or then again, maybe the pronator teres of Cape Cod. Just above the elbow, anyway.
Our departure from our usual departure worked out perfectly. A gathering of the husband’s high school classmates delayed us till 2:30. Instead of scientifically planning the best time to beat the race to the Cape – early in the morning? late morning? – we just got on the road when we could. And lo and behold, it was clear sailing all the way. We were afraid to comment to each other on this un-heard of phenomenon, certain that over the next rise on the Mass Pike or 495 would be the usual miles-long wagon train of cars blanketed in bikes and filled with beach-hungry kids.
For the first time in recorded history we drove without stopping (!!) to the Bourne Bridge.
We reached our realtor’s office to pick up the keys – again, amazingly, with no delays whatsoever on Route 6. When we got there 15 minutes after closing we utilized their after-hours system of key pick-up, a perfect way to start a vacation in this land of pure escapism.
There in their giant and unlocked mailbox sat a box filled with zip-lock baggies, each one labeled with the renter’s name and holding maps, tide charts, local flyers - - and keys.
I suppose if we decided at the last minute that we’d like a different venue than Shady Lane this year, we could have just pulled out, say, the Anderson’s baggie for Ocean View or maybe the Gianelli’s over on Captains Way.
I think I’m glad we were among the first of the late-arrivals or we might have opened the door of our cottage to find a family of five from Mendon looking at us from the couches in the living room.