Departures
The final approach to the area of coastal Maine I am visiting is accessed by a new suspension bridge which has been built immediately next to the one it replaced. As I cross it the blatant juxtaposition of the old and new is striking. This region is full of such sights.
Making my way towards Acadia I take a right onto the road less traveled by the hoards of tourists bombing their way down Coastal Route 1 unaware of what they have just passed. I was introduced to this area by a friend about ten years ago and since then have felt like I have found the hidden gem that was calling to me ever since I was young.
Waking this Monday morning on the coast, blessedly absent from the weekly conference call replete with anectodal sales regurgitations, I hear in the distance the inviting gurgle of the lobster boat’s engine. Walking onto the deck, I watch the two men as they check their traps and unload their catch. Perhaps one of their lobsters will be tonight’s dinner.
The roads beckon and while the corporate machine grinds along in my absence I cycle further down the coastal route, further away from corporate reports and expectations, this time for a short 25 mile bike ride. While I have spent much time, and in fact lived in many parts of Maine, since my youth, I am acutely aware of the fact that I never was nor ever will be considered a local. That being said, more people wave (or nod as in the case of the oil truck driver) than not as I fly by. The number of cars that pass can be counted using no more than two hands, and all are fashionably polite, entering the opposite lane and providing an abundance of clearance. If only all drivers were so courteous. As I pass by homestead driveways the whispers of those who live or lived there can be heard in the wind. White, Angell, and Siddons invite reflection and solace; they bring back long forgotten memories of hopes and dreams, of country fairs, of the ever present passage of time. Before I am aware of it I break one of my most substantial rules of the road upon the approach to Little Deer Isle by turning around and returning the same way I came. I find comfort in the realization that perhaps it is important to examine where one has traveled in order to more clearly understand and welcome where one is headed. Until next time. -CSH
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