Adventures in Quincy

Normally, Quincy Massachusetts is not the place for adventures. Other than it being the birthplace of John Quincy Adams and home to the old Fore River Shipyard, there is nothing much of note there. I did live there 26 years ago when I first moved back from New York City.

Mr. Ken and I had lunch with my cousin. I just love this cousin; she is like a sister to me. We meet in Hingham, which is halfway for both of us. Hingham is a lovely town, right near the ocean. Every occupant seems to have blond hair, a tan and wears boat shoes. It is a big yachting town. It is about 6 miles from Quincy.

On the way to Hingham we see a major traffic jam going the opposite way. The traffic is stopped. Not stop and go, just stopped.

The reason for this jam? A big combine thingie by the side of the road that looks as if it is cutting grass. I have no idea why one would need to cut grass by the side of a highway, but who knows.

Mr. Ken and I decide we don’t want to sit in traffic on the way home, especially since it is sunny and 90 degrees outside. We decide to take a back road home.

There really is only one major back road, so it shouldn’t be too hard to get back home. Except Mr. Ken has gone entirely digital and doesn’t have a map in his car. His GPS system is sitting at home, a good place for it. We never thought we would need it for our little lunch trip.

So we are on this back road, more like a two lane highway. We end up in Quincy, which is okay since Quincy is on our way home. By now we are thinking we should be seeing signs for the highway so we can get back on it. We see signs, “Route 3 North.” Ah, that’s what we want!

You should also know that Massachusetts has this odd habit of calling even major highways by different numbers. Route 128 is really Route 95. Route 3 is also part of 95. Mmm, maybe that is why Massachusetts’ drivers have such a bad reputation; we are totally confused on the roads.

We get on Route 3, but somehow it doesn’t look familiar until we see the famous Dorchester (also known by the locals as “Dot”) gas tanks ahead. Uh oh, we are in trouble since we are now well on our way into Boston. Not exactly where we wanted to be. . .

We get off at the next exit, except in true Massachusetts fashion, there isn’t an entrance to get back on the highway to go the other way. We are now driving through the “wilds” of Dorchester. It seems like a foreign country to us suburbanites. I want to stop and ask directions, but Mr. Ken, being a man doesn’t want to do that. I guess he thinks it is more fun to drive around totally lost.

Finally we see the world’s smallest sign for Route 3. We get back on. Um, in all my years of living in Massachusetts, I don’t think I have ever been on this road in this direction. I am hoping there will be signs for Route 128 or Route 95 or whatever the heck they are calling it these days.

We see a Logan Express bus and try to follow it. This is the express bus to Logan Airport. We know the Logan Express stop is on Route 128. That doesn’t work since the bus is going about 80 miles an hour and we are only doing 60. Who knows, we may end up in Cape Cod since we are travelling south. But luckily we get back on the right highway, going in the right direction and end up at home.

Moral of this story – I will always bring a map with me when I travel with Mr. Ken.