Acadia National Park.
Acadia National Park, one of the only on the east coast, and the oldest park east of the Mississippi River. I guess I'll use that as a big reason why prior to this trip I had seen zero national parks and now I've almost seen them all. The upside of going to Acadia this time of year? The leaves. The downside of going Acadia this time of year? The cold. It was so cold when I was in Maine, I was ready to give up and drive straight home. A minor breakdown later and a pep talk from my brother had me finishing out strong, and thank goodness for that. I started this incredible journey back in January and as he reminded me, it would be a shame not to finish it as well as I started.
Lucky for me, I showed up the last day the visitor center at Acadia was open for the year. I got my stamp, postcard and patch, and planned out my day on the eastern seaboard with the Park Ranger. The 27 mile one way road winds and curves through Acadia, bordered on one side by cliffs covered in boulder fields and golden trees, and on the other side by the atlantic ocean calmly crashing along the rocky coast. Old carriage roads built as a network through the park in the early 1900s are now well maintained and only open to bikers, hikers, and horseback riders. I took a stroll down a few and found an old stone bridge I promptly climbed underneath to get a closer look at. Off shoots at random places along the main park loop without a sign or notice are the beginnings of some of these trails. I pulled over and put my flashers on at the sight of a particularly interesting one and fell in love with the way the fall foliage towered above the cushy grass path, letting in light stripes as far as I could see.
I stopped a little ways into my drive at the start of the Precipice Trail. This strenuous climb is literally a field of boulders straight up the side of a the mountain. I lifted and hoisted myself over and around and under and through layers of massive granite rocks stacked atop one another. With each new step I turned around to catch a glimpse of the ever changing view. The horizon falling farther and farther away, covered in part by small islands off the coast, and the foreground covered in every shade of autumn. Prior to telling me about one of the most famous hikes in the park, the ranger asked me if I was afraid of heights and I, without hesitation, responded with a no. I surprised myself a little with that answer; I guess I'm getting better at this. I asked why, and she mentioned the exposed 1,000 foot almost vertical climb and the iron rungs and ladders I'd have to tackle on my way to the top. I've done more frightening hikes, I thought, immediately remembering Angel's Landing at Zion National Park, I'd be fine.
The view from the top of the hike was worth every rung and the bright red leaves only made it prettier. Maine's rolling colorful hills stretched for miles on my way down the other side of the mountain. Every once in a while the Atlantic would peak through the trees and the sun would highlight the leaves surrounding me in bright golden walls to match the glistening sun.
I ended my day at my last national park on this trip atop the pink granite summit of Cadillac Mountain. This spot is also, fun fact, one of the first places in the Unites States to see the sunrise. I sat and tried to relax, shivering from the wind chill, looking out onto the cloudy sunset and spotted the moon already up ready to illuminate the night sky. I thought about how far I've come, literally and metaphorically, how much I missed, how much I've changed - or haven't - since when I left so long ago. I'm so happy my last real stop and national park was Acadia. I now know for a fact that of the many places the Northeast has to offer, Acadia is easily top three and I urge anyone within a day's, maybe even two day's, drive of it to go see this incredible park and follow in my footsteps by watching the sunset or rise from Cadillac Mountain.
After spending two nights with CJ and Larissa in Bangor, Maine, in their house without power, lit by Jack-O-Lanterns carved that day, and pets galore, I knew I was ready to officially make my way home. A big thank you to those two for taking me in during a storm, we may not have had water but a little warmth goes a long way. The next part of my trip seemed to whiz by. I've grown up going to a lot of the states surrounding Pennsylvania so I didn't do as much exploring as I normally would in a new state.
I cruised Maine's coast, avoiding downed trees from the storm as much as possible, and enjoyed some clam chowder while admiring the small lighthouses and picturesque communities in each new town. I stopped in Dover, New Hampshire briefly and managed to get my first flat tire of my entire trip thanks to a poor placed construction zone. Crazy, right?! I continued on to Salem, Massachusetts, a place I have always wanted to visit, only to be semi impressed with the real thing. I'm not sure if it was because I was there a few days after Halloween or what, but the town seemed to commemorate its past in a cheesier manor than I thought it would. I will say, however, that their Halloween decorations were wonderfully extravagant and the few bike shares decorated with a cauldron for a basket and a broom sticking off the back were a nice touch. The small town's tribute to the unjust hangings of so called witches sat just outside Salem's graveyard in the form of benches around a courtyard. They were inscribed with the names and dates of the hangings, a flower or two on each and even a candle on one of them. Other than this memorial and the lone last remaining witch house from the 1600s, it was almost like they overlooked the history embedded in the town and the fact that twenty people were executed due to panic and hysteria. Stopping to read all the names, I came across Susannah Martin, hanged July 19, 1692, and discovered what looked like a memorial service flyer on her bench with a handwritten note that read, "proudly remembered by your eighth great-granddaughter." I liked that, it made me pause and smile. I guess not everyone forgot.
After my tour of witchcraft and wizardry, I stopped for a night in Boston to catch up with old friends; I lived there for a summer so I decided not to spend too much time sightseeing. I spent the next morning perusing the best of the best at the NBA Hall of Fame in Springfield, MA., learning all about my favorite sport. Well, everything I didn't already know, that is. By the time I left the Hall, everyone working there knew I was a Sixers fan, I made sure of it. I strutted around that place proudly displaying my Dr. J tee asking anyone and everyone where I could find everything Allen Iverson. Feeling good about never losing my jump shot, I kept on truckin' through a sightseeing tour of Connecticut which lead me right to the doorstep one of my favorite people from college and his motorcycle collection. We spent a long overdue two nights catching up, and it was the perfect last stop on my tour of America.
My last post will be in a few days and I plan on exploring my city like I never have before until then. I kind of can't believe my adventure is over. I'm a little bummed in some ways but man, it sure does feel good to be home.
- G.
The Photo:
Acadia.
Bar Harbor, Maine.
10/31/17.
