The ammenities at Chez DJ included coffee in bed and a sumptuous breakfast.

DJ and I took the dogs for a romp on the four-wheel drive beach at Brigatine, the sand blowing so hard in the wind that it looked like the beach was undulating.  The dogs -- as always -- failed to appreciate the beauty and simply swam in the waves and rolled in the dunes.

Before noon, we repaired to The Rod and Reel (open 24-hours a day, just in case you are ever passing through) to raise a toast to Jolene before she drove the white Mustang back to Newark airport for me, and flew home to CA.

We then drove by the Crooked Hook to ask what we needed to bring for that evening's festivities. What's the Crooked Hook, you ask? What festivities, you ask? Let me tell you! At first glance, the Hook appears to be a garage. It is really the center of the universe -- a garage to be sure, but one which attracts fantastic people who have have nothing but fun no matter the day, night, or season. The festivities for that night? A potluck Thanksgiving Dinner for more than 20 -- with places already set for those of us who had just driven down from Basking Ridge. How did they know we were coming to Brigantine? How did they know we were coming to The Hook? They just knew -- such is the magic of the place! That night, they held dinner for DJ and I who were running late and after a lovely toast by our hostess, we all feasted and frolicked until the wee hours.

Caught a ride from the Motel 6 to Barnstable Municipal Airport. As the nice woman at Hertz handed me the keys to the rental, she said, "It's the white Mustang." I laughed, thinking she must be kidding. Weren't all rental cars dark green, tiny, lima-bean-shaped things? But indeed, gleaming in the sun, was a brand-spankin' new white Mustang with spoiler on the back and a huge bumper sticker that said, "I'M HAVING A MID-LIFE CRISIS." OK, it didn't really have a bumper sticker, but I do believe I was an object of pity as I drove away: Does she really think this is the way to capture her lost youth? (Or anyone else's lost youth, not to put too fine a point on it...)

The route south took me through Fall River, MA, a town I've wanted to see forever. (Or more likely, as Jolene pointed out, since I saw Elizabeth Montgomery in the 1975 made-for-TV-movie, "The Legend of Lizzie Borden.") As I drove into town, I looked for signs that I was in the right place ("Welcome to Fall River: More Than Just Murder!") ("Fall River: You'll Have a Whackin' Good Time") ("Fall River: More Than You Could Ax For!") (OK, I'm done now.) But no. Not a single sign referencing one of the most famous crimes in American history.

Fall River was an important textile manufacturing and distribution center in the 1800s. The massive brick factories that line the river now have been converted -- seemingly without any sense of irony -- into factory outlets. I decided to stop in at one and get directions. I just happened to do a little shopping while I was there. As I was checking out, I asked the clerk where Lizzie's house was. He said he had heard of her. In fact, said he did a paper on her in the eighth grade. But no, he had no idea where her house was. I asked him to point me toward the oldest part of town and he suggested "The Highlands." I drove around the Highlands for a while without a clue until I stumbled across the Fall River Historical Society. The only unlocked door lead to the Museum Gift Shop where I asked for directions to "the Borden House." The clerk paused, "Lizzie Borden?" And then when she realized what she'd said, laughed. "Like there are any other Bordens." It turns out that the Historical Society owns the world's largest collection of Lizzie memorabilia, including -- of course -- the ax, the skulls of both victims, and all other evidence produced at the trial. Unfortunately (can you guess?) the Lizzie collection was closed for the season. Instead, I walked to the house where the murders took place. The only sign was a computer generated 8-1/2x11 sheet of paper taped to the side of the building, saying "Tickets Next Door." Next door, another piece of paper said, "Closed for the season." I looked at the outside of the house, then walked back to my car.

A mere six hours later, I arrived in Basking Ridge, New Jersey, at the home of Martha T. and Lavonne W. Lavonne and Jolene (who was also a guest for the weekend) went to school with my friend Lynn before and after I went to school with her. (They had her for grade school and college. I had her for high school.) On this tenuous connection and nothing more ("Gee, we hope she's not a serial killer!") they invited me to spend the Thanksgiving holiday weekend with them.

Let's start with the house: a) it was indoors; b) it had heat and plumbing; c) my SUITE was larger than most airports. About 10 years ago, Martha and Lavonne bought this cute little cape-cod on three hillside acres and WENT CRAZY. They started adding wings and knocking out ceilings and building decks, garages, sun rooms, kitchens, maids quarters, lofts, guest bedrooms, etc. (They claim they've stopped building, but I'm not sure I believe it.) The result is a FREAKISHLY HUGE -- and absolutely delightful -- home.

On the day all my equipment works, I'm quitting this trek.  Blew the fuse on my 12-volt battery, ran out of power for the laptop and phone, so no updates to the journal for a couple of days.

WE LOVE THE RAIL-TRAIL.  The dogs have been off leash almost the whole way which makes a huge difference in our speed:  I keep walking at a steady pace, they stop every two feet then run like maniacs to catch up...

At some point yesterday, I was stung or bitten by something.  I started feeling it in the afternoon, and by the time we stopped, my knee was red, hot to the touch, and swollen.  This morning when I woke up, I couldn't bend it.  This is not as much of a problem as it might seem because the Rail-Trail is blessedly flat.  However, by the afternoon, I was tired of limping.  Stopped in at the CVS in Orleans and bought a knee brace.  It only made the knee hurt worse.  So far on this trip, I've bought a wrist brace, ankle brace, and now a knee brace.  Before it's over, I'll have a full body cast.  Also, I'd like to say that putting on miscellaneous medical equipment does NOT help in my quest to look less crazy...

Even though there are no lights on the Rail-Trail, we walked for a good two hours after dark, guided by our feet on the asphalt.  By the time we stopped, we were all limping a little but it is SUCH a great trail to walk that I hated to make camp.  I found a spot just a few yards off the trail, really no hidden spots as we're walking throught the midst of suburbia.  Without a phone or computer, spent a lot of time staring at the stars before falling asleep.

The Cape is beautiful.  I'm sure in mid-summer, it's a congested, commercialized nightmare.  But on this particular autumn afternoon, it is sunny, not too cold (two-layer day!) and peaceful.  Aside from the spectacular ocean views (which I expected) the National Seashore offers miles of pine forest which is spectacular in it's own way, dotted with little fresh-water lakes.  We left our campsite on South Pawmet beach and wandered along the coast in the morning.  Out of dog food (we're always out of dog food) went into Wellfleet -- a charming but not too friendly town.  (Big sign at the edge of town: "No camping.  No tenting.  No sleeping in the open.")

I've been thinking a lot about breaking and entering.  There are so many houses along our way, shuttered and empty.  I often think, instead of camping, we ought to just crawl through a window and sleep on someone's couch.  It would serve them right for building a house that keeps everyone else from seeing the beach and then leaving that house empty for 3/4ths of the year.  (This criticism, of course, does NOT apply to all the friends and friends of friends who have offered to let me stay at their beach houses along this trek...)

Just after dark, we reached the head of the Rail Trail -- a suggestion from Catherine Z.  This rails-to-trails park runs nearly the entire length of the Cape.  Paved.  Secluded.  Surrounded by rogue camping spots.  We'll be on this for as long as it lasts.  Tonight we're camped on the banks of Fresh Brook which means I don't have to provide the dogs with water -- but also means that they took a swim right before getting in the tent so we're all a little damp.