I visited my friend Josh last night in Towson, MD. I knew him freshman year, when he was a junior; then he left BU to tour with his band, and besides one time when he visited Boston, I hadn't seen him in two years. He's studying and living in Towson now with his girlfriend Erin, and we caught up on old times and watched a very trippy movie, Before Night Falls, about gay writers in the Cuban revolution.
At 10am this morning I set out, northbound for Philadelphia. The nice weather from yesterday continued. My destination was the Reading Terminal Market, where I was under strict orders from UJ (a former Philadelphian) to eat a particular piece of heaven at one of the stalls: the foot-long roast pork sandwich with greens and provolone at Dinic's Roast Beef & Pork. Suffice it to say, it lived up to the high expectations. Then I bought a treat for later at an Amish bakery stall.
Back at my bike, two businessmen walked by, and one (the boss I assume) looks over the bike, looks at me and says "I'll give you some advice, the best advice I've given," and proceeds to tell me how to drive to Massachusetts, "take this road" and "that one sucks," with his subordinate laughing stupidly at random intervals. Asshole. His route goes nowhere near where I need to go, anyway.
Departing that semi-illegal spot, I rode a few blocks down to the Historic District, where I parked in another spot of questionable legality, the end of a dead end cobblestone road near Independence Hall. I was walking around the nearby park taking pictures and seeing the sights, when I see a bicycle cop walking towards my bike. So I sprint back as he's looking at the license plate and about to write a parking citation. He's not much older than me. I tell him I didn't realize it was illegal (I mean I figured it was, but there were no signs either way) and would move it right away.
"Well you can move it, but I'll have to write you a warning. For my records, you know."
He takes out his radio and reports, "Disregard that, I found the owner." Then to me: "Can I see your license sir?" So I hand him my license.
"Oh, you're from Mass?"
"Yup. It's a Mass plate too."
"Oh wow, I'm from Mass too. I won't give you a warning then. Have a nice day." And he left.
So I rode around the block and parked in front of a meter, next to a grassy area covered with leaves where I now sit on a ledge. The squirrels in the tree above me seem to be using me for acorn-throwing target practice.
It's starting to drizzle. In a few minutes I'll get back on I-95 and head up to NJ to meet Aunt Shari.