I’m “getting away from it all,” as we say. Going on vacation is supposed to mean forgetting your worldly troubles, your daily responsibilities, pretending (if only for a week) to be carefree. 

With all the troubles in this world today, it was precisely what we planned to do when we took up my cousin Michael’s offer to celebrate his daughter’s recent graduation with a stay at his home in Truro, on Cape Cod. And dogs were welcome!

We packed the station wagon with beach towels and dogs, and tied my bicycle to the top of the car. I included some COVID tests that had just arrived in the mail in our luggage. The GPS gave us a six-and-a-half hour ETA, not including stops for the dogs and us to relieve ourselves. The bike rattled but stayed put on the roof of the car.

Our dogs share a crate in the back seat. They have traveled across the country and back in this fashion, without complaint. They are good travelers and have learned to trust car trips, except when they end up at the groomers, when they must feel betrayed.

Our friend Decker lives in Provincetown, year-round. For years we visited him in his tiny apartment for a few days every summer. Two children and three adults piled into his little studio and made ourselves comfortable with his skill at hosting. He has Parkinson’s now and lives in a senior housing project in the heart of the village. We visit when we can but not often. We didn’t tell him we were coming this time, not sure what the plans would allow.

Our host, my cousin Michael, was flying in from California with his daughter and her boyfriend and driving to the Cape the same day we were. His sister Jen was driving from Providence, only a few hours away from Truro, and planned to make dinner for us all. She could only get away for one night so that was to be the celebration dinner. 

We arrived on time, but Michael’s group stopped for groceries and showed up close to 9:30. Jen did her best to hold dinner, which was grilled fish and vegetables and her trademark pesto pasta. It was delicious and we enjoyed cheer and good vittles together for the first time in a long time. 

As the eldest cousin, I was given the master bedroom in a separate wing with an ensuite bath. It was after 1 a.m. when my husband and I went to bed. In the morning, Jen whispered to me that the boyfriend had been coughing all night and said he had allergies. I offered my COVID tests. He was positive. Hello, worldly troubles. Suddenly our vacation got shorter.

We decided to go visit Decker, outside with masks. We left the dogs in our room with water. As I untied the bike from the roof of our car, it fell on me digging a pedal into my skull and raising a goose-egg contusion. 

At Decker’s, my phone buzzed with messages. I finally picked it up, and it was Jen telling me the dogs were loose on the roads. What?! How? We rushed back to Truro, me holding ice to my head and envisioning our two good dogs loose on the winding Cape roads. I spat a few epithets along the way.

Before we got back, another call came in. The dogs were safe. Three Cape Cod police cars had tracked them down. Between COVID, the bike attack and runaway dogs, it really was time to go home. To get away from it all.