A.J.’s Big Adventure, Part 2.

 

Leave it to me to find a bookstore in the middle of rural Vermont. Really, it wasn’t intentional. It’s just that, well, when Rene’, Jack, and I stopped for lunch in tiny Lyndonville, Vermont (population 1,227), Green Mountain Books and Prints (http://www.greenmtnbooks.com/), the old retail space crammed to the ceiling with used and select new books from the region, well, I just had to stop.

“Mark, where were you?”

Rene’ had wandered off down the street looking for food. Now, to be clear, I did tell her I was going to “check out” the store. So you would have thought she understood that meant, “browse long enough to buy a book or two.’ Apparently there was a miscommunication.

“At the bookstore,” I said, holding up a paper sack with two new regional novels I’d just purchased from the store’s owner. “I told you…”

“There’s a restaurant across the street,” my wife said with disdain. “I’m hungry.”

Jack shook his head when I looked to him for help. He’d been in the store too but hadn’t bought a thing. I was looking for backup. I got nothing.

Being touristy in Vermont requires at least one stop at a covered bridge. After connecting with Matt and Lisa in the Suburban (their GPS took them through New Hampshire on the way to Maine; Maggie insisted we drive through Vermont), we found a bridge just outside of Lyndonville and snapped a few quick photos.

The drive south took us over two-lanes that wove in and out of the peaks of the Green Mountains and into the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Along the way, we slowed for towns, villages, the occasional small city. We crossed streams, and creeks, and, on occasion, rivers. The scenery was breathtakingly beautiful and the day was clear and bright: A great day to be on the open road in America.

 

“Where are you guys?” Lisa asked over the cell phone as we were tooling south, on the only patch of freeway on the drive between the border and Bar Harbor.

“Somewhere between Bangor and Bar Harbor,” Rene’ replied. “Where are you guys?”

“At the KOA.”

My wife turned to me with a puzzled look, as if to say, How did they make it there before us? After all, they have a baby to contend with and you, Mark, you have your beloved GPS paramour, Maggie, to guide and direct you. How is it they beat us to the campground?

Rene’ didn’t really say those things, but, after nearly thirty-four years of marriage, I knew what she was thinking.

“Tell them we’ll be there in a half-hour,” was all I said.

The Kamping Kabins at the Bar Harbor KOA were definately top of the line. Matt and Lisa’s Kabin was equipped with a full kitchen, bath, living room, and front porch. Ours didn’t have a full kitchen but did have a full bath, a bunkroom for Jack, a main room with a king sized bed, and a screen porch. Even better, both came with their own fire rings and picnic tables overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Though not in the town of Bar Harbor, we soon learned, after trying to park Matt’s Suburban in the tiny oceanside resort town full of Independence Day revelers, that the good folks of Bar Harbor supply free bus service to town from all the area motels, inns, and campgrounds. Driving into town became obsolete.

That night, Matt and Lisa treated us to a meal of grill cooked steaks, fresh corn on the cob, cold Maine beer (soda for Jack, of course!), and baked beans. I bought firewood from the KOA store and stoked the fire as the sun set right in front of our cabins over the receding tide of the sea.

Where to start. Over the next few days, we ate great food (Matt found the lobster he’d been craving at Lobster Fest on the 4th of July in downtown Bar Harbor and even photographed the unfortunate crustacean for posterity!), hiked Acadia National Park, went whale watching (spying a beautiful finback whale, dolphins, seals, and assorted sea birds: Matt and Lisa (with A.J. in our charge) took a separate boat and also saw a humpback whale display its tail), played miniature golf (Dad won, though Jack gave it a go), and took in the beauty of the Maine coastline.

“Why are you going this way?” Rene’ asked on the day we drove into Acadia National Park. “The signs for Cadillac Mountain point the other direction.”

I had a plan. I always have a plan. Sometimes I share my plans with my wife and kids; sometimes not. I drove on, remaining silent, which, of course, didn’t end the questions.

“Ya, Dad. The road to the top of the mountain goes the other way,” Jack added, his ability to read roadsigns confirmed in his insistence.

I kept driving.

Like I said: I had a plan. I wasn’t lost or confused. I wanted to check out Sand Beach, which, in all the brochures was labeled as a “don’t miss” attraction of the park. The brochures were right. On a foggy, cool, misty day, walking the moist sand of the beach was indeed well worth the detour.

“See?” I said to the skeptics in my Pacifica as we walked past two college aged kids sweeping sand off the stairway to the beach. “Isn’t this cool?” My wife and son didn’t disagree. After a half hour studying the beach and the surrounding hills, it was off to Cadillac Mountain. We took a long hike along the precipice of the peak through barren, rocky terrain, the sun hidden behind thick fog and ponderous clouds until, just as we labored our way back to the car after a four mile trek, the sky began to break and the sun began to assert its power.

 

That evening, Matt and Lisa and A.J. opted to watch the 4th of July fireworks from a boat out in Bar Harbor. Rene’, Jack, and I chose to dine at a little bakery and coffee shop off the beaten path before making our way to Bar Harbor’s town square to watch the display. There was a very real possibility that, given the return of the fog, the fireworks would be cancelled. But, in the end, though there was a thin veil surrounding the town, the show did go on. And, with the fog defusing the exploding rockets, what a show it was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the morning, we loaded up our cars and began the long trek home by way of Quebec City, North Bay, and Sault Ste. Marie. But more on that in the last installment of “A.J.’s Big Adventure!”

Peace.

Mark