Wednesday, January 25, 2012

The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. Five

I awoke at 4:30 AM in the park and ride to a guy monkeying around with a truck next to me that had a big tarp covering the bed. He looked pretty weird (this coming from a guy sleeping in his car) and kept glancing over at me. I had parked away from the rest of the cars to give myself a little solace. Apparently that was not going to happen. After 20 minutes of farting around, the guy got the truck started and tried leaving, but only made it 5 feet before the truck died. A few minutes later he finally left. I was weirded out by that so I tossed my sleeping bag aside and hit the road.

I left Portland, wanting to come back sometime. It was a lot bigger than I thought (metro population of about 250,000) and had some great bars (at least that was the word on the street). After driving for a bit, I decided it was in my best interest to try and get some more sleep so I pulled into the Maine Visitor Center in Yarmouth. Across the street from the visitor center was the headquarters of Delorme. They make the maps that adorn the backseat of my car. It was just another random moment of my trip. I slept for a few hours and then headed up US 1, past LL Bean and the small towns that dot the Maine coast.

My excitement built as I crossed onto Mount Desert Island, home of Acadia National Park. I had done a little research and knew I had to go to the Park Headquarters to register for winter camping at the park, but I still went to the visitor center that is closed down for the season. After consulting a map, I followed the coast (Is it still considered coastline if you are on an island?) up to Bar Harbor. I quickly realized the town nearly shuts down in the off-season. There were at least 15 hotels shuttered for the winter and finding a closed restaurant was easier than an open one.

I registered to camp and before I went to set up camp, I asked the lady in the office where I could find a good lobster. Camping is free in Acadia after December 1, but you have to park at a gate and walk a half-mile or more to the campground and the only open bathroom is a port-a-potty and water is gleaned from a hand-powered pump on the other side of the campground. Needless to say, I had the campground to myself. Having free-range to pick any campsite can be tough because you want the perfect site. I walked around for a while before settling on a site that was elevated and had good drainage in case it rained and pitched my tent.


After getting situated, I headed into town, looking for Geddy’s and a lobster. I had never had lobster before so I figured Maine would be a good place to experience that for the first time. I found Geddy’s and a seat at the bar (I was the only one). Stacy, the bartender, found out I was from Wisconsin and immediately asked if I had any cheese curds with me. Add Stacy to the list of girls I’ve disappointed. She talked me into getting the island special, which consisted of a whole lobster, clam chowder, fries and a slice of blueberry pie. The homemade chowder was excellent (I always thought Campbell’s Chunky New England Chowder was the best you could find…), but that was just a precursor to the lobster.

The recently deceased crustacean was placed in front of me, waiting to be decimated with the help from the claw cracker by my greedy fingers. Stacy explained how to eat the lobster and I dove in. Minutes later, the beast was in my belly and all that was left was its hulking exoskeleton, quarried of the goodness inside (a shell of its former self?). The bartender said I was too clean after eating a whole lobster, and that I should’ve been covered in butter and chunks of lobster. Well, we don’t like to waste food in Wisconsin. I look forward to my next encounter with a tasty, tasty lobster.


The locals thought I was crazy to sleep outside in December. The low that night was in the mid 30’s. I hadn’t camped in weather that warm in a month or two. They were crazy for thinking it was cold outside. I had another local beer or two from the Atlantic Brewing Company and headed back to my tent. I nearly stayed for one more beer and I’m glad I thought better of it because 15 minutes after I got to my tent, it started raining, hard. I feel asleep, nice and dry as my tent deflected the deluge.


Saturday, January 21, 2012

The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. Four

I turned into Portsmouth, New Hampshire as the afternoon was turning to the evening. Portsmouth is an old town and that is readily evident in downtown. I parked my car and walked around for a bit, getting a sense of the history of the place. A huge tree caught my eye from behind a fence. I stopped to take a picture when I noticed a plaque that told me the tree was a horse chestnut and was planted by William Whipple after returning home from signing the Declaration of Independence in 1776. Wow. That’s pretty cool. I have no idea who William Whipple is but he seems to have had a green thumb.

With the arboreal part of my day finished, I headed to the Portsmouth Brewery to imbibe the local brews. I saddled up at the bar and ordered what the couple next to me had, a flight of beers. The best way to get a taste of the local beers is to sample them all! The Portsmouth Brewery beers were joined by a few from Smuttynose Brewery, which is also located in Portsmouth, and their one revolving guest tap that currently was Celebration ale from Sierra Nevada. I felt a little out of place because it was a little more upscale than I’m used to. Looking around at the locals, I imagined them coming from old money (or being old ship captains). I kept to myself as I worked my way down the plank of beers. A guy walked in and sat down a few stools away and looked like a guy I could talk to. He had a big beard and looked like a guy I’d see at one of the music festivals I go to.

Eventually, another guy sat down between us with long gray hair, someone else I could talk to. The two of them knew each other and started talking when I overheard the first guy say “Cornmeal.” My ears perked up and eyes grew wide as I turned and asked if he happened to be referring to the bluegrass band Cornmeal out of Chicago. He affirmed that it was and that they were playing up in Portland, Maine that night. Holy Cow! They are my favorite band and I thought I had checked their schedule before I left on my trip, but I must have missed them. I was sort of planning on ending up in Portland that night so this couldn’t have been any more perfect.


Beer Flight!

The first guy, Matt, was heading up to the show and had me follow because I didn’t know where I was going. I said I was probably going to sleep in my car and he warned me about the strict parking restrictions in downtown Portland. One time he was sleeping in his van after a show and woke up to a tow truck trying to tow his van away. I followed him to the park and ride which is a great place to sleep in your car. We called a cab and headed to the show. Hot Buttered Rum and Cornmeal were on tour together and had been alternating who closed. I was hoping Cornmeal closed because I’m not the biggest fan of Hot Buttered Rum. My hopes were true as Hot Buttered Rum took the stage. They were OK, but sounded more alt-country than bluegrass, not my cup of tea. The highlight of their set was when they played the Beatles “I’ve just Seen a Face.” That’s one of my favorite Beatles songs and hearing it today was made more special because it was the anniversary of John Lennon’s death.

In-between sets, Matt left me alone and went to talk to some friends. I wandered around and checked out the merch table before settling back in front of the stage with a fresh PBR tall boy when I noticed a girl snaking her way through the crowd towards me. Of course she wanted to talk to me. I found out her name was Jess, was just learning the fiddle and had never heard of Cornmeal before (perhaps I won’t be sleeping my car tonight). I told her to prepare herself to be embarrassed by the fiddling prowess of Allie from Cornmeal who wields a fiddle like Van Gough used a paintbrush and Sergey Bubka commanded a pole vault pole. We talked about road trips and how it’s interesting how the geology changes as you drive from place to place. Cornmeal started and effectively ended any conversation with their amped up bluegrass. Jess was impressed with Allie (who isn’t?), but half way through the show said she had to head out. Well, I guess my car it is. Oh well. We said goodbye and I immersed myself into the music once more.

Cornmeal played a killer cover of the Doors “When the Music’s Over.” The show ended with Hot Buttered Rum coming back on stage to help Cornmeal close the show with the classics “Little Maggie” and “Friend of the Devil.” It was an awesome Cornmeal show and if you ever want to see a band bring the house down, check them out sometime. Here is Cornmeal playing a Paul Simon cover. Matt and I got a cab back to the park and ride and we exchanged info. Turns out exchanging phone numbers would come in handy the following week. It would not be the last time I saw Matt or talked to Jess.

What an unbelievable day. I started in New York, saw the Dan Patrick Show studio, reflected at Walden Pond, sampled beer in Portsmouth, met Matt who brought me to a Cornmeal concert in Portland and ended the day by sleeping in my car at a park and ride. I could get used to this road trip thing. The next leg of my journey brought me to Acadia National Park in Bar Harbor, Maine with more stories to boot.

Acadia in the moonlight

Monday, January 2, 2012

The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. Three

I left the relative safety of NY and headed up the coast to find whatever treasures awaited me. I knew that success was not waiting for those who planned, so I was reassured I was on the right path. My path took me to Milford, CT to check out the Dan Patrick Radio Show Studio. It may only be the upper story of a Subway shop, but the man cave doesn’t care. His sports talk show is the best on the radio. Hands down. Perhaps some day I can command the audience DP does.

I got back on the road and kept going until I rolled into Walden Pond. It was a beautiful day as the sun illuminated the lake and pushed temps in to the 50’s. A trail wound around the pond with other trails interspersed throughout the 2680-acre property. The main trail was more like a narrow road, built to withstand the multitude of visitors. On this day, there were a handful of hikers moseying around the pond and even a few hardy swimmers! Walden Pond is a hot spot for long-distance swimmers. It is a decent sized relatively undeveloped lake with no motors allowed, located within the Boston metro area. U.S. Olympian Alex Meyer trains there as he prepares for the 10K open water event. I can’t even run a mile and this guy is swimming 10 kilometers, insane.

Walden Pond afforded me the chance to clear my head after a week in New York. It’s interesting how different my thoughts are in Nature compared to a city. I feel like I think more deeply (scary, isn’t it) when I’m away from people and other manmade distractions. In town, I look for a cheap laugh or comment because the pace of life dictates how long you can focus on one thing, whereas walking in relative solitude enables me to delve into a topic or thought and really probe the thought entirely. I’ve thought and written about the conservation movement in Wisconsin from the likes of John Muir and Aldo Leopold and those ruminations floated up from the depths of my head as I stared at the site of Henry David Thoreau’s cabin. Thoreau came before Leopold and Muir was still in his early years as Thoreau was at Walden Pond, laying the groundwork for conservation and nature in America (and the world).


The site of the cabin and woodshed were marked with small pillars delineating the structures. Off to one side, was a huge pile of rocks. Thoreau lovers have a tradition of placing rocks on the pile in honor of him. If I had known this, I would have brought one of the rocks I’ve picked up on my travels around Wisconsin, perhaps next time.

People had filled the site of Thoreau’s woodshed with sticks and branches paying homage to Thoreau and the idea of Walden. More cynical people would look at the woodpile and laugh, saying it means nothing and is a lame attempt to reconnect with Walden, but actions mean something. Placing a ceremonial stick on Thoreau’s woodpile is a gesture that speaks volumes. It pays tribute to Thoreau and the idea of Walden. We need to reconnect with our own Walden Pond. People become jaded and think nature-lovers are all hippies, like it’s a bad thing to enjoy and protect nature. Screw that. Nature is for everyone

Being a dork, I brought a copy of Walden to read as I walked around the pond. I skipped around a bit, reading random passages, but eventually settled down in the chapter “Solitude.” Thoreau writes, “I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.” And “Solitude is not measured by the miles of space that intervene between a man and his fellows. The really diligent student in one of the crowded hives of Cambridge College is as solitary as a dervis in the desert.” He’s talking about how you can be around people, but still get lost in your own thoughts if you focus on the task at hand. We all have solitary moments, but we may not realize it at the time. Everyone needs some time to himself or herself each day, but that gets lost in the hustle and bustle of life. We can get a little stale if we just go through the same routine everyday. From Walden, “We meet at meals three times a day, and give each other a new taste of that old musty cheese that we are.” I love my sharp cheddar cheese, but every now and then, it’s good to change it up and try something new. Walden Pond enabled Thoreau to get away from the distractions of life in the city and just live and think deeply. Walden is not necessarily a place, but a frame of mind. Everyone needs their own Walden Pond.


I finished my walk around Walden Pond mentally refreshed for whatever crazy adventures lay ahead. I wasn’t sure where the rest of the day was going to lead me or where I was going to sleep, but my car was headed to the Portsmouth Brewery in Portsmouth, New Hampshire and I hopped in. Little did I know that was just the start to an insane story involving Craigslist Maine.