Route 2 ends at Fresh Pond, near a broken down old nightclub that used to be called,.."Faces".

Here, let me beg the issue of this blog for this final post.

Yes, the sad irony for pause: this is the Walden moment; the Thoreau moment; after meditating on the Deerfield River rapids, we return to the urban metropolis to observe the "faces" - millions of them: slogging it out in the urban jungle - looking for permanent pleasures against the fleeting feet of time.

Oh my god,...would you cut that out? Shave your nose hairs will you - your out of the Berkshires.

I'm trying to spin this; I'm trying to use this tawdry urban decay as illustrative of the alienation suffered in dense urban environments. It's a stretch, I know.

Yes, we end the travelogue here and await the re-assignments. There is a curtain between the Berkshires and the 128 beltway; it's not made of iron, but its not silk either.

Massachusetts and all its diversity can be perplexing sometimes. There's people in Western, Mass that never make the trek east; will wax cynical if you mention the State's indifferent treatment to the citizenry out west. The one's I met talked about visiting the old combat zone once. It's like two different constituents; with those in the western part of the state looking down at the corruption that revolves around the dense urban hub.

This was the point of the travelogue; we came to appreciate the independent spirit of Hampdon and Pittsfield Counties; long since abandoned by the lawmakers on Beacon Hill.