Mass-ive Adventure: Day 1

I knew I wasn’t in Provo anymore when I entered the plane to Boston in Denver and was hit with a strong accent from aisle 3 talking about the news in Gloucstah’. I smiled. I was on my way to Beantown! I found my seat in the VERY back of the plane (you know the seat that is against the wall of the bathroom and can’t recline? Yeah…that seat. And I was sitting in the middle. AND of course the person in front of me leaned his chair back. Just perfect!) After a long 3 ½ flight from Denver, I finally landed as the sun was setting in the beautiful city of Boston. I was more than a little giddy to be there. After getting my bags, I was greeted by my awesome, amazing, marvelous, talented, spectacular, and all-knowing tour guide Ms. Bucket Francis, who had maneuvered 5:00 city traffic like a native, and together we forged into the Boston wind to find the car that would become our loyal and dear friend over the course of the next several days – the Saab convertible. It was a 20 minute or so drive from downtown Boston to Billerica, where Bucket’s dad lives, and when she informed me that pizza was awaiting our arrival, I did a little dance of joy. My granola bars and diet coke just hadn’t hit the spot and United was too cheap to give me free food ($10 for an airplane sandwich?!?). In the car I was introduced to Tom Tom, the sexy Australian GPS man with whom we developed a love/hate relationship. Sometimes he was right on with his directions. Other times he was just plain ridulous. Luckily, that night he was helpful, and we navigated the Boston freeways and tunnels with ease and eventually arrived to our destination in Billerica, a quieter suburb in Northern Massachusetts. The neighborhood had cute colonial-style houses, many of them with metal sideboard (Buckiet referred to them as “trailers,” and I realized the East’s interpretation of a “trailer” was much different from the heaps of junk found in South County in Oregon. But let’s talk about the snow for a second. It snowed SOOOOO much the day before! The snow banks on the side of the roads were higher than the car. We are talking feet here, people. Luckily the roads had cleared enough to let us drive safely. I think Providence was smiling upon me, since many flights got canceled, and the guy at the Delta counter told me I was lucky to have gotten one to Boston. Coincidence? Or fate? Well, to make a long story short, pizza never tasted so good, and Boston accents never sounded so great. I relished in the moment as we ate, listening to the banter of the Bay Staters in their thick New England accents. After pizza, we found ourselves all dressed up with nowhere to go, so Bucket came up with the brilliant idea of CANDLEPIN bowling. What the heck is candlepin bowling, you might ask? Don’t worry I was clueless, and Bucket, I later found out, was a little clueless about the game, herself. Haha. BUT, it was an East Coast novelty, so we drove north to New Hampshire to a small little bowling alley and hung out with the local Hampshire kids. We must have been intimidatingly good, though, because none of them talked to us. Either that or our underware was hanging out and lighting up under the glow of the black lights. But that doesn’t matter! What is important to note, more important than anything else in this post, is the fact that I, Jessica Thompson, IV, beat Bucket by one point in the second game. The first game she cheated, so we don’t count that win. The second one, however, demonstrated real talent and skillmanship. Candlepin requires great finesse and accuracy – two things I pride myself in. You throw a small bowling ball down the lane and hit skinny bowling pins. You get three tries. I brought my A game that night and soundly took the victory. It doesn’t matter that we had no idea how the scoring worked. All that mattered, like I said, was that I won. She owed me drinks at Cheers the next night. That night, we slept soooooo hard. Candlepin wore me out. And we needed our energy for the days and events ahead. Bring it on, Boston.