Gig Harbor Washington to Bar Harbor Maine 2001

Woke up about 4 and couldn't figure out where I was. Home? Another motel? Oh, it's my tent. Better hurry, needing to pee takes a little more preparation in a tent in a campground. Once I snuggled back into my tent, I couldn't go back to sleep. Wish it wasn't so cold and dark. I'm ready to ride now.

Sun rising on wrong side of water

We were up at about 5:30 and rolling slightly after 7 and after some fresh donuts at the camp office. Even Monday morning rush hour was better than Sunday's tourist traffic.

Last camp

I left a little before Mike and didn't see him at all on the road. Nothing really mattered much today. It would be 65 miles of hills and tourist traffic and beautiful scenery. Didn't matter, didn't care. My eyes were on Bar Harbor. I wanted to stop.

No, it's the Penobscot River

I was shocked when I came around a corner and saw the Penobscot River bridge. It looked so much the the Narrows Bridge. Everything is making me homesick. I think I got a taste of what Galloping Gertie must have been like when a truck passed me and the whole bridge started undulating. Very unnerving on a bike.

As soon as I passed all the populated areas, I got hungry. I finally got to Ellsworth where I knew I could get food and it was another tourist pocket. The route turned right before the clot and so did I. I'd rather starve than join the throngs. I rode by the head of the Union River Bay and some seafood processing plants. The smell of the tidelands and old fish was intoxicating. I spotted the Just Baked Cafe, a plain white, deserted looking building, and stopped anyway. The sign said it opened at 11, and it was only 10:30, but I tried the door. Someone inside said something, then opened the door for me. They made me an incredible fresh fruit and yogurt smoothie and a bagel and lox sandwich with herbed creamcheese, lettuce and tomatos, along with a salad. It was so good, so unlike the fried everything I've eaten for the last 4000 miles. So much like home.

Every time the route returned to US 1 or 3, the tourist traffic was a constant blur at my elbow, so I gladly followed the route back off to the side roads. The narrow, hillacious, crumbling side roads. I was fairly shocked every time I saw a sign pointing to Bar Harbor. I was giddy when I saw the Town Limit sign. Then I finally fought my way through the Tourist Mass - it seemed to be a solid organism - to the park at the Municipal Pier. I parked my bike and flopped down on the grass, to the total disregard of the Mass. I made a couple of phone calls home to announce my arrival. Then Mike rolled up. He'd taken a shortcut and stopped at a deli while waiting for me. We broke off a chunk of the mass to take our picture as we dipped our wheels. Pacific to Atlantic. It is finished.

The end of the road

We found our motel and cleaned up a bit. Put on the same street clothes we'd worn for the last 52 days. I stripped my bike and BOB and pushed it through the Mass to the bike shop. Riding was impossible. They scratched their heads awhile and finally agreed to try to stuff it into a tandem box. I very unceremoniously walked away. I miss my bike. They better treat her right.

It occurred to me that I needed evidence of my destination and trinkets for the folks back home. I became part of the Mass. I was prepared to elbow my way and fight for the last one of some treasure, but there was plenty more of everything. I was relieved when I'd fulfilled my mission and could individuate myself and go hide in my room.

Tan lines

Mike heard from Kathryn and Garcia. They arrived at Garcia's in Maryland. Sounds like they got a heros welcome. They plan to ride to the coast and dip their wheels as soon as Kathryn gets some spokes replaced. I wish we could meet up for a final ice cream.

Mike's brother Curt drove up to take Mike home with him to Boston and drop me near the airport in Portland. We oozed through the mass in search of the Holy Maine Lobster, the reward I'd promised myself 4000 miles ago. We found a suitably snooty place and agreed to wait 15 minutes. We would never have waited on the road. Mike wasn't as zealous as I was and got sauteed lobster meat. I was in it up to my elbows with the whole boiled beast. It was pretty good and a lot of fun. Some lemon zest cheesecake topped it perfectly and Mike and Curt's blueberry crisps looked good too.

Lobstah

Mike's memory is so much better than mine, poor boy. He waxed poetic about how much abuse he'd taken over the last 4000 miles. Assaulted by horrible roads, blistering sun, and idiotic, insensitive, discourteous and downright dangerous drivers. Eating bad food, searching for campgrounds, swarmed by mosquitos. The more animated he got about how bad it was, the more nostalgic I felt. Michigan was practically an acceptable experience by the time we left to walk back to the motel. Not that I'm in any hurry to do it again, (Shudder.)

We tried to stay up and talk, but it was impossible. The sun had been down for hours and we had to follow.

I woke up at 4 the next morning. No chill to avoid, no hills to dread. I took a bath and read my book. I admired my reduced gut, while ravenously wondering if it was too early for breakfast. I walked downtown at sunrise. The city crew was readying for another onslaught of tourists, firehosing down the sidewalks, sweeping the streets, removing all evidence of dropped ice cream and rampant consumerism. Now that I have my souvenir t-shirts, I can scoff at the hideous merchandising.

The municipal pier was better. The lobster boats were jockeying into position to load their pots from trucks on our wheel-dipping ramp. The sun was rising through the fog and reflecting pink on the wrong side of the water. I sat and reflected back at it. I rode 4000 miles to arrive at this tourist mecca? No. I rode 4000 miles to ride 4000 miles. Bar Harbor was just the end of the map, a place to stop. Do I already miss the riding, would I really like to ride another day? No. God, no. My legs are sore. I'm tired. I'm hungry.

It was an adventure and it's over. In a few days when my tan lines fade, my muscles soften, and my gut grows back, nothing will have changed. Except that I'll be a little happier and more content in my home. Dorothy was right.