From Marconi National Park, it is about an eleven mile ride along the Cape Cod Rail Trail (CCRT) to Nickerson State Park in Brewster, MA. The CCRT is paved and mostly flat, so is a great opportunity to stretch out and warm up for the off-trail ride ahead. Along the way, you’ll pass several marshes, kettle ponds and a diverse assortment of wildlife. While temperatures can reach uncomfortable levels any place else, the trail is accompanied by a steady deal of shade as motions of progress present a cool and refreshing breeze. Sure, a shifting wind sometimes works itself against that motion, but dropping gears and maintaing a constant pressure upon the pedals helps to maintain an energetic spirit that helps one to maintain and push through…
I sometimes make a quick stop in Orleans, to refresh the water bottle with a sports drink, but there’s a water fountain at the main entrance to Nickerson Park, so, with no fee for admission (at least not while on a bicycle), it’s possible for the entire experience to be completely free of charge!
Be sure to pick up a free trail map at the main entrance and to make any type of inquiry- the rangers have proved both incredibly helpful and enthusiastic.
Nickerson Park has a paved roadway for vehicles, a paved bicycle path, unpaved logging roads, horse trails and primitive hiking paths, as well as designated group camping sites- all that curve between pristine kettle ponds, through cedar groves and over gentle slopes, fast declines…
I like to ride the bicycle path to its terminus (about 3 miles out) and then jump off to explore the more beaten trails. Some of the hiking paths, that loop around the kettle ponds, become very technical- with steep, narrow and winding inclines over loose rock, gnarled roots and overhanging branches, so there are areas that are extremely dangerous and definitely not recommended for the novice. And Don’t Forget: there are families walking along these paths and they have the right away!
I’ve crashed several times, picked up poison ivy and have emerged from the brush with bloody scrapes and bruises from thorns and branches that reach out into the trail and entangle the handlebars, thus annihilating their ability to steer… But, once such tribulation is surpassed, there is a great notion of resplendent accomplishment once such trails spit you out upon serene, unfettered beaches without any hint of humanity’s influence.
Shedding sweaty, trail spoiled garb upon the sand, I walk steadily forward- into the warm, yet wholly refreshing water of private utopia. I cycle between floating on my back, curling around and sinking face first into the fresh depths of dark coolness, below.
In order to save lower body strength for the duration of the ride, it helps to tread water at the surface with just arms and hands. When its time to finally collect belongings, I am sure to approach the shore in a deliberately slow fashion, for therein is a great opportunity for spotting an inquisitive turtle, or two. On my last trip, a turtle paused near to my feet for close inspection. There was no wind and the water was placid with scant distortion, so we continued to study each other for a good while- just little turtle and I.
I regret doing so, but after a while of wanting a more intimate view, I ventured a makeshift snorkel mask out of cupped fingers to forehead, pressed palms to each temple, and face lowered a few inches below the surface of water before blowing air from out of nose to produce a trapped bubble lens. It was the first attempt at doing so in many years, so, needless to say, it proved an awkward failure of stinging, washed out pupils. By the time water had been wiped from the eyes and my head had returned to its accustomed incline, my little studious buddy had vanished…
Later, while on route back toward the CCRT, I rode in upon two deer (does, I believe), grazing along a cedar grove trail. They were just as surprised to see me as I them, but , even at twenty feet, neither party felt compelled to flee. We all three stood, pondering the nature and character of the other. Hoping to to keep my hosts at ease, a soft, non-threatening hum was imporovised throughout.
As it were, however, several more miles stood between me and home and, being excited to return (my mom and little nephew were scheduled to arrive for a week’s vacation of Audubon Camp and kite flying galore), I forced myself to emerge from yet another spell of Nickerson Park and to hurry both pedals onward, home, and away.