Today’s Mission Impossible—and we chose to accept it—was to check out the latest ice cream place Bob had recommended when he learned we’d be stopping in Cambridge. Only snag? Bob’s geography is a bit loose. The ice cream shop he recommended is in Oxford. Not the one in England, but the one tucked into the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay. Right next to Cambridge. Not the one in England, but the one tucked into the eastern shore of the Chesapeake. The one we stayed at this night. So we adjusted course and decided Oxford sounded like a fine idea anyway.

We weren’t keen on another marina night. The idea of anchoring near town was tempting, but nothing looked quite right. Then I spotted something new on our docking app: a mooring ball, just one, offered by a waterfront bed-and-breakfast. About 100 meters from their private beach. They let you land your dinghy right there. No fuss, no padlocks. We messaged them yesterday and, by sheer luck, snagged the reservation. Something different, something new. We’re always up for that.

This morning was supposed to be slow. It started that way until our slip neighbor wandered over as I was topping off our freshwater tank, and we got talking. He’s got the same davits as us and built his own solar panel mount. We took notes, snapped pictures, and got ideas. Then, just as I was about to carry up the freshly brewed coffee, another gent appeared, eyeing Koko like she was a rare bird. Bettina nudged me. “He wants to talk. Go.” So I did. Turns out he’s got an Island Packet too, a 320, just two docks down. We chatted for another hour. By the time I got back, the coffee was lukewarm and checkout time was more of a suggestion than a deadline.

We cast off around 11:30, did a quick pumpout, and motored downriver. No wind, no sails, just a gentle putter to Oxford. We reached the mooring at 13:20 and snagged it on the first try. The B&B owner spotted us and sent a welcome message, offering to show us around whenever we felt like rowing over. It’s a lovely setup—just one mooring ball in the river, a tidy little beach, and a postcard-perfect inn.

Later in the afternoon, we lowered the dinghy and rowed over. No need for the outboard.

The owner was already waiting, ready to give us the grand tour. The place is spotless, full of charm, and clearly loved. We can use the lounge, the yard, the chairs. Everything. And Koko was visible from everywhere. You almost get the feeling the innkeeper placed that mooring ball just to round out the view—one cheerful sailboat bobbing in the calm water, right where it makes the whole scene look like it belongs on the cover of a travel magazine.

When we mentioned our ice cream quest, the innkeeper insisted on walking us there himself. Ten minutes through town, with a running commentary on Oxford’s history and local spots. He didn’t want any ice cream, just held the door open like a proper host. And the ice cream? Worth every step. It tasted like its name, which is more than you can say for most places. Creamy, rich, and unapologetically good.

We sat in the little park by the water, watching Koko bob gently in the river. Then we wandered through town. Quiet streets, old homes, a few boatyards, a neighbor selling produce from their backyard, and the docks where the watermen tie up their crabbing boats. It felt like Tom Sawyer might stroll past at any moment.

Dinner was at a waterfront grill. Rockfish tacos and a cheeseburger, both better than expected. Service was slow enough to let the sunset catch up with us.

We walked back hoping to get a few shots of Koko with the sun dipping behind her. A bit late, but still lovely.

We lounged for a while at the inn…

… then rowed back under a rising moon.

Dinghy up, cockpit cushions out, and the sky turning from orange to black. Mission Impossible completed. And with ice cream.

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