After His Tantrum He Told Me To Pack Up and Get Out

Homeward Bound
August 5, `82


As I write, I'm on a ferry heading down to Bar Harbor, Maine. My 415
American dollars, which turned into 539 Canadian dollars, is now down
to $12 American. All tolled that gives me $45 to get home on. I will
need to send for money shortly. Meanwhile, I am going to enjoy this
boat ride. I'm now 2 cups of coffee and one beer into it. It's still
foggy, though, and my future doesn't look so good. I will arrive in
Bar Harbor late at night, probably in the fog and rain, with no place
to go. Oh well, I'm having fun anyway.

To finish out this page, I would like to comment on the boat's
departure from the Yarmouth harbor. We headed down a narrow channel at
low tide. As we passed by numerous fishing boats in their slips, the
shoreline was only a stone's throw on either side of the boat. It was
a very picturesque sight, especially with the fog banks at various
densities all along the shore. As the channel widened we passed a
lighthouse. Its beams had little or no effect, but its bellowing
foghorn cut a deeper path. Even as I write, I am reminded that I am in
a boat blundering through the sea without eyes. I can't forget,
either, because the ship has its foghorn too.


Aug. 7, ‘82

Yesterday was exceptional biking, but it didn't start out that way. Once stateside,
in Bar Harbor, U.S customs put me through the ringer—11 pm, in pouring rain, bicycle bags emptied, searched, and repacked—it was after midnight before I found a
place to put up my tent. All the campgrounds were full, but I
wouldn't have stayed in one anyway. Walking through a residential
section of Bar Harbor, in the rain, I stumbled upon a tennis
court. Its perimeter was covered with thick vegetation, so that's
where I decided to erect my tent, in between the bushes, but outside the
tennis court fence..

It was 6 am, and I was breaking down my tent when this big Chrysler
pulls up and out jumps this guy breathing fire. He kept asking me
what I was doing on private property, and I just kept repeating that
it was the only place to camp. What I was silently thinking, however, was that
private property is private only under daylight conditions. Under the cover of
darkness, private property reverts back to public domain. When he
finally finished his tantrum, he told me to pack up and get out. I
thanked him because I was only too happy to oblige; from that point
onward, however, it just got better.

When the fog lifted, and the sun came out, things started looking up,
but it didn't get good until after another twenty miles because the highway
leading out of Bar Harbor was in terrible shape; and after that the
scenery went from nice to beautiful. For a while I was riding
along the coast, and then when I turned inland I had a bicycle heaven
shoulder to ride on. I chose to ride through the less hilly part of
Maine, and so far the hills have not been pushovers; negotiable,
but not pushovers.

Last night, after logging about 95 miles during the day, I camped off
the highway in a beautiful pine forest. Today, if I'm lucky, I hope to
get very close to New Hampshire, but I must admit,
yesterday was really hard on my butt. It won't be very comfortable
riding today. However, I find it thrilling to be able to ride without
the constant stopping that has marked my last couple of weeks.