This walk began at the New Bedford Bus Terminal, previously reached earlier this year on a walk from Fall River via Route 6.  This not very amenity-bestowed station services SRTA (Southeastern Regional Transit Authority), American Eagle (Boston - New Bedford), and Bonanza (New York - Fall River - New Bedford - Cape Cod).

American Eagle is a very small bus line: It is the only operator not to have a ticket station or even an agent at South Station; you pay on the bus.  It only runs one route, which on some runs stops at the Galleria Mall in Taunton.  From the point of view of service quality, it seems quite commendable; and one has to admire any such company that has resisted takeover by Greyhound, the Dunkin Donuts of bus lines.

"Welcome to beautiful New Bedford!" said the driver (the same as on the bus I took on my return from that former walk) as we arrived, a little ahead of schedule.  No doubt he meant that sarcastically, but the city, though struggling economically, is not without some scenic value and has considerable historic interest.

I remember going to the Whaling Museum as a child. Famous residents of New Bedford include Frederick Douglas and Bishop Charles M. "Sweet Daddy" Grace.

Emerging from the station, I walked north on Pleasant Street, past City Hall and a building flying the state flag but apparently not identifying itself.  (On the way back I saw an ambulance in front, making me think it might have a medical function.)  Across the street I noted a tall apartment building, with signs on it advertising various commercial tenants, familiar from my prior walk.  Like the Prudential and Hancock buildings in Boston, this structure proved useful as a landmark that indicates from afar the center of town.

Turning east on Kempton Street (U.S. 6), I was now about to answer an important question that probably I should have researched rather than solved through "explorer-type" means: Can one walk over the bridge to Fairhaven?  I had before seen someone walking here in the direction of the bridge and jumped to the conclusion - quite false, being based on a mistaken visual impression of where the road must lead - that this must have been his destination.  More strongly, I just had an intuition that, Route 6 being so far from a superhighway here - a function now being served by I-195, whose bridge further north could not of course be walkable - that the answer must be yes. (Needless to say, I think all bridges ought to accommodate pedestrians.)

The map showed me that there is an "obviously" walkable bridge north of I-195.  Had I had to use this backup route, it woould have prolonged my walk rather significantly and/or made my eastward continuation of Route 6 more problematic.

The fact that there was no sidewalk here did not exactly seem encouraging on this important point, but I trudged on optimistically over a grass shoulder.  But when this ran out, with the highway beginning to assume expressway status, things were not looking good.  I scrambled down a hill, arriving at an uncrossable street, compelling me to go right, since to the left there was no visible means of crossing.  (This must have been Front Street, I see now from the map.  At the time, there was not much point in such perusal.)

I walked through a parking lot, with the Standard Times building to the right.  Passing through the lot, I also noted the 1890 Rodman Candleworks building, now containing a restaurant.  More importantly, I could now see that there was an overpass to the left.

As I advanced to this, on the whole supposing that I would have to go north to my "backup bridge" but not altogether hopeless as to a Route 6 crossing, I saw a side street on the right with the Fish Lumpers union hall.  This attestation of New Bedford's continuing maritime heritage was somehow pleasing.

The overpass, new and handicap-accessible, was rather impressive and landed me at, as a sign informed me, Fisherman's Wharf.  This offered more nautical enterprises, including the boat to Cuttyhunk, which I hope to take some day to add the municipality of Gosnold to my collection.

Interesting as this place was, my walking plans do not encompass tourist-like exploration; and I headed north, following an abandoned railroad track, still uncertain as to where I was going and bothered by the fact that there was no sidewalk here, either.  I passed the Sea Fuels Marine Products and some other commercial properties, as I neared the bridge.

Then, across the street, I saw a stairway leading up to the bridge!  In fact, there was another one on the other side.  Surely, that must mean that it was walkable, and so it proved.  As I ascended to the highway, I found a sidewalk that continued onto the bridge.

It was certainly an auspicious feeling to realize that I would not have to take a detour.  And I was soon treated to an excellent view.  To the south was New Bedford Harbor, with a shipworks in the background and Fairhaven across the way.  To the north was the Acushnet River, with numerous factories along the New Bedford side.

Very quickly I reached Fish Island, a very small land feature, covered with commercial properties, such as the Island Service Station.  Continuing along the bridge, I notice a portable toilet on my right.  Following my practice of taking such opportunities when they arise, I went over but found a lock on it.  (I suppose the bridgetender in the station above has the key.)

Next came Popes Island, rather larger.  On the south side was a large marine park.  Just before it, however, was a marine business with another portable toilet, this one open.  From that point, I advanced into the park, for once indulging in tourism, and inspected a large statue.  It turned out to be a monument to Portuguese immigration, showing Prince Henry the Navigator.  I tried to translate the Portuguese inscription, but my rathern weakened knowledge of Latin roots proved insufficient to the task.  Imperialist as he nonetheless was, I still have to identify with such a supporter of exploration.

Leaving the park, I noted various business establishments on the crowded other side of the island, including Fairhaven Hardware and the Tofu Chinese Restaurant.  The former made me check the map to see that I was still in New Bedford.  As to the latter, naming an eating place after what a survey once showed to be the most hated food in America struck me as a poor business decision, and certainly no way to get my patronage.

The boundary with Fairhaven lies just past the island.  To my left as I reached the mainland, I saw a little park along the Acushnet River and a "Welcome to Fairhaven" sign.  I continued on Huttleston Avenue (Route 6), my plan being to turn north on Adams Street.

By the way, if you skipped the link to Fairhaven in the preceding paragraph because there was a link to the same word on my main walking page, you were wrong.   My stylistic principles do not permit repeating links.  Indeed, I abhor bad links.   If you find an expired or inappropriate link on my page, by all means e-mail me about it.

Like New Bedford, Fairhaven was once a whaling port.  In January, 1841 Herman Melville. went out from there on the whaling ship Acushnet.

I passed by Fairhaven High School, undergoing "expansion and renovation".  The old building doubtless will rate as architecturally far superior to the new structures.  I admired its turn of the century decorative touches; and, after my failure with the statue, I was glad that my high school Latin made, was sufficient to handle the trite but "classy" inscriptions "Carpe Diem" and "Ad Astra per Aspera".

At Green Street, I checked the map and saw that I could go north here.  This would provide a somewhat shorter repeat on my next walk east along Route 6, which should take place later this year and take me to Mattapoisett and Rochester.

As I turned onto Green, even though it was less than an hour since starting, I regretted that I had not found some place to get a drink along the main road, being rather doubtful about the prospects for refreshment in the walk north to come.  It was already getting warm and unpleasant; and my prediction concerning dehydration was like this: discomfort - certain; suffering - probable; collapse - possible.

This was the kind of day, with the temperature going into the nineties, concerning which people are always telling me, "You're crazy" to be out walking.  However correct they may be, it seems that over the years I have become rather acclimated to such conditions.  If I ever do a FAQ file, it will surely contain, "Why don't you carry water?" As I pointed out in my preceding narrative, I hate encumbrances; so for liquids all I take is a small aseptic juice container, to be consumed only as a last resort.  And it is reasonable to assume, as proved to be the case this day despite my forebodings, that eastern Massachusetts is sufficiently densely populated that the opportunity to purchase a beverage will arise when needed.  (Still, I have gone more than five hours in the hot sun without having one.)

Green Street is in a residential area with small homes.  From it, I went east on a street that was marked Plymouth, though Arrow has Pilgrim here.  I then turned north on Adams Street, which is mostly residential, but with some other properties.  One of these was Antil's Convenience Store, which advertises homemade meat pies, pierogi and kielbasa; and I stopped here for a coffee milk. (In the very hot weather, I try to consume liquids once an hour.)

I crossed over I-195, now being in North Fairhaven, and came to a little square.  I looked around a bit for a place name, but did not find one.  Per my plan, I went left on Howland Street.  On my left, I passed Fairhaven Village, apparently some kind of housing connected with an adjacent church.  Just after this, I noticed that the first hour of my walk had gone by.

From the Universal map, I see that there is a locality here called Oxford.   (USGS has this name, too.)  Whether this a part, or rival appellation for, North Fairhaven I do not know.   In any case, it belongs to the small class of Massachusetts localities that have the name of a different municipality.   Marlboro, in Georgetown, which I have walked in, is another example.

I had arranged my route to go by the Fairhaven terminal of American Eagle so that, under my rules, I could use this as a future starting point.  Accordingly, I followed Howland to Sycamore Avenue. Looking to the left, I saw that Sycamore dead ended with houses on both sides; so the bus station was not on that part of the street.  Accordingly, I went north, passing one of several service stations at this intersection. Down Howland could be seen New Bedford, over the "backup bridge" referred to earlier.

Here the left side of the street was commercial and the right residential.  I saw a large yellow building - too big, I decided, for the far from mighty American Eagle empire.  A little further, however, I saw what had to be my landmark: Even though there was no sign identifying it as such, there was one specifying where passengers should wait and a parking lot.  I looked at my bus schedule, just to be sure, and saw that the address (and reference to "secure parking facilities") checked out.

American Eagle's reason for this terminal in Fairhaven is not apparent to me.  Demand for transportation to Fairhaven cannot be very great, and in any case is provided by SRTA.   Maybe land values were lower than in New Bedford, or perhaps the president of the company lived in Fairhaven.

Continuing north, I noticed my second for sale sign by Alferes Realty; I would see more of these along the way, in Acushnet and in New Bedford as well as Fairhaven.  At Harding Street, I turned right, passing small, well-maintained homes.  That at 16 Harding had a very nice lawn, with a garden, shrubs, and statuary.

Reaching North Main, I headed north, soon seeing a sign telling me I was entering my second new municipality of the day, Acushnet.  Fairhaven's North Main Street became Acushnet's South Main. At a phone in front of Skip and Mel's Town Line Ice Cream, I left a message for Cathy.

Northward, I found a variety of residential and commercial sites.  At Jake Lane (not on the Arrow map) I saw a small trailer park. I also noted SRTA bus signs along South Main.

Many town have historical markers, and the Acushnet Historical Society has done a relatively excellent job of identifying, and providing information about, notable places in that town.  Little did they know that their efforts would be magnified by Internet broadcast!

On my left, I was informed by the AHS that I was going by the site of the Laura Keene Farm.  An actress, Keene starred in the performance of Our American Cousin at Ford's Theatre at which Abraham Lincoln was assassinated; this occurrence so much disturbed her that she quit the stage.  I further learned that this land had originally been the Kempton Farm (remember Kempton Street in New Bedford?) and that it was "believed to be" the birthplace of marine painter William Bradford.  Sadly, the farm burned down in 1897.

A little further, I crossed the street to read another such historical marker.  Usually, I am too walk-bound to make such a transit, but I was quite impressed by the AHS immortalization of persons totally unknown to me.

Here I saw "Wayside", the home of the nineteenth century "distinguished Acushnet historian" Captain Franklin Howard, author of the "authoritative" History of Acushnet.  I pictured a cry at the gates of Paradise: "Move over Herodotus and Gibbon, here comes Howard!"

Returning to the left side of the road, I passed a small school.  Next, on my right were a quarry and an asphalt plant and the L & S Concrete company.  Passing by some power lines, I saw Century House and the (small) Acushnet Plaza, with a SRTA bus shelter.

Passing the Acushnet Nursing Home, made up of several old brick buildings, I entered a kind of downtown area (but no place name was apparent).  Such establishments as Pop Casey's Lunch, Captain's Place Family Restaurant, Rugby's Food and Drink being unappealing and/or not open for breakfast, I crossed the street, opposite Torres USA Karate, and got a strawberry milk at Cumberland Farms.

As I drank this in front of the store, I found out that the art of conversation has not died out, at least in these parts:

Man: "Hot enough for you?"

Jim: "Too hot, actually."

Man: "You're right, there!"

Now I came to the end of Main Street, at a junction with many places and signs.  On the right were the Town Offices.  I looked at the map and concluded that I was supposed to go left on Main Street.  (But in fact my planned route was to take North Main in the other direction.)

Observing a mixture of commerical and residential properties, I passed the oddly name Nine Islands Family Restaurant.  Then I came to the Acushnet Cemetery, with graves dating back to 1800.  The AHS had not failed to note the historical significance here, with a marker at site of the First Precinct Meetinghouse, in 1708.  At that time, Acushnet, as well New Bedford and Fairhaven, was part of Dartmouth.  I read that "the faithful often walked ten miles or more to attend services".   Well, I thought, here is one faithless person who does even more.

On my left, I observed the Russell Memorial Library, a stone building erected in 1930, with a clock on top.  (Since this is marked on the Arrow map, I should have realized my naviagational error here, but I didn't.)  I was now at the two-hour mark.  The plan was three hours north, possibly getting as far as East Freetown, and then three hours back to New Bedford.  That would leave one hour in reserve and still allow me to get the 3:00 PM bus.

At the other end of the cemetery was another AHS designation, at the site of the Summerton House.  This was built in 1712 for Samuel Hunt, a minister, and later owned by Samuel Summerton, a blacksmith. It was demolished in 1957 to build an office for the cemetery.  Regretting this act of architectural desecration (the marker showed an attractive building; the new one is downright ugly), I continued, coming to another church.

This was the Acushnet-Wesley United Methodist Church, built in stone, "a place where everybody is somebody and Christ is King".  Another sign proclaimed, "We are never so lost that God cannot find us." These are sentiments very much at variance with my own outlook, and indeed this degree of corniness is not characteristic of New England religion.

Passing more homes, a brook, and a field, I reached a denser residential district with historic homes such as Judge Nathaniel Spinner's office (1823).  Facing opposite my direction was a "Welcome to Fairhaven" sign.  This gave me pause, but light had still not dawned.

I crossed to check still moreAHS reading material, at the location of the "Engagement by the Bridge".  Here, I learned, on September 5, 1978, Lieutenant Jonathan Metcalf had been the only American casualty of the British attack on New Bedford.

Well did Lord Bacon assert that travel is broadening!  Until this day, I had never known that there was a British invasion of New Bedford.  Why had no poet written, "Listen my children and do not laugh./For I will tell you of brave Metcalf"?

Still, it did seem to me that, if the British had such a poor sense of strategy as to be so concerned with New Bedford, it was no wonder that they had lost the war.  Later, however, I was inspired to read up on New Bedford history a bit.  I learned that the reason for this attack was that New Bedford was a port for privateers, an important consideration given the naval underpinning of the British Empire.  And New Bedford was of much greater relative importance in former days; in 1857, with the whaling business driving its economy, it was the richest city in the United States on a per capita basis.

The fact that I was now on a bridge, and about to cross a river, doubtless would have been apparent even without the AHS to inform me.  Where was I, anyhow, I wondered?

Across the way, by a business declaring "Tires R Us", I saw a sign marking River Street.  On checking the map, the awful truth became evident.  I had made a wrong turn all the way back at the Acushnet Town Offices.  Now I was crossing the Acushnet River back into New Bedford.

The reader may justifiably feel that almost every one of my walks seems to go off course at least once and that such a state of affairs seems somewhat inconsistent with the intelligence of an individual who can produce such a sterling Web page as this.  All I can say in defense is that it happens: Even Columbus and Balboa got so lost they had no idea where they were.  (I'll grant that their maps were probably a little cruder.)

Making a virtue of necessity, I decided I should go north on Mill Street in New Bedford.  This would get me back to my planned route.  Perhaps the wrong turn was just as well.  With less than an hour to go north, Freetown was probably not going to be reached anyhow; and going west instead of east had saved time.  The territory that would have been covered had I followed the intended route could be visited on subsequent walks - north from Fairhaven, say, or even some as yet unplanned walk beginning at Bridgewater, Lakeville or Middleborough and ending in Fairhaven.

Mill Street lived up to its name by being predominantly commercial.  I passed a lumber yard, the M & T Sign Company, New Bedford Harbor Services, Integrated Technologies, etc., coming to a four-corner intersection with a commemorative name, Blain Square.

Here I noted a house for sale, evidently a former farm; the outlying buildings suggest to my (admittedly ignorant) eyes that chickens once were raised here.  I turned onto Middle Road, going north back into Acushnet.

Though this is mostly residential area, I saw some businesses, such as Helene's Ceramics and Ames Place, which features cakes, but also sells pierogi, golumpki and cacolia.  Get a little distant from Boston, and the cuisine gets odd, some might say!

At the corner of Middlefield Street, I saw DeAraujo Photographers.  This business had a large wedding photo (their own?) on the lawn, as well as a clock (10:15 AM) and a thermometer (90 degrees).  I also noticed Acushnet Alarm Systems, with a large antenna.

I passed another "farmscape".  (One of the most depressing aspects of my walks is seeing the disappearance of agricultural New England).  At Hamlin Street, with a kind of vista of uncultivated fields, I recognized I was back on my planned route, which would have had me turn east down that road. According to Arrow (but this place name is not known to USGS), I was now in the locality Williams Park.

Up ahead on the left, I espied White's Family Fun, with a driving range, miniature golf and perhaps other attractions.  Another sad example of the extinction of farmland (but at least not, as usual, to the growth of contemporary colonials), this was once part of White's Farm, the buildings of which now came into view.

White's Ice Cream aroused my interest, and I saw a small eatery with an "Open" sign.  My game plan did not allow breakfast; I was not supposed spend time eating unless I got to Freetown ahead of schedule (which now seemed totally impossible).  But, if they would sell me an ice cream at 10:30, I was more than willing to buy one.

They did!  I purchased a small dish of peppermint stick, being adjured by the woman at the ice cream counter to "walk slowly".  Struck by this rare, almost unprecedented, apparent understanding of my mission, I replied that such was indeed necessary.  And indeed my pace was already far from rapid, an automatic phenomenon - but even if I had been acting consciously about it, I would have avoided going too fast for fear of getting exhausted by closing stages.

Whatever the value of ice cream for breakfast or against dehydration, I felt refreshed.  I thought of poor Coronado wandering lost for years.  In those days there was not a single ice cream store in all of the American Southwest!

I noticed a number of trucks in the White "farm", some bearing their name and one that of West Lynn Creamery.  On the whole, it did not seem as if dairying (as opposed to processing or distributing) was going on here any more; certainly I saw no cows or others signs of agricultural activity.

I passed Nye's Lane, realizing that a conservative policy would have been to turn here and stop going north.  But three hours had not yet gone by; so I kept going on Middle Road.  At Fairway Drive, I rejected another chance to turn west, which would have taken me to the locality of Deep Brook Estates.

I saw a Wheldon Brook Nursery and Wheldon Brook Lane, leading me to wonder whether another place name was collectible here.  Subsequent research, however, detected nothing to justify this belief, nor was any stream visible to me.

Next I passed the Kempton Memorial Boarding facility.  Evidently someone's fine estate had literally gone to the dogs!  I also saw Julie's Fashion and Bridal Boutique.

I went by some power lines.  The forested land accompanying these, plus the access road that follows them, frequently provides an opportunity, taken here, to make a comfort stop.  On resuming, I saw a jogger and a cyclist, proving I was not the only one active in the hot sun.

At Morse's Lane, I had now gone three hours.  But, when I consulted the map, I saw that this was a dead end and that I would now have to go a considerable distance north to turn west.  Even with my "reserve" hour, getting to the terminal by 3:00 PM was now somewhat questionable.

Whether this discomforting news made me unobservant or whether it had just dried up, I saw no trace of Buckley's Ice Pond here.  The Arrow map shows the road going right through this (according to them) fairly sizable body of water (which, however, is not recorded by USGS or the Omni Gazetteer).

I saw a sign indicating the way to Pine Hill Farm.  I thought that this might indicate another locality, but, although the Omni Gazetteer lists 25 Pine Hills in Massachusetts (at least two I which I have been to), it does not have one here.

The hot sun was beginning to wear on me even more.  At Middlewood Drive, I began to turn left onto this dead-end street in error, presumably from a subconscious desire to get moving west.  A map check got me back on to Middle Road (what is this obsession Acushnet has with "Middle" street names?), still going northwards.

I went by the Acushnet Highway Department and Recycling Center and then a pair of schools, Ford Middle and Acushnet Elementary.  By now it seemed rather evident that this stretch of territory was unlikely to provide some source of badly needed liquid refreshment.  The best I could hope for was that, when I finally completed my looping course and reached Route 18, there would be some place there for that purpose.

Here I began to see new residential developments.  Riverview Estates, with large new homes under construction and some rather impressive stone walls, was particularly notable.  On my left, I passed what appeared to be a construction company with a large antenna; no sign gave its name.  On the right was Leonard and Sons, offering steel supplies and fabrication.  This seemd to be a long-standing enterprise, and I wondered if they were connected to the Leonard Street that I had just passed.

I saw a moderately sized trailer park on the right.  I had been wondering what the strange sqaure mark on the Arrow map at this point meant!  (Their atlas show this more helpfully.)

Another large upcoming development, Gabriel Farm Estates, had a large identifying sign in the midst of tall pine and other trees.  I wondered whether these would be spared.  That seemed doubtful, though I did see that some arboreal remains had been left at that part of the lots where buildings had already been put up.

Now, with over three and a half hours gone (i.e., behind the planned pace, though still OK if allowance was made for the  extra hour, I was making the turn onto Peckham Road to go west.  At this point was an older home with a nice lawn and many flowering lilacs, a treat to the eyes, but a bane to my allergy-prone nose.

I was now entering the Morning Side section (another place name seemingly known only to the Arrow cartographers).  By now, my progress could be described as dragging along. Between seeing more recent developments (whose monotonous nature and replacement of open land invariably depresses me) and sensing more flowering plants, I was not exactly cheerful.  With mixed success, here and there I tried to pick up my pace, on the theory that the sooner I got to Route 18, the sooner I could remedy my parched condition.

In addition to new homes, there were some older ones here.  I also saw two small, nineteenth century cemeteries, probably family plots.  One had Burnhams and the other Peckhams.

I saw some large (oil?) tanks on the horizon on my right, later passing an entrance road marked "No Trespassing".  At times, I could detect the former agricultural nature of this area, with some fields. The A. Hill general contractor operation seemed to be on a former farm.

The four hour mark went by, as I gazed at new, ugly box-like homes.  At Elderberry Drive and Blueberry Street (on my left; not on the Arrow map), I saw more new construction.

Eventually, a change in the pavement up ahead seemed to presage the New Bedford line.  The map revealed that the border was indeed coming up, just past Northwest Street.

Route 18 could not be far away.  But when I saw a mailbox with the number 819, I began to be somewhat concerned.  Passing more homes, however, I finally saw the highway.  Across the road was a service station, with a soda machine.

As I sat on a little retaining wall finishing my drink, I read the name: Ashley's Tire and Auto.  I also noticed that it rest rooms and telephones.  After using these facilities, I was on my way southward. "Into the home stretch," I thought.  I had about three hours left to get to the terminal, but my estimate was that it should take me only about two.

According to Arrow, I was in Sassaquin.  This place name is in the Omni Gazetteer, but not in the GNIS database; the latter does, however have Sassquin Pond.  That body of water is just down Sassaquin Drive, which is opposite Peckham Road, but was not visible.

Since I already have a Route 18 project in the works, my plan did not utilize this direct route to downtown New Bedford.  Rather, I went on it (i.e., Acushnet Avenue) as far as Braley Road.

Prior to that, I saw the Little Phoenix Restaurant, a small establishment whose sign featured a coffee cup and that seemed (by the parking lot) to cater to truck drivers.  I also noticed a SRTA bus stop sign.

At the corner of Braley, I turned at a nice home with more lilacs.  The mailbox had a number in the 4000's.  A long way to go!

This street had dense homes, many of them new.  Just before Route 140, there was even a mini-development with the cutesy name Deer Woods, as well as the Delicious Coffee shop.

I went under the Annibal Aguiar Bridge, crossing Route 140.  I have done some walking on this route, having covered it from Mansfield to Milford, but the eastern part of it is an unwalkable superhighway.

Opposite lay a directory sign for the New Bedford Industrial Park, more or less viewable in the distance. Amid rather heavy traffic, I turned south.

Now began a long course south on Phillips Avenue and then Church Street.  The general progression was residential, then commercial/industrial, then downtown.  Between the very hot sun and humidity and the almost totally unscenic sights along these roads, my walk became almost an ordeal.

Under such circumstances one does question the enjoyment value, if not the purpose, of the endeavor.  Of course I am sure that even Magellan and Amundsen had their moments of weakness.

I was in the Clifford section, terminology recognized by USGS as well as Arrow.  For a long time, I found homes on my left and undeveloped land on the right.  At the very start, however, was a closed-down former drive-in Bay Bank on the left.  Possibly an ATM was still functioning (a car seemed to be investigating that point as I walked by); the sign had been altered to the new name BankBoston.

I do not usually refer to litter or graffiti, but on the sidewalk here I saw something so odd that I picked it up as a souvenir (I rarely make such acquisitions), only to discard it that evening when it proved to be in very poor condition.  It was a kind of business or calling card, with the picture of a rose, on which was handwritten "Will work for SEX".

I went by the Countryside Terrace Apartments, with some new construction.  The woods on the right were marked with "Private" signs.  At one point I could see a large number of parked cars on the other side of the woods, but I could not discern why they were there.

At Pine Hill Road, where Arrow has the locality name Pine Hill Acres (though this sounds like a developer's name, it is recognized by Omni and by USGS),  I was at the five hour mark.  Beginning around here, and continuing off and on for a stretch, was some construction work, evidently (from some collections of pipes that I observed) relating to sewerage.

Some commercial properties began to appear.  I saw The Farm, a breakfast and lunch place, on the right, and passed a sand pit on the left.  Further on the right, I saw a sign for, and had a view, of Wellington Park Estates, "Apartment Homes".

On the left was a sign offering land for sale "suitable for shopping center or homes".  This seemed an accurate enough observation, even to someone who despises development.

I then passed by the Polish National Catholic Cemetery, established in 1945, a small, well maintained burial ground, with only graves, no other structures.  By now I was very tired and going very slow; two women with a baby carriage on the other side of the road were outpacing me.

As Phillips becomes Church Street, I went over Route 140, getting one of those vistas that superhighway junctions often afford - quite scenic, except for all the traffic.  There was something of a cool breeze here; despite the intense heat along this walk, such windy assuagement from time to time made things slightly less unbearable.

I walked by more homes, apartments and condominiums, now on both sides of the street.  To my left, a loud house or car siren sent an annoying sound throughout the neighborhood.

Eventually, the properties became mostly commercial, with many factories.  I also noted the Christian Fellowship Center of the Assemblies of God.

I had been feeling that I was even more behind time than I was because I had not come across Pine Grove Cemetery.  But when I reached Brockton Street, I realized that this must have been obscured behind undeveloped land on my left.  (The Arrow map showed the cemetery abutting the road; their atlas correctly shows it does not extend that far.)

As I came to Park Street there were all kinds of commercial establishments (a shopping plaza seemed to be down the road to the east, which heads toward the New Bedford Airport), from one of which I could surely get a very badly needed drink.  Rejecting Honeydew Donuts, I crossed to a Texaco station, where I used a phone to call Cathy, and entered the Circle B food store, buying a root beer.

As I drank this in front of the store, I realized that "Walk slow" was not an option if I was still to get the 3:00 bus.  Could I pick up my pace?  Should I?  I decided to try.

Heading on toward downtown, I passed a lumber yard and an auto dealer, then a billboard exhorting Bible reading.  I would begin see more and more of these, including two by Media One, with its message "This is broadband" - an ad campaign that has drawn attention for seeming to force a vocabulary lesson.

I don't usually bother with Boston Herald columnists (who needs an exercise in stupidity?), but on the bus that morning, with time on my hands, I had read that day's effusion by Monica Collins, which by coincidence was an about Media One, one of her pet peeves.  Her typically Herald flaunting of her ignorance proved that she is one of those who don't know what the slogan means and isn't going to try to figure it out.

There were some houses on the left, but on the right was commercial property, with the factory section approaching.  I noticed the U.S. Ringbinder Corporation and the Julius Koch company (exhibiting its foreign origin with "Grundlegt 1895" on its sign).

Now the six hour mark had passed.  I went by the large factory of the Chamberlain company. Seeing Central Street, I checked the map and it seemed that I was on time.  I was now walking fast, or at least as fast as I could.

Both sides of the street were residential now.  Opposite Glennon Street, I saw a three-family home. That was good news: It meant I was getting into the center of the city.

At Nash Street, I saw a cab on the other side of the street.  (I was walking on the right hand sidewalk). Under my rules, if I have put in the allotted hours (six here, which I had done), a premature end may be considered.  But in this case the general policy that the walk should be continued if the planned ending (i.e., the 3:00 bus) is still feasible overruled any such temptation.

Stores and other commercial properties were mixing with residences.  I passed the Luzo Maxi Mart, a very large building that evidently sells food on a wholesale and retail basis.  I noted the rather seedy looking Sunset Café.  As I passed the Professor's Gym on the right, a large number of old, mostly abandoned factories began to appear.

As Church Street ended, I tried to read the map and somewhat confusedly decided to turn right, rejecting the idea of going the other way to Route 18, even though I knew it led directly toward the bus terminal. This was, first, because, as mentioned, it is slated for another walk and, secondly, because I was not sure that it was walkable at this point (having seen from the American Eagle bus that it attains near superhighway status as it nears its end in downtown New Bedford).  I took the next turn left, sure I was headed in the right direction and rather uncharacteristically trusting in my sense of direction rather than in cartographic consultation.

As I went as fast as I could through what might be called a faded commercial area, I eventually discovered that I was on Purchase Street.  From my Fall River to New Bedford walk, I remembered that this street intersected with Route 6 just before square I had left eastward that morning, one block from the bus station.  Although it was still a close call, the odds seemed to indicate that I would make it if I could keep up my pace.

I had a view of I-195 up ahead.  This served to confirm where I was, though its slowness in drawing near, struggling as I was, bothered me.  On my right I saw a large school, with kids exiting to numerous buses.  (From subsequent examination of the map, I learned that this was the Hayden-McFadden School.)

On the corner before this was a church with an "Adoption Not Abortion" sign - a typical example of religious illogic.  Some children were standing at a bus stop there, and I thought that, if a bus just materialized, I would - - - not take it, because I could still make it by walking.

At this stage, by no means uncommon in my walking, note taking and even observation yielded to single-minded, even desperate, accomplishment of the time goal.  Nevertheless, I could not help noticing that on my left was a railroad track (with Route 18 visible behind it), and wondering if this was the route the MBTA was considering for an extension of the Attleboro line to Fall River and New Bedford.  At one point, a rusted bridge convinced me that this track could not be in use.

I passed a large brick building, housing The Car Barn.  I also noted an attractive rehabbed Durand Building.  Suddenly I saw on my left what I thought must be, and in fact was, the large apartment building serving as a landmark for my destination.  Confirming this belief, I could soon see the interchange and the bridge to Fairhaven.

I raced past the University of Massachusetts at Dartmouth New Bedford - one cannot say campus, bur rather buildings.  Now I was in a little square; business names on signs indicated that this was Foster Hill, which I assume to be a locality that I must have passed through on my former walk. (Although maps do not indicate such a place name, a mayoral news release cites a civic group that confirms my belief.)

With only about ten minutes to spare, I reached Kempton Street (Route 6) and retraced my steps to the terminal.  I had just enough time to get a badly needed soda from a vending machine before the bus showed up, seemingly a few minutes early.

I noticed that one passenger had indeed got on in Fairhaven.  From the bus, I observed for future reference that Route 18 is de iure walkable almost to its end at Kempton and possibly de facto walkable all the way.

This was a notable walk, having scenic and historical interest, as well as the two new municipalities whose attainment was its raison d'être. As to the exhaustion and dehydration imposed, aggravated by having to hurry at the end, they felt, as usual, outweighed by the satisfaction of having achieved the game plan. (Still, the phrase "mad dogs and Englishmen" had come to mind as I entered the bus.)  In regard to good vs. bad planning, this walk scored well, making allowance for the difficult weather conditions.

Name: Fairhaven and Acushnet

Path: New Bedford - Fairhaven - Acushnet - New Bedford

Note: Continuation of Route 6 east

Date: June 11, 1997

Time: 6.75 hours

Weather: Sunny, hot, in 90's; brutal, but mitigated by cool breezes in AM and early PM

Roadkill: none

Municipalities: New Bedford, Fairhaven (180/188), Acushnet (181/189)

Localities: Foster Hill, New Bedford Harbor, Acushnet River, Fish Island, Popes Island, North Fairhaven, Oxford [Fairhaven], Blain Square, Williams Park, Buckley's Ice Pond, Morning Side, Sassaquin, Clifford, Pine Hill Acres

Highlight: Historical notes by Fairhaven Historical Commission

Lowlight: Phillips Avenue and Church Street, New Bedford

New walks: N from Fairhaven
                    E from Fairhaven
                   W from Fairhaven

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(c) James Murphy, 1997
Last updated August 10, 1997