. . .said Ted as we took a mid-afternoon break from biking. We detoured from our main route of the day to the working town of Northport, a far cry from the Northport on Long Island that I used to live near. Ted is known for his laconic wit and the irony of his comment was not lost on either of us.
It has been a perfect day so far in the “goldilocks” zone of biking. Slight wind, no clouds, few cars, ideal temperature. Ted was enjoying Gahan Red, a local beer, I a blueberry bread pudding and ice tea at the Northport Pier Restaurant. A lone great blue heron was stalking fish in the bay and a youngish woman was reading a book at the end of the pier. Most of the fishing and lobster boats had made their runs for the day, with little action save the return of local mariners in their rubber boots and overalls.
And there was Ted and I sitting outside with our food and drink, taking it all in as we sat in lushly cushioned couches. A lonely lighthouse was in the far distance, and mansion-like homes and the Northport Pier Inn fronted the bay with their back lawns falling into the red sand of low tide.
Northport is a much larger lobstering town than the small docking area we had seen a few miles back. The boats are bigger and more numerous. The tractors are larger. The traps are in larger piles. There are more processing facilities. More marker bouys litter the dock. Ted said that seeing the mechanics of landing lobsters gave him a better appreciation for what it takes to get a lobster in the tank of his local supermarket. Who knows, perhaps one of the lobsters captured out of Northport today today will wind up in one of our markets in a few days.
We finish our drinks and head off for our bikes. I spot a classic beach rose growing out of the rocks along the jetty that fronts the boardwalk. Across from it is a magnificent yellow rose that appears out of place. We should be getting on our bikes, but delay our departure until we have the opportunity to smell the roses and reflect on our good fortune.
