A little over two weeks ago, I exited the wilderness and returned to ‘reality.’ This year’s ‘return’ felt a lot different from those of years past. For one thing, I returned from a wilderness excursion in one piece–something vastly different from last year’s adventure. Another difference was that I was captivated by my personal growth, achievements, and strength–for one of the first times in my life did I actually feel the way in which others saw me. Lastly, and most beautifully, were how my feelings of this ‘return to reality’ were shaded differently by a wise saying that I was told by one of the extraordinary folks I met on my travels.
Over a beer at an outdoor bar that was adjacent to a laundromat–the most brilliant idea, ever!–as I waited for my once-gnarly hiking clothes to tumble dry, a hip, retired dude from New Mexico recounted how while taking in the Maine coastline, a fellow traveler remarked, “Wow, I certainly love escaping reality to take in this beauty.” My beer drinking buddy responded with, “THIS is reality. You’re escaping from something else,” and left the ‘downtrodden-by-the-rat-race guy’ absolutely dumbfounded.
In his recounting of the story, New Mexico-retired-dude also imparted much wisdom on me, and I began seeing reality–in nature, in my everyday life–differently. So differently, that instead of making excuses about “why I didn’t have time to write in my blog,” or “how I feel like I captured most of my journey through photographs and vignettes on Facebook”–most of which were posted to track my continual survival, and–god forbid–location, should I have gone missing–I recognized that in my reality I can and should carve out time to reflect on my adventure (and carve out time to do whatever I feel like doing); for not only are stories like the one about my New Mexico buddy worth recounting, but so are those about nature, growth, humanity, kindness, love, confidence, and achievement.
So, in following the advice of my wise retired friend, I write. Over the next couple of posts, I will attempt to “do justice” to an adventure that was so remarkably heartwarming (and badass) that words may not fully be able to capture the joy, caring, excitement, and connection that was experienced. My only hope is that in sharing stories about the people I had the amazing opportunity of meeting, that I am able to illustrate their profound kindness, humanity, empathy, and love; as each person impacted me and my journey in a number of ways. For each encounter, I am so very grateful as I have been able to experience the goodness in our humanity, and that I am able to live my life with an open heart, and to share my kindness with others.
Since no one would ever be interested in reading every minute detail of my hikes, or in
Heart shaped rock, no. 22
trudging through a complete description of every heart-shaped rock I came across (and photographed–if anyone’s interested, there were 57), my writing will be part travelogue, part guidebook, part hippie reflection, and will recount only important details, encounters with awesome people, hiking statistics, and will include a few reviews of campgrounds, campsites, and the occasional local eatery.
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After a grueling 7-hour drive en route to Maine, which included a 55-minute wait to
Emerson in Portsmouth
inch a 1/4 of a mile onto the George Washington Bridge, Emerson and I stretched out our legs and took in the sights of our first New England town, Portsmouth, NH. Portsmouth was our original first destination because of the promise of a kickass dog park–known in friendly conversation as ‘an island for dogs’–where there are off-leash trails to explore, and sections of coast to doggy-paddle about. Unfortunately, this mecca for dogs is under construction until 2020–a fact I could have learned with a bit of research before embarking on this trip. In spite of the snag, Em and I had a phenomenal time touring Portsmouth where every third person stopped to pet my awesome dog, and where Emerson displayed her true colors as a rockstar adventure companion.
As the sun set on Portsmouth, Em and I enjoyed a quick dinner of raw tomatoes (me), a handful of almonds (me), and three chicken jerky treats (her), before trying to figure out where to spend the night. The first two nights of our adventure were the only two where I hadn’t made any lodging reservations beforehand, and I went off of the hopefulness that I’d find somewhere to camp or to park for the evening. Unlike in Colorado where you can pretty much find camping anywhere–and can literally drive onto BLM lands and set up camp for free; sometimes amidst Dead Heads who are in town for a Grateful Dead Reunion Concert near Boulder, CO–Maine and New Hampshire didn’t have as many options. So, with sunlight fading, not much in the way of camping options, and the benefit of a camper-bed, I decided to freeload for an evening in the parking lot of the Kennebunk rest stop on the Maine Turnpike.
The next morning, after taking a mandatory photo with a plastic moose that welcomed
Welcome to Maine
us to Maine, and a cup of coffee from Starbucks (paid for with gift cards I’ve received from years of kind students–thanks, kids); Em and I headed to Portland, ME for our first adventure. Prior to leaving New Jersey, a kind soul gave me a list of places to check out in Portland–places, restaurants, and sights that were cool to check out from midday to late evening. Em and I drove into Portland at 6:30 AM–the cool scene had just fallen asleep. So, we drove around and checked out the artsy, gritty city and imagined the controlled, hippie chaos that would ensue in the later hours.
As I’m not much of a city person, I decided to check out a local trail before finding a spot for breakfast and coming up with another game plan for the day. Thanks to the AllTrails app, I found an “urban forest trail” that links different neighborhoods surrounding Portland’s city center, and decided to hike a short loop. Since it was my first hike in Maine, my mind teemed with thoughts of wildlife encounters–there are black bears in Maine. There are a lot of moose in Maine. I should probably carry bear spray. Where are my bear bells?–in hindsight I realize that I was hiking a small forested area that was not only bi-sected by city streets, but was also located near the interstate, so my worries were a little over the top for the location, but it is always better to be safe. I also have an irrational fear of becoming a bear attack victim and then being judged on national news for not ‘being bear aware’ and earning the title of “stupid, uninformed hiker,” so HEEEEEEYYYYYY BEAR is like my hiking mantra, and bear spray–which can also be used to deter weird, creepy humans if necessary–is almost always in my pack. Our first hike was filled with plenty of “hey bear-ing” and “hey moose-ing,” but not much wildlife or beautiful scenery. That hike will be chalked up to an opportunity to wake up the legs, get acquainted with what most of my ‘wildlife encounters’ would look like–nothing too wild; and to kill time until restaurants opened for breakfast.
Following the hike, and four phone calls to breakfast joints to assess dog-friendliness, Em and I crossed over a drawbridge to South Portland for some real food. We ended up at 158 Picket Street Cafe, a great local restaurant with good food, great coffee, and cool folks. It was here where Em, again, illustrated her awesome adventure-dog-skills as she sat patiently while I ordered breakfast potatoes (for me and her, mainly her) and a bagel creation known as “The Popeye”–an everything bagel topped with cream cheese, spinach, and olives. It was also at this spot where I smiled in awe of a four-year-old boy, who stepped back from a beautiful oak tree in the garden, eyed it with great inspection, and while stroking his chin declared, “Dad, this would be the most perfect tree for my tire swing.” There was something about the pure connection to nature that this little boy was making that has engrained that moment on my memory as 1) something truly adorable, and 2) something so very “Maine.”
Another great interaction was with a kind woman and her husband who had just rescued a dog that loved meeting Emerson. The kind woman–whose name I unfortunately didn’t catch, so let’s call her “local lady”–was very impressed with Emerson’s patience and loving nature. We chatted about her new rescue, and she notified me of a neat dog park that we could visit in Portland, along with information about a free Bluegrass festival taking place in Freeport, ME. Unbeknownst to this kind soul, “local lady” helped Em and I decide on the course for our day, and we left 158 Picket Street Cafe filled with good food, good advice, and good conversation with good people.
Em and I checked out the dog park in the middle of Portland, and then headed to
Emerson doing #4
Freeport to explore adventure consumerism at its best. Freeport, home to L.L. Bean is a great little town for people who love any of, or combination of, the following things: 1) outlet shopping, 2) L.L. Bean, 3) spending money, 4) taking photos with oversized L.L. Bean gear, 5) ice cream, 6) dog-friendly shopping, 7) free stuff, 8) kind, adventurous people milling around in Tevas, Keens, and looking like they just stepped out of an L.L. Bean catalogue, because most of them probably just updated their wardrobe doing numbers 1, 2, and 3. Emerson and I were not so much into the shopping or the spending of money–although I couldn’t resist bringing her into a few stores–so instead we checked out a local state park, Bradbury Mountain State Park, and went on a few hikes. We hiked every trail on the western side of the park, and then decided to take an impromptu tour of the campground to see what Maine state parks had to offer. Not only did this impromptu tour yield positive head nods to the conditions of state parks in Maine, but it also provided us with a lucky, last campsite that we snagged at the most opportune moment–right as a ranger was about to display the vacancy for all other interested adventurers.
With a safe place to stay, some more hiked miles under our belts, and some camp food in our bellies, Em and I ventured into town to check out the free bluegrass festival as part of the L.L. Bean free concert series. In all honesty, bluegrass is not my favorite style of music–nor would I couch it in my top five–but there’s something about sitting in a camp chair, in a foreign town, surrounded by good-natured souls swaying to music, with my kickass dog at my side, that makes my heart smile. Emerson, of course, was the focus of much attention, and she, as usual, was amazing. Emerson was kind to all who wanted to greet her, she sat loyally by my side, or lovingly in my lap, and she seemed to enjoy the moment as much as I did. To thank her for being awesome, and to satisfy my sweet tooth, we stood in line at Ben and Jerry’s, where Emerson won over the heart of the ice cream man who made her a special dog sundae (for free) that was complete with mini-milkbones.
It was only day two of our journey and we had already experienced such love, kindness, and excitement. Little did we know that our trip to Acadia National Park had so much more love and adventure in store.
'Ruffing' It: A Tale of Two Bitches 