there is hotel bar, but only open on certain nights, and a coffee shop only open in the mornings. She finds the bellman, who then carries my bags up with cheerful solicitude. The main hotel is another half dozen steps up.

The lobby is small, with black couches and bad lighting. Neon signs decorate here and there, and a generous expanse of mirrors improves the sense of space. The floors are tile or planking with occasional rugs.

From the main floor, you go up in a “Lift” that has a door on hinges that opens on a steel cage. The cage travels slowly up and down in a concrete shaft that you could reach out and touch as it slides past, if you were so foolish. The concrete is raw between floors, with a painted red door at each floor. I’m told the hotel was once a brothel.

The lights are garish, I can say that. None meant for reading. All dim and glaring at the same time. The halls are shadowy.

The room is dark with spots of illumination at key points. When the sun comes in the western windows, the light is good. There is a vintage half-couch that molds you into a laid-back posture almost like a hammock. Hm. The bathroom is black tile, gloomy, and there is no hot water.

The television is easy to operate, unlike in most hotels. A tiny desk allows work at a laptop. There are plenty of electrical outlets.

The bed is big and comfortable, with adequate covers and good pillows. I slept well and made it to the train station by 5 am.

Steps from the entrance to the lobby — Desk clerk at the entrance

Sunset Valley to Lake LadyBird

Mostly sunny sky. Heat forecast.

Stopped at La Madeleine for some orange juice. Sat at the table and studied the map. I wanted to cycle from Madeleine to the river without going down a major street—Lamar, Menchaca, S. 1st, S. Congress.

Found two. I chose one:

Jones Road to Packsaddle Pass.

At Packsaddle Pass, turn left and then to Redd.

At Redd, turn right and to Banister.

At Banister, turn left, after several blocks

Dogleg right and to Garden Villa.

At Cardinal, turn left and to S. 5th.

At S. 5th, turn left. Home free.

It would be helpful if Cumberland would connect with Bridgeway.

I had to cross a few major streets, but I never had to ride on one. All easy neighborhood streets. On S. 5th, new apartment complexes joined old ones and crowded out more houses.

I crossed the river on Pflugerville Bridge, and on the north side I discovered Mañana, an airy cafe with as much outdoors as in, with a long shelter for shade. The tables are full. Half the people are chatting with each other, the other half are gazing at their phones. Families with kids occupy several tables. One daydreams while her father looks at his phone.

Sunset Valley to Lake LadyBird

Mostly sunny sky. Heat forecast.

Found two. I chose one:

Jones Road to Packsaddle Pass.

At Packsaddle Pass, turn left and then to Redd.

At Redd, turn right and to Banister.

At Banister, turn left, And after several blocks

Dogleg right and to Garden Villa.

At Garden Villa, turn left to Cardinal.

At Cardinal, turn left and to S. 5th.

At S. 5th, turn left. Home free.

Roll down to the river.

It would be helpful if Cumberland would connect with Bridgeway.

I had to cross a few major streets, but I never had to ride on one. All easy neighborhood streets. On S. 5th, new apartment complexes joined old ones and crowded out more houses.

Onward by rail

Why do I ride the rails? First, because it’s the mode of travel that contributes least to the destruction of the natural world. Second, because it’s miles better than the flying torture chambers of the airlines. Third, because it’s much less work than driving. Most of all, because it restores romance to the sense of travel. It’s adventure!

I had a hard time sleeping this trip, going north. My insomnia is unpredictable. My trip going south, crossing different track during the night, I slept well in the roomette. Can’t say much for sleeping in coach: it’s possible.

Think about all those train stations named Union. Remember that President Lincoln, while he was wrestling with a civil war, promoted the building of the first coast to coast track that tied the Union together. We can do it again.

Look for upcoming adventures:

The rolling stock; The tracks; The politics; The funding; The cost; The alternatives.

Tornado warning in Rhode Island.

My iPhone blared a warning—a tornado warning! It’s been raining all morning. So, first thing I did was to turn off all the computers plugged into the wall.

I looked at the iPad. Take cover! it said. So naturally, I stepped outside to take a look. The sky was medium gray, and the cloud cover seemed to be moving at a good clip. As I watched the eastern sky, a drenching gust from the west suddenly hit me in the back, soaking my backside. Sheets of rain were falling. I decided to go back in.

The wind held the storm door pushed open, and it took me some determined pulling to get it closed.

Now I’m inside. It seems calmer out, and I’d like to go out for another look, maybe get a picture, but sudden gusts are a little daunting. Maybe I’ll just wait until the tornado warning is over.

I do wish I had a little whiskey in the place.

Night and Day at McKinney Falls

Recently, I slept Sunday night in a cabin at McKinney Falls State Park. I call it camping.

I like tent camping better. But the logistics are more involved. I didn’t have time for that.

I was there on Sunday night, because that was the only night with a vacancy. And all the cabins were vacant.

Sunday nights can be unpleasant in tent grounds, because all the buzzards descend to scavenge the leftovers from the weekend campers. That’s not a problem in the cabin area.

The weekend had been rainy and the ground was wet. Rain was a chance, but it didn’t fall.

I cooked a simple supper (leftovers from the fridge at home) then I sat outside to watch the light fade from the eastern sky behind the trees. I let my mind wander through memories of my many camping trips there. At dark I went inside to write in my journal for a while.

At dawn I started getting ready to hike. It took a little while. I knew just where to go.

Starting from the cabin grounds I crossed the style to the dining hall grounds, skirted by the little amphitheater, and followed the path through the trees and brush down to the shaded long-grass lawn lining the creek.

I walked down beside the creek. Tall trees edged the far side of the water. The water ran clear and deep. Far upstream, it flowed out of the limestone hills, then through the city, and now approached its escape.

At the downstream end of the lawn I stepped out onto the limestone shelf that drops the falls. Across the fall pool, a few herons woke up and started making their way downstream under cypresses, escaping around the bend. I watched the water fall and listened to the low roar.

Once, I thought I would escape this land. No, I didn’t. I didn’t want to escape. I just wanted to get away. And I did. But I came back. I always come back.

One evening on Broadway

At Julian’s. I walked over in sunshine, but as I walked the sun dropped below the rooftops, casting the streets in shadow. I’ll walk home in the dark, and that’s fine, but not as good as the sunlight.

That’s the trade off. I could have walked in the broad daylight, but I would have had to go back to work. Now, I get the fading light, but I’m free.