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.