By Jeffrey Shwom

For folks that know me, another random bus story adventure is par for the course. I love taking public transportation, even if it takes longer, and especially if it takes me to a place I have never been. I once took an overnight bus, then high speed train to Toronto, just to try it.

In an effort to get fresh air, enjoy the windy, dry fall we have been having, and shake off the week, I decided to take the MBTA to my second cousin’s coming of age religious ceremony in Lexington.

Relationships are a compromise, and with the desire that my partner would join me (and mostly for the free bagels and cookies after the ceremony), I left the car at home for her to meet me later. A normally 20-minute drive down Route 2 was an hour and 40-minute adventure, on one community path, two forms of transit, and a walk in the woods.

Some leaves are still green on the Somerville Community Path as the wind whisked by my red beanie on leg one into Davis from Magoun around 8:30 a.m. On the platform, the Alewife train said 12 minutes and since the bus runs every 65-70 minutes, I was afraid I would miss the transfer.

The Bedford VA Hospital 62/76 bus, the only MBTA bus line that has a slash, showed up 4 minutes late thankfully, around 9:10, thanks to the driver ordering a small regular at Dunks downstairs.

The bus route weaved on and off Route 2, through Arlington Heights on Mass. Ave, and dropped me off near the Scottish Rite Masonic Museum and Library in Lexington, at 9:30-ish. At a fork in the road. Literally.

Google Maps (i.e. Robert Frost) told me to take the road less traveled and stroll away from Mass. Ave. down Marrett Rd. Mr. Frost had been spot on … I really was doing the nonsensical and walking, taking a train, then bus, then walking again under an overpass to a place of worship … a total of 8 miles where three were on foot.

I took a left on Bacon Street onto a dirt road, with a mailbox, indicating that the closest recognized place was quote “down the road a piece” at Meadow Mist Farm. Instantaneously, I felt like I was in Southern New Hampshire as a small pickup with a friendly waving driver came by, kicking up dirt and my blossoming imagination.

I turned onto an unmarked path, 20 inches wide, and kept the sun to my left. All of a sudden, I’m in the middle of a meadow with tall golden meadow hay moving gently and then quickly with the cool wind. The path is worn and empty. Leaves with dark and light hues, some wet and some dangerously dry, lay under foot. For about 2 minutes, I was alone, freer than I have felt this whole difficult week, and beaming with the beaming sun. It was quiet, it was serene. There was no noise, no refreshing of social media or news … just refreshing air and a sense of being lost. This time, happily lost.

Then, the male mountain biker, decked out in cycling gear, graciously announced his presence behind me and rode by me as I ducked into a small cover along the side of the path. He too knew this gem. The moment was gone, short and ethereal.

I came back to reality with the drone of a nearby landscaping company. I walked a bit to the path’s end and realized I was in some random subdivision at the end of Dunback Meadow. It was only 9:50.

The last mile was louder as I walked under Route 2 and dangerously across a down ramp to a side road, where the sidewalk ended. I got my pumpernickel bagel, saw my family and drove back in the Volkswagen, in a much shorter time.

It just goes to show you that taking a random bus from a station you’ve never ridden from can lead to an adventure, both urban and suburban, that you did not realize was possible. And a chance, if even for a minute, of reprieve and respite during this windy, breezy, hot and cold fall in New England.