Paradise

In September of 1901, Vice President Theodore Roosevelt was hiking in the newly preserved Adirondack Park (1892). Just north of the town of Long Lake, NY, he received word that President Mckinley had been wounded. Nearly sprinting down the ten miles from his hiking trail, he made it into town. However, the nearest telephone was east fifteen miles in the town of Newcomb. When he arrived, he learned that President Mckinley had died. Theodore Roosevelt was to be the 26th president of the United States.

"Dude, are you even listening to me?" I asked Josh, rather annoyed.

"What? Yeah, he was in the Adirondack Mountains," replied Josh.

"Yeah. You know where we're headed today?" I asked.

Josh looked at me nervously, "No... I'm sorry, tell me again."

"We're going through Newcomb to Long Lake" I barked.

I was being an asshole and I felt bad as soon as I raised my voice. As Josh biked ahead of me, I fell behind. A Buffalo farm came up on the left advertising their bison meat. Bison meat? I thought they were nearly extinct. Lo and behold though, dozens of bison milled about grazing on the land.
As I continued onward up a steep part of the road, I stood up on my pedals. The right pedal sheered off the bike. What the hell... It wasn't a huge deal. A peg is a peg and I can still pedal. Josh lay in wait around the corner of the hill.

I gotta say. No matter what the situation, Josh has been an utterly positive and loyal companion for the whole trip. Despite my tendencies to get frustrated on occasion, he's always forgiven and forgotten. I also gotta say, the kid has gone from falling down four times a day to becoming Lance Armstrong... before PED's... in high school... maybe without his left lung, which is pretty good.

With a pedal digging into the sole of my right foot, I went through lots of green and wooded terrain and one mountain on the way to Newcomb. A type of black butterfly with symmetrical white dots on either side has been following us since the Kancamagus Pass back in Vermont. They like to flutter on top of deer poop.

In Newcomb, there was one general store with lots of canned foods and camping goodies. Josh and I went to a nearby picnic area to eat some of the goodies.

We fell into a food coma. The last leg of the day was to the town of Long Lake, population 700, the biggest town in Adirondack Park.

A quiet and easy 16 miles to Long Lake. I got a New York license plate on the side of the road for my bike. Midway through Long Lake, ahead of Josh, I saw a soda machine.

From inside the auto mechanic spot I heard, "Come on in here!"

"What's that?" I said moving toward the door.

"Soda machine's broken but come on in, I got some cold tap water."

"Oh thank you so much," I said as I walked inside.

"This here's John on the couch and over here is Peter. My name's Greg," he said reaching to shake my hand.

Greg had old stubble on his face and a painters hat on his head with bright gleaming blue eyes. Wisdom in his pupils, he was around his forties, same age as the other men.

"Where you coming from today?" inquired John of the couch.

John was an athletic looking man in his forties, hair just turning grey on the balding ring around his head. He'd cycled the Southern Tier of the US after seeing so many guys riding through his town. Not a self-proclaimed touring cyclist, he had an amazing time.

"Not a bad way to see the country," chimed Peter. "Hell, I bet you save money and get some good exercise."

Peter was wearing tan shades over his face with a hat to match. He worked for a forestry school down the road, helping to take care of over 250,000 acres in Huntington Forest. A very kind and funny man.

"There's two campgrounds around here. One of em's free," John said putting his hands behind his head and reclining.

"But you should check out the beach first down the road. Hey, there goes your friend," said Greg pointing out the door.

"Josh!" I screamed.

Greg gave Josh and I both, chocolate cookies AND a chocolate milk to share. My God. It was incredible. We already were warmly welcomed in Long Lake.

 It didn't stop there. After going to the beach, lounging, and accidentally doing back flops into the water,

we went to John Dillon Park. One of the most well-kept secrets in the Adirondack Mountains. 

Camping is free... and you get more than you would get paying at any other campground. Firewood comes equipped, there's a log lean-to for shelter from the rain, and a bathroom with a solar light. The two men in charge, Kyle Tisdale and Steve (I only know Kyle's last name because two kids were making fun of it) were complete professionals. They helped with any directions and were really cool to talk to. I was left speechless at the wonder and beauty of the whole place. It's like a little paradise tucked away in the woods. 

Josh and I created a dinner feast complete with beans, toast, sweet peas, leftover ravioli, vanilla wafers, and hot chocolate. I am in a food coma.

New York

"Oh, my sister vacations down there pretty often. North in Port Elizabeth?" John said, the owner of Carol's Hungry Mind. 

"I'm pretty sure. That's not far from us, maybe an hour or so," I lied with legendary geographical inertness. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't.

"John actually named this little cafe after his wife," explained Mary Kay as John walked away. "It's actually a rather sad story. Days before the place was to be opened, she passed away from cancer. Originally, the place was supposed to be called Hungry Mind but instead made it Carol's Hungry Mind." 

A tragic story but the place appeared to be flourishing in her wake. Mary Kay seemed to be famous in the place, introducing us to numerous friends coming through. Her daughter had used to work at the place.

Mary told us many stories this morning as we chatted over coffee and some original Vermont chocolate milk. It was lovely to share with her. Eventually, it came time for us to go. What an extravagant day and morning it was with our second parents. 

As we left, Mary said, "I just want you to know, you're both my other sons now. Come visit any time you'd like."

We thanked her profusely, and embraced several times before we said goodbye. The invitation remains open to her as well. Come visit Cape May again!

Josh and I were off toward Ticonderoga; a strategic place for Americans during the Revolutionary War. May 9, 1776: Ethan Allen storms the British Fort Ticonderoga and takes it without a shot fired. The name of the historic site now comes with a slogan that says, America's Fort, which I found kinda funny.

The long ride there was a breeze for Josh and I. We got a short ferry ride over the lake to get to Ticonderoga. It's the only passage there. We waved goodbye to Vermont.

And mumbled hello again to New York.

As I wondered why my head was throbbing, I realized that all I'd had to eat for the 22 miles was a bagel. Not smart at all. Josh and I got a pie in Ticonderoga and planned out where to sleep for the night. I started feeling a little iffy and popped two Advil. We headed for Blue Lake Campground outside North Hudson.

"Well, I remember there's quite a steep incline out of Ticonderoga but it's fine after that," I remembered Mary saying this morning and last night. 

I had hoped we would avoid any big climbs. This was not the case. Josh and I pretty much dominated the climb but not without completely melting. I can't recall the last time I'd sweat so much. I had no shirt on at this point (workin on that Farmer's Tan) and all the sweat just collected in my shorts. I looked like I peed myself. Beads poured off me like rain. It was ridiculous. I turned back at one point to see how high I'd gotten.

The pale blue in the back was about where we started. I eagerly awaited the downhill that never came. There was a short-lived, maybe 3% or 5% grade but nothing special. A few miles down the road I stopped to wait up for Josh around Paradox Lake.

We laughed our way passed campgrounds, cars, motels, and an abandoned amusement park. I would've loved to check out the whole amusement park but it was getting dark. 

We finally made it to camp and met the owner, Tom, who is originally from Philadelphia. He's still got a bit of an accent but he's got tons of family that still resides there. 

The campground is fantastic. 

Josh and I just finished gorging ourselves silly with a feast. Pasta with tomato sauce, bread, rice with extra butter, and beans. I'm stuffed and sleepy.

Apologies in retro for any spelling or grammar errors. I'm not spell-checking this one. Tired and dizzy and gotta get up early to do it again.

We've got a hike into the Adirondacks Park planned. 

Dead Tired

Here's a bunch of pictures. I'm dead.

"How do you feel about military conscription?" asked Yves Lepierre in broken English (pronounced Eve Leh-pure).

Quite a loaded question but I ranted for a good few minutes before I realized I should shut up. Nobody likes talking politics but when it involves violence against other humans, it should be discussed. 

Yves Lepierre was 72 years old but didn't look a day over 50. I actually guessed 47. He had a thin balding gray head, and a kindness about him. I think it was the fact he spoke to us first. He's a History Professor from Quebec (where they just got rid of History as a fucking class) and is married to an English language teacher. Very intelligent and thoughtful conversation.

Josh and I stumbled upon a horse show outside South Royalton. We've never seen one before and I was utterly entranced by the anatomy of the horses. I've said this before but they're muscular as hell.

Josh and I accidentally went the wrong way on our own planned route. Laurie Rd. A name that will live on in infamy. Steepest climb I've ever seen and then a road that looked abandoned. We got stuck and lost deep in the Appalachia for about an hour.

On the way out of Hancock or Rochester, this was the view.

On the downhill from Breadloaf Mountain.

Last but not least, we're staying at our Couchsurfing hosts, Peter and Mary Kay Dempewolff. Mary Kay is a mother of four who is also a very talented artist. She has the biggest island table I've ever seen and a wonderful hyper dog named Leroy Brown. Peter is a "jack of all trades" type of man who works as a contractor. He's been really open to us in terms of his life, which was sobering and amazing to hear about. Great storyteller and one of the most energetic speakers I've ever heard.  

An absolutely wonderful experience, it's always a joy to have somebody want you around. Sometimes we kinda feel like a burden but Mary Kay and Peter let it be known that they just really enjoy having us around.

Live Fast, Die Slow and Stay Alive

"Wake up, Ralph" whispered Josh above my tent. "They're making us breakfast."

I wiped the sleep from my eyes, tossed and turned several more times, and like a child on Christmas morning, dashed barefoot into the home of Bud and Kathy.

"You guys want orange juice? How about some oatmeal?" said Bud the legend.

We had a delightful morning breakfast accompanied by genuine conversation with Bud and Kathy. We learned more about our charitable guests. Bud and Kathy had cycled almost everywhere; Cuba, Puerto Rico, Europe, Scandinavia, and most of the United States. Bud reminded me a lot of a professor that was in charge of my trip to India; a man of culture and wisdom. Kathy reminded me a lot of my mother (the name helps too) because of her humor and bona fide joy for life. 

Outside, we all began setting up our tents. Mike had packed all his things premeditatively before breakfast. As Josh and I continued to chat with Kathy, Mike nonchalantly asked Bud where to get water. Alone, he quietly went into the house. A few seconds later I heard a heavy thud followed by a screech of pain.

Hmmm, stubbed toe and a broken vase, I thought. I didn't actually break a sweat, continuing to pack my things and talk to Bud.

Kathy went off to work and I almost completely forgot about the commotion until Bud stepped inside.

As he opened the screen door, I immediatelly heard, "Oh no... Oh no... Is it broken? What happened?"

A few moments later, Mike emerged clutching his hand. 

"I think I broke it," he said worriedly. 

While washing his hands and filling his canteen in the sink, Mike's head bumped a heavy cast iron pan. It fell.

I cannot stress or heave enough praise onto the backs of Kathy and Bud for all they've done for us. Bud drove Mike about an hour north to get x-rayed while Josh and I headed out on the route planned by Bud and Kathy to Chelsea. The plan was for Josh and I to take a slow day while Mike would catch up. Kathy and Bud, you guys are legends.

The rode to Chelsea was just as our hosts had described; scenic and steep. At one stop after a brief climb, Josh and I fantasized about living as farmers in the land of the green.

We had very precise directions... and one stuck out from the rest.

Bud said the evening before after I'd expressed my addiction to Coca-Cola, "Well, there is a little soda machine at the very end of the climb!" he laughed.

I laughed too... but I didn't forget.

As I climbed another hill, the car garage came into view, signaling the end of the climbing. But more importantly... my caffeine. 

Josh and I located that vending machine and enjoyed a nice, cold carbonated beverage. It was all downhill from there.

7 miles of downhill all the way into the beautifully antique town of Chelsea. There, we continued to follow Bud and Kathy's advice, eating at the small cafe with the creaky screen door. I kid you not, I found the best burger I have had in my entire life at the Dixie II's Restaurant. Every single bite was mouth-watering. I was extremely saddened to hear later that the place was being sold in a week for financial trouble. However, I made sure the town of Chelsea knew I had the finest burger of all-time in that worn and petite little place.

Josh picked up the phone at the table as I got back from the bathroom.

"It's not broken? Oh, wooow dude. Long car ride for nothing? Yeah, we'll be here."

Bud drove Mike back to the house, picked up his bike, and then drove him to the top of the long road we took earlier. Kathy was waiting to find us, soon to be followed by Bud. Joyfully conversing again, we awaited Mike's speedy downhill into Chelsea. As he came blasting up to us and nearly running into Josh, we said goodbye to our dear friends.

Unfortunately, Mike was included. Hours after Bud and Kathy left, Mike punched in his ticket. He'd had enough.

A bitter farewell.

We ventured slowly onward to the town of South Royalton where we rehearsed the poor American standard for fixing problems; alcohol. Thankfully, the man serving them, Scott, couldn't have brightened our days up any more. 

Enthralled by our idea to bicycle across the country, he took it upon himself to create his own route through the West for us. Proclaiming to have gone across the country twenty times (he has, his girlfriend was there that went with him), he told us he'd plan out all the best places. 

After two hours of careful planning and pinpointing, he couldn't print it. So, he gave us a brief summary of it. The plan was to cut out North Dakota and replace it (no offense but North Dakota apparently "just straight up sucks") with the Badlands of South Dakota. It sounded appealing. 

Sometimes though, the places with nothing in them are the best places to do something in

On the road to South Royalton shortly before the huge Bluegrass Festival. $25 for a ticket but it didn't pay for for the $60 camping fee. Sorry guys.

We never made it out of South Royalton. 

Mentally drained.

Balance

After the torrential downpour and flood warnings finally subsided this morning, we joyfully watched the US in the FIFA World Cup take on Germany. Contradicting expectations, the US has proceeded through the talented "Group of Death" and moved on to the Sweet 16. Go USA!

We left at 3:00 in the afternoon; a rough start. There were no remnants of the storm outside, not even any puddles. But we had heard from a group of gentleman staying at the motel that it had been a nightmare the evening before. They had anticipated on climbing a few 4,000 ft. peaks in the area but the downpours had created flooding and dangers making it nearly impossible. They planned on just relaxing in Lincoln for the next few days. Ain't a damn thing wrong with that, I told em.

The first hint that things weren't all quite right was in respect to the stream we followed on our climb. It was a torrent of powerful moving water and it even appeared to have taken out a bridge. Ominously, it was here that it began to rain once again.

Shortly after seeing the raging river, we came upon a sign reading "Emergency Situation Ahead." I prepared for something awful. A campground situated directly next to this river had experienced heavy flooding and apparently, some of the campers were in danger. We didn't see any of this but the roads looked fairly ravaged. 

"I'm having fun! I'm having fun!" I yelled over the wind and the rain to the orange man directing traffic.

He laughed a big toothy grin and hugged his belly as he did. A jovial man.

"Can't be far now, right?" I laughed to the next orange traffic man, his raincoat fluttering in the gusts.

"Oh you got a ways t-"

"No, don't tell me!" I yelled, still laughing.

This man with the wet, foggy glasses also smiled good-naturedly and laughed along with me.

I waited for Josh and Mike as the rain came down harder. I sent out a team text message:

"Deep down in my heart... i know theres ice cream on the other side of this mountain."

It was quite a rough climb to the top but finally, we got the clean downhill we'd been waiting for. A beautiful lake sat next to us, which we stopped to admire. Water flowed down from the mountain above us, ebbing its way through the etches in the rock. 

The clouds parted and the sun began to peek it's way out in the distance. Ole Solaris finally smiled on us. It was like night and day. The wind flew through my hair, congratulating me on a climb well done. One more short climb and it was all downhill into the town of North Haverhill.

Mike and I stopped at a picturesque landscape view of the mountains and everything between. A sheep turned to stare at us and grunted a burp of discontentment. It didn't seem to like us being so close to it's home. The ball of wool went into it's barn where it continued to stare at us, only breaking eye contact when we went to stare back.

We met the man named Dick who owned the acres of land. A bald man with small purple scabs on his tan skin, he peered beyond his maroon-shaded glasses to look at us.

"Oh sure, enjoy the view as long as you like. We get bikers all the time."

"Thank you very much, sir" said Josh. "Uh, is there anywhere to get food in Haverville?"

Dick stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"No. No, there isn't actually. There's a pretty good Chinese place north about five miles but otherwise... you'd wanna go to Bradford."

"What about ice cream?" I asked, mouth salivating.

"Oh yeah, there's a pretty good one north a few miles."

I selected the food in Bradford... I shouldn't have. I took the boys on a death march over 12 miles to the town of Bradford, out of New Hampshire and into Vermont. The ice cream was right there... and I abandoned that sweet little treat. Instead, I vouched for allowing my stomach to digest itself.

However, on the way to Bradford, Josh and I did find a cute baby calf hanging out with an adult horse... doing weird shit.

The Connecticut River Valley is where the White Mountains spit us out and it is the ideal place for farmers. The river provides the most lush and green, flourishing land. The soil is fertile. It's pretty beautiful.

Finally, in Bradford, we found a Subway... but no ice cream. It was here that Josh found hosts on WarmShowers by the names of Bud and Cathy. 

"So what's the address?" I asked.

"1034 South Rd." responded Josh.

Suddenly, the boy at the register turned to us with gaping eyes, "You guys say South Rd?" 

"Uh, yeah."

A dramatic two seconds ticked by and he smiled a bit.

"South road... Well, it's about a 5 mile road. Then, a lot of it goes like this," he then made a gesture with his hand indicating an 80* line. "Yeah... lots of ways to get there... but ya gotta climb on every route."

"Sounds like fun," I said.

"I'm bout to just sleep in this yard here," said Mike gesturing at a random yard, about ten minutes into the climb.

"This is no joke," said Josh.

After half an hour of climbing, a sudden break in the uphill occured. We yipped an hollered, flying downhill. The horizon was illuminated with the dying sun, and we could see over twenty or thirty miles into the distance. Absolute beauty.

Bud and Cathy welcomed us into their old log home built in 1825. Heavy cyclers, they have many stories about their travels around the country. Cathy is a Pre-K principal and local librarian along with Bud. Both are retired and loving it. They've already provided us with an alternate route tomorrow that's supposed to be really scenic. Very warm and friendly hosts, these WarmShowers events are the greatest. My only gripe is that we only had an hour to talk to them. Hopefully, I can get a picture of the two for tomorrow.

We've got our tents set up underneath the stars and man, they are bright.

And I did.

Chief Passaconaway

Lifting my head from the pillow to get more comfortable in bed, I noticed I wasn't experiencing any pain. Whatever sickness I had was gone. It was quite a relief to know but just to be safe, (and for enhanced cycling) I popped two Advil.

Mike, Josh, and I all left the motel at different times. Fresh out of Fryeburg, I immediately went the wrong way. It wasn't until I was a solid 5 miles into the wrong direction that I realized my error. I couldn't help but smile and laugh. Oh, 5 more miles added to 4800, what a bummer! 

Finally back on track, I passed an old couple riding ahead of me. It always bothers me to pass people so I usually slow for a second, smile, and give a friendly "Hey, how are you?" The elderly woman nodded back and gave me a grin. At the bridge, I stopped to look at the river.

Two geese swam upstream against the current. The two seniors behind me also stopped to take a gander. I got back on the road.

The climb was imminent and I kept waiting for the road to gain elevation but I didn't feel it. Not for a long time. On a quiet road running parallel to Route 12, I stopped to check out a river down below. In actuality, I wanted to try to get my head straight before the ascent and meditate a little bit.

I inhaled and exhaled, counting up to fifty with each breath I let out. I began feeling a vibrating sensation in my cheeks and my lip began quivering. It was an ecstatic and equally clearing feeling, equal if not better than sex. But hey, maybe I'm not doing it right. It's something I need to make a habit of.

The quiet, little road that had more bikers than cars eventually connected to Route 12. Yet still, the climb wouldn't start. I saw the perfect place to eat a chocolate peanut-butter sandwich but I had to cross a bunch of neon-yellow garnered workers chopping down trees. They wouldn't let me pass. So, I went across the road and climbed up a rock face to get a better view of the day's mountain.

It was probably not the best idea considering the face was directly over the road. I was careful not to slip on any rocks or even get noticed. Nobody looked up.

Slipping and sliding my way back down (away from the road), I got biking again. And after many miles, I felt the road begin to rise higher and higher. It was also around this time the rain began to slowly fall. Beginning at 500 ft. around Fryeburg, the climax of the route was at 2,855 ft. in Kancamagus Pass. In terms of temperature, every 1,000 ft. in elevation is equal to traveling north 290 miles. I may or may not have learned that from a sign on the ride. But it was getting cold and wet.

In the distance, as the rain began to pound harder and harder, I saw Josh's yellow panniers. We met up and went up toward the summit.

The rain came down harder and harder. The summit had a small gazebo that had a scenic overlook but at this point, we were in the rain clouds. Josh went ahead of me to bravely descend the eleven miles into the town of Lincoln. Unfortunately, it wasn't what I had in mind for our first downhill because of the rain but we each felt like conquerors. The climb was still absolutely worth it.

Mike found us later at a pizza place owned by a kind local man named Steve. We were still looking for a place to sleep and he told us of his buddy named Jimmy that owned a local motel. He packed all of our bikes into his truck and drove us to the motel!

Steve was probably in his fifties and knew how to have fun. He stopped at a grocery store to get a pack of cigarettes and a 12 pack for the poker game he was heading to. His buddy Jimmy was also a part of the game. Steve told us about the Murray family that owned a local "show" with trained bears. He told us of his pregnant wife and how he'd just gotten married. Steve was great to us.

His buddy Jimmy was just as kind-hearted, giving us a discount on a room and telling us we could stay in as long we want tomorrow. The raining hasn't stopped and there's a flood warning until 3am. We plan on staying for the USA World Cup game then traveling again.

"You know, I was really tired before you guys came in. But you guys are being all happy and lively, and that makes me feel that way too. I feel good!"

Go For Broken

"So wait, where are we going tomorrow?" asked Josh from his tent.

"North Woodstock", I said sleepily from my tent.

"Yeah, it's pretty far", Mike said,"...about 70 miles."

"What. Did. You. Say?" I said with emphasis on each word. My "ignorance is bliss" logic has been well-known but still, about half the time for Mike's own pleasure, he spills the beans on the distance. 

Mike giggled inside his tent.

"Fuck you," I said through clenched teeth.

...........…………………

"Are you going to do the basketball tournament or the 70-mile bike ride?" asked Brandon.

We were sitting in his car in a parking lot. It was raining and the asphalt was shimmering. Idle cars sat all around us. Brandon Devitt, one of my best friends from home asked me what I'd been thinking.

"I dunno," I responded. 

I was doing average in the 2 on 2 basketball tournament, better than the anxiety-ridden games in high school. But even in my dream, I could remember the nervousness as I had an easy layup, directly under the hoop. I missed.

I turned in my sleeping bag, freezing cold. I tried wrapping myself as deep within the blanket as I could. It felt like my head was splitting. I was thrust back into the dream.

We were doing pretty well; the game was tied. My old teammate from High School, Tykie, threw me an alley-oop. I leapt up, inside the old gymnasium from my adolescent days. The crowd was packed and cheering wildly. "Don't miss," I thought to myself.

"Dude! That's my head!" I yelled as I felt the toes from Mike's foot curl around the sleeping bag holding my throbbing body and aching head. As Mike was rolling up his sleeping bag, he accidently stepped on my cranium. Pile it on, then. I already feel like shit. 

It took a few hours for the cold to go away and to work the strength to get up. Pam and Conrad were serving breakfast at eight and I knew if I made it another hour, I could buy more Advil and consume it as we ate. 

And just like a crack addict, I shakily thrust the two capsules in my mouth at the table.

Half an hour later, I felt no better and the seventy miles looked especially daunting. Thankfully, the guys agreed for a shorter day and a stay at a motel in the last populated town before the Appalachian Mountains intervene. 

With money seemingly dissipating into thin air, I forked over another $25 for the room. Screw it, I need to get better... then I'll make a budget. Yeah... sure thing. I just need to spend money on opportunities to learn rather than the luxurious non-essentials. I know this. But damnit, those showers and that Coca-Cola really hit the spot.

Mike hit the road first today after waking up around 5am. He slept out in the open as opposed to setting up his tent. He flew into our goal of Fryeburg... and kept going. 

Eventually, he decided to come back to the hotel. Not after he saw what lay in store for tomorrow, about a 3,000ft. climb up into the not-so-distant Appalachian Mountains. Hopefully I'm good to go.

Today's ride was very lackadaisical. We all rode Route 302 directly to Fryeburg as opposed to the "scenic route". However, once Josh told me that a local cyclist told him there was nothing really to see and that 302 was safer, I took his advice. I stopped after ten or so miles to relax and read within the public library at the town of Bridgeton. The locals were very kind.

Once I learned Mike was already at Fryeburg, I kicked it into high gear. But, I still stopped for some scenic areas.

At the present moment, we're slobbing it up in Fryeburg and I'm feeling better. If I still feel terrible tomorrow, I'll get it checked out. Either way, it'll work itself out.

Carry on My Westward Son

I feel like I'm made of glass and my stomach won't stop churning. I feel the same at this campground as I did back in Brunswick. Advil is my PED though until the flu-like symptoms subside. The day was still utterly marvelous. Beautiful skies and terrain without a whole lotta traffic. On days like today, I love everything about riding my bike... which is often not the case on this trip.

Out of Brunswick, we followed River Road for quite a ways. Finally heading west for the first time in a long while, we got our first taste of the hills. Josh texted me, "I'm hungry... hungry for hills". The boys had their battle-cries to elevate morale along with the elevation.

Climbing one particularly difficult part, I saw a woman with her ten-year old son walking on the shoulder of the road. Both of them had plastic bags and were just walking about picking up trash. As I got close, she turned to me and said, "You're awesome."

I smiled gleefully and replied emphatically,  "You're awesome!"

A few miles down the road, I came to a place of road work.

After a few minutes, the traffic began to move and the one orange-clad worker pointed at me. I got a pang of anxiety, being singled out amongst the bunch. I pulled up to him.

"Sorry buddy," the grey goateed man said politely, "State law says you gotta wait for all the cars to go ahead of you."

"Oh, that's actually better. I'm getting like escorted," I smiled.

"Yeah, more safe," he said.

I floundered after the last car, doing my best to keep pace... and I did. Probably going around twenty mph, I was right behind him. The way the miles ticked away today without any trouble led me to call my bike, The Cruise Mobile. Whether or not it sticks, I'll see.

The ride continued to be sheer beauty. 

However, after a few twists and turns, and roads into further backcountry. Something rather strange appeared that gave a slight malevolent feel...

What appeared to be a fully-functioning RV was set aflame. Just around the bend was a very prime and fancy golf course. I developed the theory that a bunch of belligerent golf boys blazed the location up in a drunken stupor. I might add, there's no evidence to support this.

The scenery around Maine began to get more wooded as we ventured further west. Still a main staple of the state of Maine, the pine trees gathered around the roads until they blotted out the sky. The aroma of fresh pine drifted into my nose as I watched the needles rain down from overhead in a blizzard-like fashion. I was just a few hundred ft. from Shaker Village, one of the last remaining communities of the old religious society.

"Oh yeah, the library's open until 4:30," smiled the warm man. "You'll find Clarke in there on the computer on the right," Lenny smiled. 

"Okay, cool. I'll keep him company. I'll bet the construction on the roof is driving him crazy in there," I smiled. The customer buying a book gleamed at me and Lenny did as well. 

Hey, the Shakers were aight. 

Except Clarke.

I entered the building.

"Hey, how are you?" I asked Clarke as he slowly turned around in his chair.

"How can I help you?"

"Well, I kinda wanted to explore a little bit."

"...Well, there's not much to explore. You do realize this is a library, right?" his tone took a condescending switch and I noted it immediately. 

"Yeah, that's why I came here. I talked to Lenny down the road. He said I could come here. I'm trying to learn more about the Shakers."

"You came here to read?"

Again, I found myself being treated very poorly. "Yes, I came here to read. I went to a Shaker village in Harvard, MA? Ever heard of it?"

"Yes, actually."

"Well, it only lasted a few months and I'm here to learn more about the religion."

Long story short, Clarke let me stay to research the Shakers. However, I caught him staring at me several different times. It felt like he was making sure I wouldn't steal. I read for about an hour before I left without saying goodbye.

The Shakers

Known mostly by the "world" (what they called non-believers) for their celibacy, the Shakers branch out from old Quaker beliefs. A woman by the name of Anna Lee set out from England to NYC with a group of followers to find religious freedom. They were known as the "Shakers" because of their behavior during religious worship where they would usually go into fits or convulsions. Extremely talented woodworkers, their work has always been popular in the outside commercial "world." A popular saying goes, "They put their hands to work and their hearts to God." They hit their biggest stride in the early 17th century but due to their celibate nature, have never been able to grow. For the most part, these societies have largely disappeared. 

I set my sights on the town of Naples, ME and kept my eyes open for food. After a long ride, I found a cute sandwich place in the town of Webb Mills. Best of all, the locals were all very kind, and smiled and gave a friendly "How are you" to me. Since the library incident, this was greaty appreciated.

The KOA Campground in the beautiful town of Naples is where we currently reside in the loving care of the owners, Pam and Conrad. These folks are absolutely splendid and have gone out of their way to make us feel comfortable. We all plan on having breakfast in the morning with them and spending more time with them. 

Mike took a beautiful picture of the sunset over Long Lake in Naples, ME this evening.

Josh's photo. Here we reside. I made some rice drenched in Tabasco sauce this evening. So far, soy sauce and Tabasco taste pretty bad. Might try teriyaki sauce next. Who knows.

Also, if anyone wants to send any letters to any one of us, I picked out a location along the route. Don't feel obliged to do so. Thanks!

General Delivery

Josh Johnson or Mike Hinchey or Ralph Johnson

100 Main St, Boonville, NY 13309

Charge!

At Alicia's, we all awoke with slight headaches. Mike complained that his was from the water bottle I threw at his head while he was sleeping (the snoring was rattling the ground) but I knew it was of a different nature. 

Shortly after gathering our things, we found a container filled with cornbread and cakes next to a journal for cyclists. We thanked Alicia profusely, signed the guestbook, and said goodbye. We had decided to spend the day in Brunswick. 

I had two goals for the sightly town: bike the 25 miles to see the only cribstone bridge in the world and find Joshua Chamberlain's grave. Both just barely got done but thanks to the help of a few locals, the objectives were complete. And in time for the US Soccer Game at 6pm, which turned out to be... climactic. 

A string of islands took me to Orr's Island (pictured), which contained one half of the Old Cribstone Bridge. Further down, I would find the bridge connecting to Bailey Island.

The Cribstone Bridge, built in 1928. Built of granite and stone, it is the only bridge of its kind in the world. The grid-like design allows the tides to flow through the bridge. Totally worth the long ride. 

And last but certainly not least, the gravestone of Joshua Chamberlain. I almost gave up looking for the grave until three charming young ladies pointed me in the right direction. He received the only Medal of Honor of the Civil War for his defending of Little Round Top at Gettysburg. I watched the movie Gettysburg with Jeff Daniels as Chamberlain when I was in Kindergarten and it had a strong impact on me. Chamberlain would later become a professor and later the present of local Brunswick college, Bowdoin College. 

The song that plays during this scene is probably my favorite of all-time. In Kindergarten, I ran the fastest mile for my class with this song going in my head

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=bqT8PMBtIKI

Birthdaze

Today was a feel good kind of day.

The sprinklers woke all of us up in our tents around 6 AM in John's yard and we prepared to ride out of the little inlet. The goal was to reach a Denny's in Portland, Maine, the biggest city in the state at a population of 60,000.

Right out of the gate, Mike got another flat tire; a six-inch nail embedded within the rubber. After waiting a bit for him to fix it by himself, and making fun of him, we got rolling again.

The ride to Portland was not a fun time. Since the maps are gone, there was probably a better way into the town but we were on US Route 1, which we heard bad things about from Debra and Camilla. Those things proved to be true as there was no real shoulder. However, all the cars were good about passing us and since Interstate 95 runs parallel to it, there wasn't a whole lot of traffic despite it being Saturday.

Closing in on Portland, and crossing the Veteran's Bridge into the city, I got a call from Josh.

"Hey man, Mike and I stopped to get coffee and a snack at a Dunkin Donuts. Where you at?" he asked.

"I'm on the bridge going into Portland right now. I'm almost at Denny's! You guys close? I might just eat by myself."

"Go for it. We'll meet up with you th-"

Mike interrupted with a sinister tone,

"Check your bicycle, Ralph. Missing anything? We want $1,000 cash. That is all."

The phone went dead.

Oblivious, I looked around my bicycle. Oh man, did I forget my wallet somewhere? Nope, still had that. There was a gaping area on the rack though that shouldn't have been there. Somewhere along the ride while I was listening to music, and furiously pedaling, my tent must have flown off the bike.

C'mon Ralph, first the maps, now the tent? What are you doing?

 I was lucky for them to see it along the route.

The Denny's was packed.

Sitting alone with a book, I think I was the pity party of the place. Everyone was there with family and I think the waitress felt bad for me. Either way, I appreciated her.

"Hey honey, I'm sorry I kept you waiting, what can I get you?" said Melissa. Melissa was probably in her mid fifties with relatively short short brown hair. She was sweating profusely when she got to my table; the indications of a hard worker. She was sharp as a tac, cracking numerous jokes before a person even chose something to eat. It was really impressive.

"Hey, can I get the Grand Slam with pancakes, and-"

"Do you want chocolate chips with those?"

"How much extra is that?"

"I think it's .99 cents or... let me check."

"Nah, that's fine. I'll just get the regular one's with-"

"Hey, listen, I'll throw you the chocolate chips in for .99 cents and make your drink free. Just don't tell anyone or I'll get in trouble."

 Another extremely charitable act. When I had finally finished, I left a big tip for being kind and was out the door. Outside, I looked at my map for a bit, studying where to go. After a few minutes, I hopped on the two-wheeler and got ready to head further into town. As I got to pedaling, I heard Melissa shouting from behind me.

"Thanks for the tip, honey!"

"Your welcome!" I beamed.

In the town of Portland, I stopped to see their minor league baseball stadium. They were affiliated with the Boston Red Sox and just so happened to be playing the Pittsburgh Pirates' minor league team, the Altoona Curve; it was a doubleheader. The only problem was that it didn't start until 5:00. I was bummed out, especially because I thought it was a 1:00 game.

Riding again further into Portland, I saw what looked to be a huge party in the middle of the street. Police vehicles blocked off the road while the officers directed traffic. I approached the scene.

"Excuse me, what's all the fuss over here for?" I queried to a random woman.

"It's the pride parade!" she squealed.

Looking around, rainbow flags streamed from little tents with pamphlets, information, and trinkets. Down the road, a parade of flamboyantly clad men came dancing by. Followed by them, a group of teenagers holding pickets expressing sentiments about their pride.

It was a very cool experience. Everyone there looked to be enjoying themselves in an environment that was 100% supportive. Some individuals looked a bit awkward as well as you can imagine. Although the United States is making huge strides in LGBT rights, there's still a lot of work to be done. 

From the parade, I went to the local library, which was exquisite! The architecture was extremely modern and it looked like a giant museum. As a matter of fact, the ground floor had an exhibit on the history of fiddling in Maine, a reflection of the state's traditional music.

A video played about a man named Mellie Dunham. A beloved local fiddler of the town of Norway, Maine, he rose to prominence when he wrote a letter to Henry Ford. Ford was having a festival gathering the best fiddlers of the world. Dunham, having just won a local fiddling competition, wrote to Henry Ford, requesting to play his "Ole fashioned fiddling". Henry Ford accepted, an all-expense paid trip. Dunham quickly captured the crowd's eye with his politeness and charm, and he became a celebrity of Maine. I suggest reading about him. He really sounded like a delightful figure. 

The time being around 4 o'clock, I knew I had to hightail the last thirty or so miles before it got dark. Through the towns of Yarmouth (home of the largest American Elm tree, 217 years old) and Freeport (home of my family's stopping point every year on the way to Jackman, ME) I pedaled.

Around 6:30, I arrived at Alicia's house for the night. Before I even met her, on the front porch I found a tray of glasses filled with ice with a pitcher of lemonade. As I eyed the precious liquid, Alicia came outside.

"Hey, I made those for you guys. Help yourself!" she exclaimed.

Alicia was having a party with her girlfriends and was allowing us to camp in her backyard. I couldn't believe it. Her friends arrived and were more than kind to us. We met her husband Henry and their son, Henry III. They were a lovely family. Henry helped me clean my bike and we also discussed the joys of cycling. Henry works as a camp counselor at a place down the road. The family was incredibly charitable.

However, not wanting to be a burden and for the purpose of a special event, we went out for dinner.

It was Mike Hinchey's 22nd birthday. For the occasion, went to a bar aptly named after local Civil War hero, Joshua Chamberlain. But before we could enjoy the fun, we had to cycle the four miles into town. And back home.

The night was extravagant, culminating with a stop in the side of the road, watching the stars. Never have I seen them so bright. We counted three shooting stars... and maybe two UFO's. It was a wonderful evening. 

We took today off, sightseeing and exploring. I would write more about that but I'll save it for tomorrow. Truth be told, I'm a bit worried I've got a stomach bug. We'll see.

Happy Birthday, Mike.

The Arrival

Well, Mike and I talked last night. He's coming back to join Josh and I after a short absence from the team. In Exeter for the last two days, he got up at dawn and cycled all the way to York before Josh and I were even moving this morning. 

We slept like we had died. When Josh finally woke me up for breakfast, I was a zombie. My eyes were heavy as rocks and I zigzagged my off-balance body into the kitchen.

Nell and her mother made us baked eggs. It has never occured to me to put eggs mixed with feta and cheddar into the oven. As a fresh-out-of-college kid, my list of cuisines I can create are extremely short and they would probably make you cringe. Yes, Ramen Noodles proved to a key part of my nutrition... and peanut butter sandwiches.

Breakfast was wonderful and Nell was patient enough to listen to Josh and I sleepily talk about nothing. She had work at eleven and gave us both a hug before leaving. Josh and I both agreed that we had really connected with Nell and were sad to leave but alas, such are the ways of the road.

Josh and I eventually left to retrace the route Nell had driven us on the night before. Along the way was a Mr. Michael Hinchey holed up in the York Public Library. On the way, Josh and I went to the cemetary that Nell had told us about.

A grave in the cemetary belonging to a Miss Mary Nasson is supposedly that of a witch. A rectangular stone slab rests above the grave supposedly to keep her spirit from leaving the tomb.

As it turned out, her husband placed the stone slab over the grave to keep animals from messing up the area. So much for all the witchcraft fables.

Just across the street was one of the oldest continuously used churches of America, built in 1742. It was also around this time that the Native Americans finally relented against their previous raids on the settlement. York had virtually been wiped off the map by a late 17th century Native American attack known by locals as the "Candlemas Massacre". The French, usually supported by the local Native Americans, continuously fought the English along the border of Maine for well over 100 years, basically ending after the Seven Years War around the 1760's.

Anyhow, just a bit down the road, Josh and I found a rogue Mike Hinchey reading a book in the quiet room of the library. 

We were complete once more.

Anxious to get onto the beautiful bike path today before I fell back asleep, I left Mike and Josh at the library. Just a few miles out, I saw the first view of the coastline that we would follow for the day. 

I had to go down there. Still sleepy, I went down onto the beach to read for a bit. I got about ten pages down before I passed out amongst the half-naked beach inhabitants. 

I woke up with drool crusted alongside my face. The sounds of giggling children and laughing gulls was a lovely alarm.

Chocolate peanut butter + bread = Bike fuel.

I road further down along the coastline passing through the tourist town of Ogunquit, which I can imagine must be of Native American influence. However, the people living there now live quite luxuriously. Everything is perfect: fertilized green grass, people wearing those weird sweater things tied around their necks, 5 star beachside getaways, a-list architecture, and old people. It was chill.

The next town was Wells, home of the famous (in my family, this place meant the world to my mother) Maine Diner. 

The Maine Diner. My family of six would vacation in a northern part of Maine every year since a very young age, and every year, my mother would force my dad to travel an hour off the beaten path to eat their famous lobster rolls. By this point, us kids were usually going insane from the time spent in the car. I can still recall the absolutely mad laughter and giggle fits we would get in here, largely triggered by the silliest and simplest things.

I waited for Mike and Josh to get there for an hour. Once Josh called me to inform me Mike had gotten a flat, I became impatient and left. In my haste, I lost our maps. Yeah, way to go me. It's not a big deal though. After tomorrow, we would be done with the map anyhow.

We all met up at a McDonalds down the road a bit and ate a bunch of shit.

Mike's grandfather had a friend that lived in the town of Biddeford, ME. He was away for the evening but graciously told us we could camp out in his yard, which is where we are now. It's only five miles off-route and the ride here was a lot of fun. I had way too much caffeine at McDonalds and was wired like a child. It's a good time here in Biddeford.

We took a bunch of back roads from Kennebunk to Biddeford.

John's location is absolutely prime.

Special shout out to Nell's cat Tiger. The poor girl is an outdoor cat but has to adapt to living in the house for two weeks before they can let her out. She's Nell's boyfriend's cat and is 18 years old. 18! She slept on my lap on the couch last night.

She also didn't allow Josh to sleep, bellowing and howling all night for freedom. I feel your pain, Tiger. We're sorry.

The Central Theme of Gratitude

"I dunno. When you go into a situation with negative energy, it's exerted. People can feel that. If you're bringing positive energy... Like it sounds cliche but-

"No, it doesn't," Jesse cut in before I could ruin my own wisdom. "It's completely true. It's all about being positive."

"Ralph," whispered Tiffany, standing next to Jesse. "Listen, I want to help. Can I please go to an ATM and give you guys money?"

Josh overheard and interjected, "Oh no. Please, please. That's honestly amazing that you would do something like that for us but please."

"That's one of the most incredible gestures of kindness I've witnessed. But please, we don't need it. We're just happy to talk to you and enjoy all the amazing conversation," I backed.

Jesse Kendrick was a US Navy soldier who protected people like Josh and I. Originally from Colorado, we met him outside the bar Josh and I were in. His accomplice was one Tiffany Furlong. She helped me rember her name saying, "Just remember it's one of my favorite movies, 'Breakfast At Tiffany's' and you've known me Furlong time." 

As brief as the moment was that we spent together, it left Josh and I absolutely brimming with happiness. The energy we were describing was in relation to sleeping in a renowned homeless area around the town.

Tiffany turned to me and said, "If I give you guys a bunch of food, could you give that to some of the homeless? I just want to help."

I should've said yes but just the sentence itself inspired me to do something. 

Shortly before in the evening, Josh and I also met two cute girls listening to a street performer playing on a hurdy gurdy. Katie and Amy had already befriended the charming old man named Robert cranking the lever of the old instrument, producing melodies. For over an hour, we talked to the two ladies that had traveled from Boston for a night of drinks and leisure. Amy wanted to stay and hangout but Katie was more inclined to head home, understandably. Still, it's nice to know Josh and I have good wing men in each other ;). Or maybe we don't because Katie was trying to dip out.

It all began earlier in the day.

Slowly pedaling into Portsmouth, still reeling a bit from Mike's departure, I wanted something to make me feel better. What better than ice cream? Probably alcohol. BUT I wasn't really up for that.

In front of Clarke's Ice Cream, I went to pull the handle but the door wouldn't budge.

Closed.

A man passed by curiously looking at my bike and I.

"Hey man, where you coming from?" he asked.

Enter Ross. A twenty-seven year old man with a short, blonde buzzcut, blue eyes, and a soul full of wanderlust. 

"Coming from Philadelphia, on my way to Wells for the day," I replied.

"Wait, wait, wait. You're not even taking a day here to look at things?" he asked with surprise.

"Uh...no?" I spoke unsurely.

"I've been to 16 different countries and all of the states in the United States except for two. I can tell you this wholeheartedly, Portsmouth is one of the best towns east of the Rockies," he stated, eyes gleaming.

What exactly do you say to that? After this, he told me all about the things to see in the area: recreations of Columbus' original ships from his exploration of America, a truly encompassing museum experience called Strawberry Bank (the old name of Portsmouth before the 18th century), and an array of places to consume alcohol.

We were staying.

Josh and I finally left Portsmouth today around six to go meet up with our CouchSurfing host Nell, in York, ME. And that's when the day truly became a joy. 

At her house, she had already made a large batch of nachos covered with fish (weary of Josh's pescatareanism) and other vegetables. Her bubbly friend Colleen was just leaving the house to watch a movie with a friend. All smiles.

Nell graduated from college a year ago and has had her fair share of travel experience. She's been to Utah, and did a farming program where she was provided food, and housing for work. We bonded over some of the books by Edward Abbey and discussed the magic of the desert despite our love of the ocean. She also spent a semester in Thailand, which sounded amazing. 

"So, I was thinking we could take the Beach Cruiser down to Wiggly Bridge and watch the sunset," she proposed.

"Oh man," I said, imagination spurred. "That sounds awesome."

"For sure, let's do it," chimed Josh.

We were a bit late for the sunset but the bleeding reds and oranges of the leftover sun beams were just as good. Instead, we took a small tour of the surrounding area, which is what we'll be biking tomorrow.

"So, this is the Cape Neddick Lighthouse, one of the most popularly photographed lighthouses in the world. Actually, when my family was blessed enough to go on a vacation to Paris a few years back, they saw a poster with this lighthouse on the front. It read, 'Come to Maine'," she shared.

Disclaimer: Neither Josh nor I took this photo. It's from the web.

From there, we went along the Maine coastline through several towns. It had the heavy lingering feeling of Cape May, Stone Harbor and the Jersey coastal towns or... home. We empathized with each other about the cold, lonely winters, and the lively, crowded summers.

After riding around the area in a loop, we went to Nell's place of work for a drink, the cleverly named "When Pigs Fly". Nell works at the place with her mother, which sounded like it could be problematic but the two get along great. In the short time we saw them converse, they were very encouraging of one another.

At the door, a friend of Nell's named Annah, let us in. Annah and I would sped the next hour and a half talking to one another. What an absolute pleasure. Her presence made me feel totally comfortable sharing a lot of things I wouldn't normally, especially upon first meeting. And I only had one drink so let me crush the assertion that I was drunk. 

Annah lived there in Maine, briefly going to school in New Hampshire before the everpresent and popular educational costs became too fucking great. It's a goddamn crime people like Annah can't go to college because of the debts that gradually (and shittily) build up. 

Anyhow, Annah told me about her adventure through Vietnam with her boyfriend, from Ho Chi Mihn all the way to the northern point via train. A total time of 32 hours. She also rode her bike north through the entire state of Maine (600 miles) in about six days. Hell, we should recruit her for our trip. She was also planning a trip to Denmark with her boyfriend Mark.

Mark came over to us as "When Pigs Fly" was closing down, finally done dishing food out to the customers. Mark had also done his fair share of cycling, going all the way down to Connecticut in the span of a few days. Another impressive feat. Mark, Annah, and their other friend (unfortunately Josh and I didn't get to formally meet him) were more than encouraging of us. I even heard the word inspiration in there. Exciting stuff. The icing on the cake was Mark and Annah giving us a gift of two bread loaves, homemade by the restaurant. 

My God, I love everyone. Thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my soul. 

Pictures of today's day off...

We entered Maine today! 

Josh and I went to a thrift store... and made friends