Episode 61 | Narragansett to Little Compton, Rhode Island
Last morning at the Surf Shack. The angled ceiling windows were glowing when the alarm went off, which is a nicer way to wake up than most. I took a couple of quick shots from the crow’s nest, made a failed attempt at the espresso machine, and sat on the third-floor porch with the journal for a while before hitting the road.
The plan was loose, which at this point is the only kind of plan I make. Drive north through Jamestown, cross over to Newport, work my way around through Bristol and Tiverton, find something worth stopping for in Little Compton, and eventually point the car toward Cape Cod. Hug the coast as much as possible. Skip Providence entirely.
That last part turned out to be the right call.
Jamestown
Jamestown sits on Conanicut Island in the middle of Narragansett Bay, accessible by bridge, population around five thousand year-round. I drove the waterfront, noted that the real estate prices were doing what real estate prices do in coastal New England, and kept moving. It’s the kind of place you’d need a week to properly appreciate and I had about twenty minutes.
There’s a lighthouse visible from the bridge as you come in. I noticed it on the drive to Newport two days earlier and had filed it away. I’m still filing it away. Some things you just note for next time.
The Abandoned Barracks
Somewhere in this stretch — I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely sure which town I was in — I pulled over because something caught my eye. An old building, clearly military at some point, completely covered in graffiti. Two women nearby told me it used to be barracks of some kind. A few years ago somebody cleaned it all up, they said. Then the kids found it again.
I walked around it for longer than I planned. There’s something about a building that’s been reclaimed by people who weren’t supposed to be there that I find more interesting than a properly maintained historic structure. The graffiti wasn’t all great art, but some of it was, and the combination of institutional architecture and spray paint felt like an honest record of what the place had become after the thing it was built for was gone.
I was wearing a scarf, which I had apparently put on earlier and forgotten about. A diver who came out of the water nearby kept looking at me and smiling. It took me a minute.
The divers, incidentally, told me what kind of crabs I’d seen the fisherman working with the day before. The water there runs six to ten feet deep and tropical fish come up through the Gulf Stream this time of year. I filed that away too.
Bristol, Tiverton, Little Compton
Bristol had a nice waterfront and streets worth walking slowly. Constitution Street had a row of houses I was checking prices on, because apparently I’ve started doing that on this trip, mentally real-estating my way through New England. Tiverton was small and quiet. Little Compton was smaller and quieter, and I got lunch there and sat with it for a while.
There’s a version of Rhode Island that most people see — Newport, the mansions, the harbor. This was the other version. Narrow roads, working boats, small beaches without crowds, towns that don’t particularly need you to visit and aren’t doing anything special to make you stay. I like that version more, I think. It asks less of you.
The leaves hadn’t turned yet. I’d seen a few yellows but nothing dramatic. I wasn’t expecting fall color here. I was expecting it in New Hampshire, and that’s still a few stops away.
Closing Out Rhode Island
I ended the day at South Compton Beach, sitting with the engine off for a few minutes before getting back on the road. First time I’d been to Rhode Island. Definitely coming back, specifically for the Newport Jazz Festival if I can get tickets. I’d stay somewhere down in this southern stretch and bicycle to Fort Adams. That’s the plan, anyway, which means it probably won’t happen exactly that way, but it’s a plan.
Massachusetts next. The Cape, then north.
