The decision has been made to head eastward to the Maine coast and spend our last night of the trip in Belfast, along famous Rte. 1. The route out is very hilly, hot and tiring, esp. for Ellen, but she hangs in there as we reach Windsor and Somerville. Very rural. A llama farm where each llama has a different hairdo-up. A nice Chinese lady gives us water when we run out and marvels after hearing a quick account of the trip. Finally onto Rte. 3 for two hours, then over one final hill gleams the blue waters of Penobscot Bay and the Atlantic Ocean!! At this moment, the reality of crossing the country by bicycle really hit home, giving me an unforgettable rush of satisfaction mixed with disbelief. Not quite done, my boy, as we scream downhill, meeting Rte. 1 in Belfast and heading north 2 miles to our little cottage #15 at the Seascape Motel.
Quite a session of imbibing occurred that night, from pre-beers thru wine to bloody marys, accompanying a fine fish dinner. We skipped the deep fried corn on the cob, or at least I think we did. Brindil has her first motel room "accident". One more day.
Quite a session of imbibing occurred that night, from pre-beers thru wine to bloody marys, accompanying a fine fish dinner. We skipped the deep fried corn on the cob, or at least I think we did. Brindil has her first motel room "accident". One more day.
No comments:
Post a Comment