New England is a creaky floorboards kind of place, home to history, turned wood furniture, quilts, and closets that make me wonder if monsters dwell within. There's something a little magical here, but it's a salty, old-world kind of magic. It's where a younger version of me first found romance, which I followed to break free from the inertia of New York City. It's where I first experienced anything close to a 'real' winter (and then proceeded to endure 7 iterations of it). It's where I learned to ride, and attended my first rally. It's coastline and woods and winter. Now that I was full of the tastes of the rest of the country, I'd come back, maybe in part to see if that magic still held.
