To The End of The Island

Sunday March 27th through Thursday March 30th mark the hardest days I’ve lived through. This year I planned a small trip to NYC to take care of some business and get away. Five years ago on those dates were Alanna’s last days losing to cancer. Every year I think I’ll be fine then it sneaks up on me and hits hard. Five years is a rough number to deal with. Five years is a solid chunk of time. Five years feels like a standard measurement of time. So much has changed over the past five years. I don’t play music that often anymore. In fact, I’ve played drums less than ten times since August of last year. I’m now a massage therapist and work late hours so I don’t get to see much of my friends. My life is drasticaly different and it’s hard to deal with sometimes. The original plan was to finish up the new Decahedron ep in NYC on Monday March 28th then late Tuesday morning drive out to Fire Island and spend the next two days alone riding my bike and taking photos.

Manhattan was being drowned under three inches of rain while I was trying to find BH Photo that Monday morning. After loading up on photo supplies I headed down to the studio in Chelsea to finish mastering the new Decahedron ep. The plan to bike Tuesday and Wednesday wasn’t going to happen in a downpour. In between songs I was desperately searching online to find a cheap plane ticket to somewhere else. Somewhere dry and warm. After franticly coming up with nothing the engineer asked what the forecast was for the next two days. According to weather.com Tuesday was supposed to be all right and Wednesday supposed to be amazing.

That night I picked up a copy of “Short Bike Rides Long Island” and there was nothing about Fire Island in the book. Not only that, but the Fire Island ferries weren’t running frequently so I was going to be stuck on the island all night. It was time to think up plan B.

I had been reading a book called “In the Slick of the Cricket” about infamous shark fisherman Frank Mundus which took place in and out of Montauk harbor. Apparently Quint from “Jaws” was loosely based off of Mundus who caught a record 4500 lb White Shark back in the 60’s off Montauk and the jaws were rumored to be in a bar somewhere in the harbor.I wanted to see the jaws and eat some good seafood. So I decided to ride to the end of the island to find a meal and some teeth.

Late Tuesday morning I drove out to Bridgehampton and parked behind the Episcopal Church on Main Street. The day was overcast and in the upper 40’s. Wednesday’s promise of sunshine and mid 50’s made the gray sky bearable. I brought clothes for 2 days and most of my manual photo gear adding at least an extra 35 lbs to the ride. I strapped down my gear, clipped in, and rode due east on Highway 27.



27 was two lanes with a bike shoulder and moderate traffic. The towns were small and quaint. I could see why city folk would love to get away to this part of the state. I rode past The Palm and Tiffany & CO. in East Hampton followed by a small movie theater and 2 old windmills. After the town of Amagansett the wooden homes and quaint shops dissolve into run down resorts, old clam huts, and beat-up seasonal restaurants.







Halfway to Montauk I pulled into an abandoned resort to check out the beach. It was about 3:30 in the afternoon, misting rain, and getting colder by the minute. I grabbed my camera and walked against the wind towards the beach. The path wound its way through a field of dunes anchored by pine trees and scrub brush. I could hear the ocean’s surge as the path led down to the beach. The dunes hissed with waving sea oats as they sloped and gave way to the tides. The beach was shallow with 15 or so feet between dunes edge and sea foam. There wasn’t a footprint in site. No sign of humanity as far as the eye could see except for a tumbling plastic bag. The waves were choppy and breaking close to shore under a grey sky and strong winds. The ocean was rough slate without the sun warming color into it. After inhaling the salt air and shooting a few frames, I got back on the saddle and continued to ride.



Just outside Montauk route 27 splits and I followed the Old Montauk Highway into town. The road seemed less traveled and was next to Hither Hills State Park. I mashed my way through the hills and passed Gurney’s Spa Resort. I was tempted to stop in and get a massage but I needed to get into town before the sunset. I found out, after I got home, that people come from all over the world to sit in Gurney’s saltwater baths. Had I known I would have been added to the list of travelers.

The road into town paves its way into a small circle with a handful of shops and a few restaurants. That’s it. Downtown is about 100 yards long. Montauk is not a town but a village. I blinked my way through “downtown” and was headed for the harbor. I was exhausted and starving at this point and couldn’t wait to eat someone’s catch of the day.

The harbor was smaller than I expected but packed with boats. I walked around a pier for a few minutes checking out the huge spools of industrial wire and massive ropes keeping the boats tied to the docks. It was about 4:30 and all the boats seemed to be in for the night. I saw a couple of guys operating a forklift and walked over for some dinner advice. “Everything is closed out here. There’s a couple a places in town. Shagwong should be open.” All the restaurants opened for the season on Friday, it was Wednesday. Two days early. The bar with the jaws wasn’t open. Thanks for coming. I really didn’t want to eat at a place called Shagwong after riding 30 miles.

I rode back to town and got a room at the Shepherds Neck Inn. Richard, the manager, was short and stocky with grey hair and matching beard. The room was advertised for $59 and I jokingly asked if there was a discount for bike riders. Richard turned sideways and began speaking close to the wall. “Why do they always want a discount? The room is 59 bucks! Why do they want a discount? I’m not the owner I’m just the manager. I can’t make that decision!” After his rant he turned back to face me as if that was normal. I took the room. When asked how long he had been in Montauk, Richard bent over the counter looked me in the eye and launched into an amazing monologue.

“ I was born right here in Montauk and then moved down to New Orleans in my twenties. I was down there about twenty years. Came back home 12 years ago. Don’t ever go back home…It’s never the same. It’s never what you left it. It’s never what you remember. This place used to be a quiet fishing village now it’s overrun with money. Never the same!” Then Richard suggested Shagwong as well. Shagwag it was!

Room 109 was your run of the mill hotel room. Nothing stood out. I hopped into a super hot shower and headed over to Shagwong for the best tuna dinner I ever had. Caught that morning and cook rare. I felt full and extremely exhausted. I went back to the room and ended up falling asleep watching The Apprentice.

I got up at 5 am and headed down to Montauk Point for sunrise. By the time I got down there the sun was almost up. It was in the low 40’s and my hands were freezing from carrying a metal tripod.



I love watching the sunrise. It’s a reminder that there will always be another day. The world progresses regardless of what you’re going through. I sat on the rocks and stared out into the ocean as my thoughts drifted. Five years previous was the last morning I saw Alanna alive, if that’s what you want to call it. She was hooked up to a morphine drip and was basically a vegetable. I didn’t have a specific thought from that day but just rememebered feeling the deepest sorrow I have ever felt. I thought of the massive shark Frank Mundus caught not far from where I was sitting. I thought about my new life with Jenny and smiled. Sunrise brings a sense of being taken care of. God has always been associated with light. I think it’s because light brings promise and hope when times are dark.



After shooting 2 rolls of film I backtracked five miles for breakfast. I decided on John’s Pancake House, a little diner on the outskirts of downtown’s circle.



I sat at the bar and had banana walnut pancakes,home fries, toast, and eggs. All for $7. Not too bad. There were three regulars in the place and the waitress knew them all. They were talking about their kids and discussing the fresh pastries that were delivered two or three times a week.



Midway through my short stack, someone was hollering from the kitchen, “How do you spell Fajita! F-A-H-I-T-A?” Everyone discussed the limitless possibilities of spelling it but no one was getting it right. After a couple of minutes of really bad Wheel of Fortune contesting, I spoke up and tossed in the “J”. The lady at the end of the bar agreed with my spelling and the day’s specials went up. Time to leave.

I rode back through East Hampton then headed northwest towards Sag Harbor. Sag Harbor was very quaint with small streets, wooden houses, and white fences. There was supposed to be a great whaling museum downtown but I wanted to eat and head up to Shelter Island before I took a long break. Lunch was two Luna bars and a banana eaten on Long Warf looking out over Sag Harbor Bay. Seagulls perched on old pilings and hovered over the docks searching for food. The sun was in full and the day was warming into the 50’s. There were several vans parked on the wharf enjoying a sunny lunch. One guy leaned out of his window. “ Wish I was out there with ya! It’s a perfect day for riding. Where ya headed?” “Not sure. Most likely Shelter Island. Is it far from here?” “Not at all, maybe 3 or 4 miles. You have to take the ferry. It’s like five bucks roundtrip.” Good idea.



The road wound its way into North Haven and ended at the water. The ferry pulled up I coasted on. It pulled out and crossed a small sound to dock on Shelter Island. It took about ten minutes. All the cars pulled off and I was left with a flat tire. I have no idea how I got it but I wheeled my bike off into a small parking area to change intertubes.



Minutes later, another cyclist came off the ferry and asked if I needed any help with the tire or photos. I had set up the tripod to capture the flat. The whole process took about 30 minutes. I mounted up and began riding towards the north end. Ten minutes into the island another rider pulled up and we started talking.

Jeffery was a corporate attorney taking a day off of work. He asked if I was married. I was nervous where the conversation was headed. Jeffery was wearing a sleeveless shirt. He had been married for years and that’s why he was skipping work and out on his bike. He wanted a little time to himself. We chatted about twenty minutes and then took our separate paths. I passed by a beach and veered down the hill to shoot a couple of frames. The sky was a bright blue and the water was three shades deeper. The breeze was gentle and warm.



I walked in the sand for a bit then rode around the northeern tip. Shelter Island Sound was surrounded by massve houses with amazing docks and piers. Every yard was well kept with perfect green grass. The place looked like a movie set.



I rode into Shelter Island Heights to get something to drink. I had ridden 50 miles with little water. The only place open was a high-end deli with fresh meats and cheeses with a small grocery area stocked with health foods. I got a Gatorade and sat outside on a bench. It had been a long day.

I was still trying to get back to the Sag Harbor Whaling Museum so I took the quickest route back to the ferry. All the other cyclists ended up on the ferry as well. It was a little awkward trying to figure out conversation protocol. We all silently agreed on “How was your ride?” I trudged up the steep hill and began the ride back home. I tried to take an alternate route back into Sag Harbor but bypassed it and decided to skip the whaling museum and head back to Bridgehampton. I rode through acres and acres of cleared farmland. It was getting late in the day and the clouds were rolling in fading blue skies into grey heavens.

I arrived in Bridgehampton hungry and spent. I stretched, changed, and drove towards the sun. I drove for an hour or so and hoped to watch the sunset from some amazing seafood restaurant. Little did I know that Long Island drastically goes down hill west of the Hamptons. The mom-and-pop shops and two lane roads quickly dissolved into strip malls and highways. Decent food seemed bleak. There wasn’t a seafood restaurant in sight, not even a Capt’n D’s. I was hoping for some salmon or tuna but got nothing. I bought some nuts at the gas station and kept on driving. At the point of utter fatigue I made the largest diet compromise in at least eight years when I pulled into a KFC parking lot. I had not eaten KFC since 1994. I had a small piece of chicken here or there but nothing on the KFC level. I was actually excited about trying the Original Recipe again. I ordered an Original Recipe chicken sandwich, potato wedges, and a medium Mountain Dew. Possibly the most unhealthy meal you could have after a long ride. I justified myself by repeating that it did have protein, carbs, and caffeine. It was horrible! It sucked so bad!! I will admit to eating a little Chick-fil-a a couple of months ago and that was good but KFC was terrible. I mean horrible. I drove the six and a half hours back to DC wired and feeling like I had swallowed cement. KFC screwed up my digestive system for a week and a half.