Brendan properly celebrates America's Saturday by bailing before the good parts of a fixed gear century (or so). I'll finish the story for him. Salem and I found a new rail bridge at the end of the Airline Trail in East Hampton, and there was some unexpected graffiti. Salem's routine throughout the day was, "You should put this (25 mile out street art) on the next graffiti tour." Eye roll.
On our way back in we decided to cut through the Portland Meadows rather than ride the boring and somewhat hilly Route 17. This is a known mudhole / quad haven, but on past trips I've only seen a couple straggling rednecks. We ran across what appeared to be every redneck in CT having a bear soaked, mud slinging party. Salem and I found ourselves practicing our drawl, just in case we had the need to interact. Unfortunately no photos. We didn't know if the natives would appreciate the gesture.
After leaving the Mad Maxx excitement we were puttering along idyllic Tryon street in South Glastonbury and were nearly run off the road by an aggressive Jeep pulling a jet ski. After being told to "get off the road" we were informally challenged to a duel. Fortunately we were able to wave the jerk on his pissed off way and were surprised to be yelled at again by his girlfriend who had been in the next car back. We took this opportunity to call the police who were quite responsive. We took a break and waited for the patrol car to take a statement.
