60 mile sojourn

There is nothing like breakfast at a Bed and Breakfast when you're on a bike tour. Nicole and I woke up at the usual time (7:30 am) with no tent to take down or stove to light. Instead, we walked downstairs into the dining area and had tea and coffee while we waited for our "Breakfast Burritos".

The plush treatment would not last, however. Nicole's ankle had been bothering here. We attributed this problem to the heel of her shoe. Nicole pronates outward with her left foot somewhat. We wondered if her foot was rubbing up against the structure of the shoe. We decided to cut part of the shoe off to see if that would eliminate the problem.

Wiscasset Bay, one 15 million bays along the Maine Coast.

From the Newcastle Inn we backtracked over the Damariscotta River into the town of Damariscotta (no more than a mile away). We purchased an icy hot bandage for Nicole in hopes that she could ride through pain into Portland where we could go to walk-in if things did not improve.

No sooner than we reached route 1 did we see something out of the ordinary: a wild turkey in flight! The bird looked uncharacteristically graceful as he flapped his wings and then glided across the road only to disappear into the nearby woods.

Our next unusual sight was about 20 miles down the road near Bath Iron Works. As impressive it was to see two brand spanking new U.S. Navy destroyers, it paled in comparison to the nearby bridge over the Kennebec River. The photo says more than words ever could.

What's even scarier is that the rail portion of the bridge is still in use today.

It was almost lunch time, but to save money we decided to ride past "downtown" Bath and find someplace more economical on the edge of town. Unfortunately, the "edge" of town had but one restaurant and that was closed on Sunday!

Desperate for any sort of caloric intake to hold us over until we could find real food, our eyes turned immediately to the left of the restaurant: A beer and liquor store. Maybe, just maybe they had a soda or something.

As soon as we walked inside, the clerk's eyes lit up as he saw these two bicycle traveler's walk in.

"Hey" said the heavy set, salt and pepper mustached man. "Where are you going?

We told him of our plans to go to the wedding in Massachusetts and then onward to Florida. "Wow," he said. "That's amazing." Then he added, "I'm hoping to hike the Appalachian Trail once I win PowerBall."

He had questions, lots of questions. Where did we start from, how much are we carrying with us and so on.

"Well God bless you," he said. "And have a safe trip."

With his blessing, and some Gatorade and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, we walked out and refueled, unsure as to when we find our next full meal. After we refilled our water bottles with Gatorade, I looked around to see if there was a place where I could recycle our highly desirable PET plastic. Then I saw the clerk waving me in. Suddenly, I felt silly: I had forgotten that Maine has a bottle deposit on just about every PET bottle on the market, including Gatorade. I gave him our empty 3 bottles and he exchanged me 15 cents. We each said goodbye and farewell one last time and Nicole and I were on our way.

Vintage Maine.

Fortunately, the ride from Bath to Brunswick is quite pleasant, courtesy of the East Coast Greenway. We enjoyed about six and half miles of flat, car free traffic and made terrific time. It's a good thing, because by the time we rode into Brunswick, all the lunch places where within 15 minutes of closing time. That's Sunday for you.

It was a long ride for Nicole into Portland. Her ankle was hurting something nasty. She nearly would have given up if not for some neighborhood kids on the outskirts of town cheering us on. It gave us some much needed moral support as we once again linked up with the East Coast Greenway across Portland's Back Cove and through the center of town. We checked in at a La Quinta and unpacked for the night.

Before we went to bed, I picked up my phone to call Chris and let him know where we were. First I had some unheard messages, all from Chris.

"Kevin," he said. "I stayed on Route 1 the whole time. It turned into the highway at one point. That was an interesting experience."

Delorme's headquarters is just outside Portland.

Luckily, Chris was okay. I called him about it and he told me that in the midst of 70 mile an hour traffic, the drivers were kind enough to give him the right of way--on a left exit no less.

Nicole had chastised me for avoiding Route 1. In retrospect, I think it was worth it.

60 miles down. 205 miles in the last four days . . .