Tom Ryan, Author

For those of us who love books, there is no such thing as reading season. But autumn sure feels like it. The descent into darkness and shorter days. The cool, crisp air. The coming of storms and early nights inside. They all conspire to make us desire slow times, cozy times. Books are comfort food for the spirit. A good story seems to wrap itself around us and carry us toward comfort and coziness.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve hosted the rib-rattling cough that refuses to leave. It’s the guest who has stayed too long—not that it was ever invited. Re-entry after a marathon trip is never easy for this traveler. So, I live a slower life, a quieter, even more solitary existence. I nurture this weary soul, one which has lived an uncharacteristically extroverted life for anywhere between 16,000 and 20,000 miles on the road.

Greetings from the Cape Cod National Seashore. We’ve been back at the cottage for 36 hours, and we’re still getting our legs under us. Samwise and Emily are in fine fettle. I came down with a nasty head cold as we reached Stowe. Our simple drive back from Vermont proved to be too much for me. Four hours in, we booked a room at the Hampton Inn along the Cape Cod Canal at Buzzards Bay. We were only 75 minutes from home, but I couldn’t muster the strength to finish the job.

It’s a wrap. By mid-afternoon, we’ll arrive at the Truro cottage, not quite the same three souls who set out on June 14. Every trip is memorable. Every trip changes us. There are no guarantees that everything will work out as dreamed in the planning stages, but even when it does, the gifts are unimaginable. Of our 7 cross-country odysseys, there is no favorite, but this will go down as one of the most memorable. Compared to the others, more went wrong over 17,000 miles.

You’ll be surprised when I tell you where we are waking up. First, you should know that when we move—we move. We said goodbye to the stately bison of the Great Plains and hung out with the Great Lakes and some literary ghosts for a few days. Now we’re opening our eyes in Yonkers. Yes, Yonkers here on the edge of New York City. (Don’t you love how wonderfully silly that name is?

Katy Smith Dos Passos’ Truro grave is only a quarter mile from our rental cottage on the Cape. We have never been on a more varied trip than this summer’s coddiwomple. The chosen heat of the Southwest, meeting up with ‘old friends,’ and getting together with a few readers. It was an unusually social summer for this gregarious solitary. Of course, there was the upside-down feeling of our travels: being on the road in the crowded summer months, not the quiet of winter/spring.

Good morning from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. This is a new stop for us. Our visit was inspired by one of our Truro neighbors. It’s not the first. Provincetown, Truro, Wellfleet, and other points on the Outer Cape have influenced our recent lives so much that we tailored part of our itinerary around that historic nest of American art and literature. Exactly why Samwise, Emily, and I are in Michigan will be explained in an upcoming post, because we have two more nights in the state.

Whenever we leave the bison behind, I feel drained. Wistful. First of all, the connection around them is tangible and feels true. But knowing it’s also one of the final highlights gets me, too. Lastly, we have to work to get close to them. Up before dawn, with them (or hoping to be) after sunset. We have some good days ahead still. I am also looking forward to our first Cape Cod autumn. But after this morning’s final goodbye, I’ve been dragging.

Here’s a quickie to whet your appetite. We have not had much luck interacting or even just witnessing the Wilds. It’s been far less than we usually see in the winter/spring coddiwomples. I blame it on the heat of summer. This morning, though, was spectacular. I took hundreds of photos in the two hours we were with the bison. Sometimes we were in the car (still unnamed); other times, we were outside. I don’t have time to review the photos just yet, but here’s a taste. The video has a story.

We are a 5-minute drive from the profile of the US President who recognized our bond with Canada and signed a treaty with them in 1794, forever accepting the name of Lake Ontario in the Treaty of Canandaigua. Good morning. This is our first full summer on the road, and I have some thoughts. There are things we’ll do differently next year, some places we may never return to, and others I wish we’d spent more time visiting.