FRIDAY, MAY 28

This was probably the smoothest, most hassle-free trip up here ever. 6:30 to 11:55. Easily the best since I've been driving. No traffic whatsoever on 287 over the Tappan Zee and through the tolls. The new road is finally open and a major improvement; no more right-exit jughandle to continue east into Westchester instead of south to NYC. The highway just continues a smooth, 65-mph soft curve to the left.

Apparently, there are no Wendy's in Connecticut. We eyed every blue sign along I-84 for the logo, even taking an exit promising McDonald's and Friendly's, figuring that where there's one fast-food joint, there are others. I rarely -- at least 75 percent of the time -- pass a McDonald's or Burger King in the Northeast without seeing the other -- and often a KFC, Taco Bell or Wendy's to boot. This time, nothing. The McDonald's was in a shopping center that included one of the K-Marts that survived the guillotine and the Friendly's was a mile away along a rural road that included a raccoon sighting and passing a road called Poverty Lane.

Back on the road, we snacked on crackers and cheese that Casey had packed before our departure and continued northeast, into Massachusetts. Not five miles in, the first blue sign gave us a Wendy's, in Sturbridge, a long-time oasis on the long trip between New Jersey and Maine for my family. I've eaten in the McDonald's, the Burger King and the Friendly's all located just off the interstate on U.S. 20. My sister and I even had to spend a night in the Best Western there when Dad's car, which we'd borrowed for a weekend to go to a Dave Matthews concert with Bryan at Great Woods, broke down as we passed through the tolls one Sunday evening. The tow truck driver dropped us off at the hotel, made sure they had a vacancy, left us with directions to the garage where he was taking the car, and then delivered it there. We called Dad and he said he'd be on the road up in the morning. The crazy early riser (when it comes to fishing or driving) was knocking on our hotel room door before we were awake the next day.

Two hours after our late dinner, we exited Route 6 in Barnstable and meandered south on the Cape. A 30 mph speed limit sign along Pitcher's Way said "Thickly Settled." I know it's true because they now have Papa John's here. That's new.

At 12:11 a.m., it's time to sleep. Mini golf tomorrow.

SATURDAY, MAY 29

When it comes to Cape Cod miniature golf, nothing compares to Pirates Cove. Today we played Thunder Falls and, well, it's lame. It doesn't suck, but the holes and sets and props are nowhere near as imaginative.

I still carded a 1-over 48 to beat everyone but Steve.

On the run for beer and ice cream, Casey, Dad and I drove past 20 Bristol Ave. -- the house Jack Kerouac once owned. It's a beige color ranch with an attached garage on the left, four weathered, wooden barn doors covering the two bays. They looked like they could be 40 years old -- from Jack's time.

On a hot August morning I drove to Kerouac's house. He had mailed me directions to his home in Hyannis, Massachusetts, earlier in the month. Located close to Joseph Kennedy Memorial Skating Rink, it was easy to find -- a brown-shingled, one-story house in a modest neighborhood of recently built Cape Cod and ranch houses separated by small yards with no sidewalks. It was August 16, 1966.

[...]

All afternoon through the open windows the faint cries of children were among the sounds we heard filtered across Jack's narrow front lawn and its half-grown pine trees. Apparently we were on the flight path to the Hyannis airport. Once the noise of a jet filled the study and Jack said, "The Caroline. It's the only jet that comes here. It's Sargent Shriver flying off to Washington. Fuck them."

Kerouac sat at the window that faced the house next door, one spindly tree between him and his neighbor. The other study window looked out on a backyard enclosed by a tall redwood fence where his mother was looking after my dog, an Irish setter I had brought along for company. Jack told me that he and Gabrielle had lived in the house only four months.

-- Ann Charters, "With Jack Kerouac In Hyannis"

At Four Seas Ice Cream, Dad placed the order for the six quarts we'd need at the house for a dozen people, then we ordered our cones for immediate consumption. Casey got cookie dough, dad chocolate and I ordered mint chocolate chip. Then Dad decided we needed some of that at the house too, so seven quarts it was. We finished it easily Sunday night.

Just now I looked back to the first pages of this journal -- one February 2001 entry, and several pages from a June Nantucket trip when we stayed in a house with Jaime and her family. Tomorrow, we return.

SUNDAY, MAY 30

Wake up call, 7:30 a.m. In the cars at 8:30 for the drop-off at the dock by the fathers, who would remain on the Cape to fish and work around the house. I was told we had to pick up our tickets at 8:45, by 9 a.m., or they'd be released to stand-by passengers. We were booked on the high-speed 9:15 ferry to Nantucket.

First onboard, most of us went to the back of the boat to the outdoor upper-deck seating. The sun was warming as it rose and the breeze on the harbor was nice. The ride out of Hyannis Harbor was a pleasant cruise, but once we hit the open water off the Hyannisport beaches and the Kennedy compound, the boat picked up speed, skimming over the waves. The wind became cold and the spray stung our faces. We went inside.

Off the boat in Nantucket, we split up, the four ladies 30 years out of college going off to duck into the shops of Main St. with Liz and Katie. Bryan and Jim, who had met us at the dock in Hyannis, paired up with Casey and me. We got drinks at the Juice Guys shop, then wandered west back across Main Street along the side roads by the harbor. We turned up to Union Street, came back to town, headed up Main again, then wandered east. We made it all the way to Children's Beach before we figured it was time to rendezvous on our Main St. corner as planned to get lunch together.

With all the restaurants near town packed, we headed east again intending to hit the stretch of take-out shops near the dock for the auto ferry. But on the way we stumbled upon a small Italian eatery with no line and two tables able to accommodate the 10 of us. A fortuitous find.

After lunch, we split again. Mom wandered with the four of us over to Children's Beach for a little sun time, but then turned back to town. Bryan and Jim then continued along the shoreline, looking at the houses and eventually reaching Brandt Point Light at the mouth of the harbor. Casey and I, weary, lounged on a bench watching a man struggle to fly his kite and boaters put their craft in the water at the launch.

By 3:30, Casey and I were back in town at the harbor, hoping to get a drink at the gazebo bar near a tavern on the wharf, but it was jam packed with Figawi race fans and participants, frat boys and girls, bachelor and bachelorette parties -- just the kind of debauchery we weren't up for before a one-hour high-speed jaunt across the Sound to the mainland. So we sat on benches in the sun and watched the people pass until, gradually, everyone else returned to get in line for the 4:15 ride back.

For the first time since before I returned to the Cape on Memorial Day weekend, which was just last year, we had three perfectly sunny days. Even Monday, our departure day when we don't care if it rains or not, was a pleasantly warm, sunny morning. At the gas station -- I was happy to find it for $2.08 a gallon after filling up for $1.99 at the newly opened Exxon near our house in New Jersey, enabling me to refuse to pay more than that in the Garden State, on principle -- Casey and I teamed up to wash each and every window on the car, including the sunroof. They were a mustard yellow, coated in pollen.

Windows clear and tank filled, we beat the traffic off the Cape early and cruised north on Route 3 to Braintree.