Tuesday evening we ride via bus from Portland to Wells, Maine. I start calling campgrounds to get rates. In the meantime, Nicole finds herself searching for her headware.
"I can't find my helmet," she says, a little nervous and frustrated. "I must have left it at the train station."
Well, there's not much we can do about that now, can we?
"What am I going to do?" she asks.
I try to look on the bright side. A new helmet is generally a worthwhile investment. Those things are generally good for one impact and that's it, time for a new one.
"But what will we do until then?"
Lucky for us, the good people at Amtrak come to the rescue. No sooner do we realize that our helmet is missing than the lone employee at the train/bus station comes to our assistance.
"Hello," says an 80 something year-old woman. "You must be the bicyclists. Someone called about your hat."
Nicole and I look at each other. "You mean her helmet," I say.
"Yes," she says affirmatively. "You're hat, whatever you call it. He says he'll be here in about 25 minutes."
Not bad. We tell her thank you. In the meantime we find a campsite about two miles away for a mere $20 a night. Not bad. In about 25 minutes our friend from Portland arrives. We try to say thank you.
"Don't worry," he says. "I live about 15 minutes from here."
Sadly, the kindness from Amtrak does not extend to Riverside RV Campground, or as I like to call it, Dodge City. When Nicole called to get the rate, the person on the phone told her that the office would be open until 5 pm, and again at 9 am the following morning. We arrived at about 4:30, but the office lights were out and the front door was locked. There was a whiteboard near the front door that said as follows:
"Hello,
The office is open from 1-5 today. The office will reopen at 9 am tomorrow morning. The staff is here working the grounds. Payment is by way of the honor system."
We take a look around. A somewhat crazy looking old lady tells us that she's been here for sometime and the office hasn't been open all day and hasn't been able to find anybody who works here. She said someone else just drove in and set up his tent and assumed we were to do the same.
 |
| This made me wonder who--if anyone--was in charge of this two bit town. |
That's fine, I guess. Nicole and I ride in, and this place is even more abandoned than Shady Oaks. These RVs are basically mobile homes without the mobility: at least half of them have actually fixed to the ground. Some have elaborate built-in porches. Of the 30 or so RVs, only one or two have any sign of active human life.
Did we ride into a ghost town? I try to find the men's room, but all I find is a door that is looked and boarded shut. I expect to see some tumbleweeds and a toothless prospector panning for gold in the nearby riverbed.
The near-total abandonment of human activity is unsettling, to say the least. Fortunately, we are in walking distance of the Maine Diner. Apparently, this joint has been featured on the History Channel, the Food Network, and, oh, maybe one or two other places as one of the top 2 percentile of restaurant food served annually. When we arrived, there were television sets constantly playing a DVD about the Maine Diner to let you know that it had been featured in the Food Network and the History Channel and was rated so highly. Most of the DVD featured the two owners talking about their restaurant with some random shots of waitstaff and customers. It was mostly a background diversion while Nicole and I looked over the menu. A few words did stand out though.
"When we bought this place from our father," said one of the owners. "We asked him what to do. He said 'good food, reasonably priced, and keep the place clean.' I had no idea his advice would take us where we are today."
It was only a 15 minute wait. We were seated at a small table in the crowded diner. The first thing Nicole and I noticed is that we were the only patrons under the age of 70 in the restaurant. It felt a little uneasy, like a Moor among Venetians. This feelings were overcome, though, with sheer hunger and anticipation of the food that was to come.
Nicole ordered the baked haddock while I opted for Boston style cod cakes. Nicole also ordered a small salad for us to share. When the salad was served, we put the bowl in the center of the table and each took a bite. We couldn't help but notice something was very peculiar about the lettuce: it actually had taste! Curious. They must have ordered locally. Good food fresh, not bad. After salad and the main course, we could not resist dessert. One can't spend a week in Maine without some delicious blueberry pie. Nicole and I each had a slice a la mode (local ice cream by the way), and it was so filling that even I could not finish. My goodness, it was good food, reasonably priced.
Most restaurants follow a simple formula. Get food, add lots of butter and sugar. Many other restaurants are so brazen as to order entire meals and desserts pre-made for less than two dollars and charge you the customer $12.95 for it. The Maine Diner could easily declare themselves an upscale establishment and charge $30 a meal. But they didn't. It was no wonder then, that so many elderly people found refuge at this restaurant. It's the dining experience they remember, and it was certainly worth it.
Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and we were forced to bid the Maine Diner farewell. We reluctantly headed back to our campsite next door. As we approached campsite we are greeted with a fresh pile of dog poo on our campsite. A cruel welcome if there ever was one.
With that we retired for the night, in hopes that we could gain some rest and relaxation and still make it to the wedding in time . . .
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