Day 10 - Gorham, NH to Bah Hahbah, ME

East or west? East or west?? It's Sunday and we have a week. Where do we go?? I was put off of heading east simply because I felt jipped. If we went back east, I felt we had wasted 3 days on this trek that could have been used more wisely. (Why am I stupid enough to think this was wasted time?? I love Mt. Washington. And while the Auto Road may have scared me, I am very glad that I managed to ride it. And the weather was perfect. There is no guarantee we would have gotten this later in the trip.) So I devised a route that would take us west into Canada and north of Lake Ontario. We could then be in a position to see Victoria Falls/Niagara Falls and the Adirondacks. We would also be so far west that we would have a route home that wouldn't overlap with our route out.

We seriously debated this issue but had a small concern at the border crossings. We just haven't done them and weren't sure how long it would take at the falls. I had been reading many experiences that were all over the board, there wasn't a line of what to really expect, some people said 10 minutes, others said 3 hours. While that wasn't really a big concern, it was a blip on the radar. The bigger blip was the weather. Forecasts showed widespread rain over the areas and Oilburner wasn't enthusiastic. If we headed east, the skies looked sunny for days. We decided to go whole coastal hog and head to Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park.

I had really, really wanted to go to Baxter State Park on the bike. We just couldn't fit it into the plan. Maine is a much larger state than people think and distances can be huge! So Oilburner attempted to make my dream come true and took us towards "the wilds" of Maine. That means we tracked along the same roads as yesterday up to Errol, NH. I had to point out that we entered Maine, left Maine, and re-entered Maine within 50 miles. I'm thinking we liked Maine so much we entered it 4 times on this trip. :-) (I guess the same can be said for New Hampshire since we crossed its border 5 times.)

Out of Errol, NH we were on a beautifully repaved Hwy 16 with no traffic. The skies were a gorgeous, deep blue. The air was clean and a perfect temp. The beautiful pines were straight and dense and a healthy green. The newly paved road was as smooth as glass, completely devoid of frost heaves.

Life Is Good.

Someone didn't want to stop at a dam that intrigued me, but we did take the opportunity to stop at a beautiful lake so I could take a stretch and potty break. For an "outhouse" this place was clean! Oilburner chatted up a couple kayakers until I was able to get the camera equipment and lounge on the dock.

Another couple arrived to enjoy the weather in a canoe. We turned to watch them unload and spotted this bear in the water.

Ok. He wasn't a real bear, but a St. Bernard is close enough. He just waded in chest deep, lapped the water, and wagged his tail back and forth over the surface. He was one happy guy. The other one came by to say hi to us and welcomed me by shoving his nose into my eye. What can I say...laying on the dock meant I was at nose level. But it was wonderful playing with fur babies. The amazing part is that they put both of these guys in the canoe without problems!

We lounged, soaked up some sun. I considered slithering into the water, but didn't.

We arrived in Monson, the first city hikers experience after the 100 Mile Wilderness on the Appalachian Trail. Watching the people around town I just got this hippie vibe from people, either transient poor AT hikers or strange back woods folks that grow their own food, pasturize (or not) their own goat milk, and are still living in the free love '60's. Not that there is anything wrong with that. :-)

We were not going to be able to make it another 200 miles up, and back, to Baxter. Monson would do, for now. We tried to locate the AT crossing to recreate a photo from when we were here 5 years ago. No luck.

We covered more wonderful backroads towards Bangor, ME, gateway to Bar Harbor from our direction. I did have to turn around to take this image for Circle Blue.

And going through Bangor...I HAD to stop and get a photo with my favorite author. Or at least his house for SonjaM.

As I was finishing up with the full house shots and waiting to cross back to the bikes, someone turned into the driveway. I became self concious and quickly saddled up and left. I am not a celebrity follower and don't want to intrude on others time, property, etc. So I didn't get any gargoyle, bat, or spider images from the fence.

As I was leaving I started to wonder if King keeps his own scrapbook of photos of people taking pictures of his house. Hmmm...fair game. :-)

Relatively, we weren't too far from Bar Harbor. Unfortunately, we encountered some of the worst drivers of the trip on the stretch of highway 1A and 3 between Bangor and Bar Harbor. People had no regard for civility or the 45 mph speed limit.

Regardless, we arrived safely, but snappy after hours on the road. Since I had already relinquished control of planning I just wanted Oilburner to step up and make a decision on lodging. He was having difficulty deciding on a location. Luckily we had passed a place that appealed to him, though they were not on the water, and they had space available. I have to admit that I absolutely loved the secluded feel of this car motel of old. We were within two miles of Bar Harbor, on a busy road, and you would never have known. Barely even aware of neighbors beyond the other 3 units in our building. It was so peaceful sitting on the patio and watching the trees blowing in the wind.

We parked, changed, and walked next door to the Jack Russell SteakHouse & Brewery. I can say the clam chowdah was good. And that is about all. From reviews on the interweb people seem to have great experiences or horrible experiences. No in between.

It was a long day with a fair ending. We were thinking of staying here a couple of days to just soak up the ambience. Yay. No Packing!!

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Just Call Me Puddles

"Oh Mother of God. What the hell...ooowwwww jeez. Is there any place that doesn't friggin hurt??"  If it's this painful just soaping up my knees, screw my toes.  They aren't getting washed today.

We haven't had the chance to ride much lately.  A quick trip to Cycle Gear.  Dinner with the Adventure Riders.  40 miles here or there.  Knowing we could get on the bikes this weekend was exciting.  The rain was finally surrounding the weekend...not ruining it.

Dinner at Zuffy's a couple nights back.  The proof that RichardM requested.

Since it had been so long since we have really ridden, I was thinking a nice, leisurely ride to get back into the groove and just take things easy.  Oilburner was thinking it was time to hit the dirt.  It wasn't exactly my ideal ride, I didn't want to have to "think" while riding.  But it was going to make him happy.  I still get the luxury liner GS and he has dibs on the Honda.  he he.

Friday was a late night.  We had been drooling over possible routes to the IMBC2012 in Eastern Oregon.  When we actually drug ourselves out of the house it was nearly lunchtime.  I proposed an old stand-by in the mountains that we used to visit while four-wheelin' in the Jeep.  The idea was enthusiastically accepted.  So I was thinking the jaunt to lunch, a spin around a mountain or two and then home, neat as you please.  We didn't "have" to touch dirt if we didn't want to.

Yeah.  Right.  Like that was really gonna happen.

We did make it to our lunch spot.  Nothing special.  Just Moe's ("Welcome to Moe's").  But we haven't eaten here in over a year.  We sat there enjoying the sun, realizing the day was just too perfect to content ourselves with a small run.

We started thinking of our beloved mountain trails.  Mountains and dirt roads and hiking trails that we had abandoned four years ago when I began obsessing about motorbikes.  What better time to reacquaint ourselves with some old haunts on two most capable bikes?  So yes.  We headed into the land of dirt, gravel, and trees at 2:00 pm, still an hour and a half from home.

At one point in time Oilburner offered to trade bikes while on asphalt.  I told him I would, if I could kick start the darn thing.  I hadn't had any luck in the past, but was game to try again.  No such luck...  I was sweating in my helmet and jacket.  Panting like a dog sitting in 100F heat.  Nope.  No Honda for me just yet.

I was true to my word and handed over the GS to more experienced hands.  I took over the Honda as soon as we hit the dirt.  Be damned that I couldn't turn the kick start over.  I would rather take a tumble from the light weight baby Honda than the might, heavy GS.

OK.  I can do this.  My first foray into dirt.  (for this is what I do consider my first.  I do not count the afternoon spent on Oilburners mid-80's Honda on the sandy washboard roads on California BLM land in a time before helmet laws.) Oh if only I had a helmet then...  Where I could be now??

Well manicured gravel.

So...this isn't so bad.  Yeah, there is ALOT of loose gravel and very little dirt.  And when I say loose?  Very loose, deep, not compacted at all, recently laid type of loose gravel.  Yeah, the bike was skating around a little.  I tell myself to keep my speed down, kept the weight on the pegs, steer with my feet, don't pull the handlebars, and [darn it] don't use the front brake.

That's just way too much rolling back and forth in my head!!

We finally traverse the scariest 2.5 miles of my recent life and approach a crossroad:  Cooper's Gap.

Great.  Just what I need, having to make a hard turn, on dirt, with an audience of 15 Appalachian Trail thru-hikers milling about.  I look left: where most of the hikers are congregated.  I look right: downhill.  Oh hell no!  I would rather face the laughter and applause that would result when I dump myself and my bike in front of hikers than ride downhill!

I toddled along at my normal 20 mph rate just getting comfortable with all these new thoughts and experiences.  Until I encountered another twisty downhill on ball bearings.  My thighs were clamped to that gas tank so tightly I'm surprised I didn't find "Honda" tattooed on them.  I finessed my way with the rear brake...and lived to tell the tale.  By now I was starting to have a little fun.  I still wasn't looking around and enjoying any scenery, but fun none the less.

I remember when I was first learning to ride.  You remember...when 35 mph was like screaming down the lane with your hair on fire?  The world consisted of handlebars, front tire, and the road in front of me for the next 250 feet.  (If the road was straight.)  I conceived of obstacles only when I had to assess how much damage they could do to me if I hit it.  When Oilburner would ask if I was having fun, my standard answer was "Of course not!  I'm learning to ride dammit!  I don't have time to look at the scenery!  Now stop bugging me!"

Yeah, he got that answer again in the forest.  :)  Only this time it wasn't the road 250 feet ahead, it was only 50 feet.  How can I see where the rocks and holes are in the road, distinguishing them through all of the off again on again lanky shadows of trees?

So do you see my problem?

Once I finally realized that it is actually okay to hit most of those rocks and holes things started getting better.  Such a strange, and difficult, thing to overcome.  I mean, learning to ride on the street we are told gravel and rocks are the enemy; avoid at all costs!  Potholes are bad! But on a dirt bike?  No problem!

Hickory Flats Cemetery and Campground.  I kid you not.

Once my sense of self preservation shifted I actually did begin to enjoy myself.  Yes, I am still wussing out on the "manicured" forest service roads.  So we decide to head up to the cemetery, on a slightly less well maintained road.  This road has less loose grave, less traveled.

Here the fun starts in earnest.  Once I learned rocks can't hurt me I veered to hit every single one I could, that wasn't the equivalent of climbing a rock face.  I prefaced my intentions by yelling "ROCK!" in my helmet, then proceeded to giggle like a school girl when that nerdy boy trips over the chalk line of the football field.

There was a constant litany of "Rock!  he he he haw he" over Oilburners speakers.  A veritable laugh track from He-Haw.

But boy-oh-boy...add the water puddles!!  I am now in hog heaven!

I love water puddles.  I can't tell you just how much I love water puddles.  (Oilburner will be nodding his head vigorously as he reads this.)

I'm that girl that enjoys walking in the rain.  I will go out of my way across a parking lot to jump, planting both feet, into any puddle I can find.  I don't care if my shoes and pant legs get soaked.  I'll be laughing.  And heaven help you if you are anywhere nearby.  You are going to get wet, so watch out.

In Southern California, the land of no rain with torrential 5-minute downpours that fill up the drainage system so quickly that the street drains can't hope to catch up, blocking the outside lane of the streets kind of deluge.  I drove a 4x4 Blazer and had no fear of that lane. While people were crawling along in the inside lanes, I was flying through 8 inch deep rivers in the outside lanes, kick up SHEETS of water.  I discovered the cost of my glee in the grinding of a rusted out starter much later.  Meh...what's the cost of a starter compared to that fun?

Yeeaaahhh...there were puddles on this road...

My new war cry became "Rock!!  he he he... Puddle! (insert evil laughter here)."

It was only on the way back out that I conceived of maybe stopping with my rear tire in the puddle to attempt creating a rooster tail of mud to tag Oilburner with.  (And no, I didn't care if it also hit my bike.)  But I wasn't yet sure enough of my proverbial footing to attempt a "burnout" on the throttle.  I contented myself with making as much mess as I could for my abilities now.  The rest will come in time.  (BBbbbwwwwaaahahahahaha.)

Super Man!

As soon as we reached paved road again I was stopped and insisting on getting the GS back.  Only 30 miles of dirt, but it was a great time.

Time to change back to my GS...  :)

The overall trip was tempered by the erratic, undependable kick start on the Honda.  Sometimes it would start within the first couple kicks (for Oilburner).  Sometimes it took a couple minutes of trying.  I was reluctant to stop for photographs fearing it might stop for good in the middle of the forest.

The forest was fine.  The problem occurred on the way home.  We were on the highway to speed things along for a couple miles knowing we would need to fuel the Honda soon.  We just didn't realize how soon with the toll the highway speed was taking.  We made it to the top of the off-ramp where we actually were going to exit, when the Honda suddenly went quiet.  No warning even??  Flipping over to reserve, and no amount of kicking or swearing would alleviate the quietness of that engine.  The good news?  There is a gas station, on the right, on the other side of the overpass.  Exactly opposite where we were. And hey, it was mostly dowhill-ish to it.  The bad news?  Gonna have to push...  My multiple sclerosis training came in very handy as I was able to run behind him, flashers blinking.

We fueled up, it started up.  I didn't want to tempt fate by turning it off.  I just wanted to continue home.  We were still 45 minutes from home.  After the grunt labor Oilburner wanted to take a breather.  Yeah...that "breather" lasted about half an hour as he wailed and wailed on that kick start to no avail.  He thought he was tired and thirsty after pushing the machine for 300 yds?  He was plum worn out and breathless after trying to start it.

We eventually made it home, well after dark, and very grumpy with the machine and a few near misses with cars on the way home.  Since then Oilburner has replaced the chain, sprockets, chain guides, pulse generator (for that pesky kick starter), stator, and a couple other parts I can't remember.  The inside of the engine is very clean and has been well maintained in the past.  The new pulse generator means it usually starts on the third kick...for him.  I haven't yet tried my luck at it again.

Look how clean its guts are!

Pulse Generator

As for those 30 miles and thigh tight death grip?  Oh my goodness I was damn sore the next morning!!!  The toes did not get washed.

Basking in the sun of the day.

Sparkling dust.  If only it were solid gold.

Dirty, sandy, grimy, gritting chain.