Glamping at Cuyahoga, Singing Sands, That’s Not a Gate, and Unmowed Grass

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It is always hard to leave family especially sinceI  I have fallen in love with the family dog.  Carmel is a black labrador retriever and two years old.  She loves people and I was her person the whole 10 days I was there. She slept with me and followed me everywhere. Needless to say I am in Carmel withdrawal.  But alas, I also dearly miss my son Nick and daughter-in-law Miriam. But I loaded up my piles of gear into Lady Spitfire. Leaving one’s  car parked on a Philadelphia street loaded with STUFF invites a break in so we wisely unloaded everything for the duration of the stay.  I was off by 9:30 and ,as luck would have it for the sake of efficiency, I ended up driving out on the Schuylkill Expressway – the road I have always desperately wanted to avoid due to  its 24/7, 7 day a week traffic jam. But I didn’t have a meltdown and before too long I was on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, watching the ching-ching chang of the Pikes cash register add up the miles and thus the dollars for me to traverse this massive construction project and truck conveyor belt all the way to Ohio.  Of course Ohio has the same idea about commandeering my wallet and letting  the turnpike authority help itself to the contents. All of this wallet opening happened so I could get from A-Z in a bit more timely fashion than taking the secondary roads.   I grit my teeth and grasp the steering tightly but I am not sure how either one of these response helps me navigate this parade of semi-trucks barreling down the highway at 70 mph all the while squeezing me up close to the unyielding cement barriers on my left and their middle line on hugging  right. I try and weave my way from behind to, around to, ahead of these massive vehicles carrying all that “made-in-China”  merchandise we just can’t live without. But I finally made it to Cuyahoga State Park and my lodging for the next two nights was at Valley Overlook.  I am not sure exactly how one defines glamping but this is the closest I haver come to it since I was on a safari in Africa years ago. This extra large canvas tent was a great way to ease back into “camping” after the hiatus of family and friend visits.  It was an almost real bedroom  except for the fact the walls were canvas, there was no electricity, water  or attached bathroom. The bath/shower unit was up a short steep hill and after trudging up the first time and barely “making it, ” I did something I would never in my wildest dreams imagine me doing. I drove up. An added bonus, I could avoid a massive wasps nest needing to be passed a short distance away.

August 14th was a full day to explore and I had not known how best to approach maximizing my experience of Cuyahoga NP. It is a patchwork of many smaller areas including not only parkland designated to protect the Cuyahoga river but interspersed with villages and farms. I had not done any prior reading about the park and its options. Miriam told me about a train ride through the park so I investigated that and booked a ticket on the Cuyahoga Scenic Railroad for late morning. This two hour train ride out from Peninsula Depot to North Akron and back was pleasant enough and the park volunteer shared a fair amount interesting history but perhaps the route is scenic for Ohio but at no point was I wowed by the surrounds. The scene was of pleasant villages and a countryside of mostly forests, rivers and meadows. The upside was it gave me a good idea of some things I might explore further or NOT. The trip back was a bit “sad.” The train tour guide gave almost no additional commentary. I made my way though our train car and I saw most people focused on their phones, others having loudish conversations drowning out anything the narrator might want to add, some sleeping in their seat, and in general not paying much attention to anything out there. Granted we had “been there” but I often find I can glean a lot more on the “second time round.”

After finding a convenience store to get gas and restock the ice in my cooler, I stopped at the Boston Mill Visitors Center to get more information on trails. It was also an opportunity to get close to the winding Cuyahoga River.

I was eager to get out on a hike with the first hiking choice was the Beaver Marsh Boardwalk . I have been told it is definitely an active area for beaver lodges but either my eyesight is totally myopic or on this day, as often happens, they were doing their interior housekeeping in their hidden lodges. But it did give me a short hike on the Erie Canal Path and a lovely mostly shaded walk in  the woods.

Determined to find something more challenging, I decided on hiking at least part of The Ledges Trail.  The Ledges Overlook is touted for its vista of the Cuyahoga Valley and a hike of moderate difficulty. A coin toss (not really) landed me hiking the route clockwise which was probably the wrong choice but from the starting point I saw several couples headed that way.  The distance to the most notable spot was significant longer than if I had chose the opposite direction  of the loop. This is of course in hindsight. I was quite fascinated by the geology of the area and immediately there was an array of sandstone ledges forming sheer cliffs, narrow and deep crevices , moss and lichen covered rocks, rocky and boulder strewn sections  in between sections of gravel path.

I am glad I had the experience of hiking the trail because, yet again in this park, I was totally unimpressed by the vista.  One would need to be a very very tall person to be able see much of the valley over the tree tops.  The biggest rub was when I turned around at the top to find the continuation of the trail, there was a large grassy field and on the opposite side was the parking lot where I left Lady Spitfire. I definitely did not have to work so hard for  this very mediocre view but I can take pride in accomplishing a challenging hike and experiencing the geological formations of this area. 

By now it was well into the dinner hour so it was back to Valley Overlook (which doesn’t really overlook the valley) for the evening repast and a glamperous night. 

August 15th was a travel day, heading to Indiana Dunes National Park. I dreaded getting back on the Ohio Turnpike and its overabundance of big rigs or eighteen wheelers tearing west (or east): flatbeds, tankers, heavy equipment trailers, trailers with removable sides and tarp covers… the list goes on. This is the first trip I have encountered triple trailers as well of course many double trailers. When not long on the road, I got an alert on my phone that due to accidents it was advisable to seek an alternate route rather than the Ohio Turnpike. I had not a clue what that route would be nor had Siri advised me to go a different route so I decided I would just sit in a back-up if that be the case. Fortunately westbound lanes had been mostly cleared and I could proceed on through. However, it was totally gruesome to see the aftermath of three separate deadly crashes leaving four people dead, all involving at least one tractor trailer, a spill of sulphuric acid, and many mangled vehicles. I remained quite anxious and on high alert for the rest of the day. The only upside was that much of the traffic heading west had exited the turnpike so it was mostly truck and traffic free until a couple exits past the exit advisory zone. Prior to today I had been quite grateful that I had encountered only one minor accident in the almost 7000 miles I had traveled. Gradually the traffic built up again to a “frenzy” and it began to rain. I arrived mid-afternoon at the Indiana Dunes Visitors Center, got myself oriented, talked to a ranger about hikes, got my stamp and headed out to Dunescape Campground

What a horrible night. Camping in areas that are scrunched between cities is less than ideal. The South Shore Line, the train that runs from South Bend to Millennium Stadium in Chicago, is but a couple blocks from the campground and quite impolitely announces its arrival at the Beverly Shores Station numerous times a day (about every 20-30 minutes) almost around the clock. It was not music to my ears as I was trying to fall asleep. But that was finally accomplished only to be awakened in the middle of the night by the flashes of lightening and its notorious  companion thunder! I thought I might have repaired my tent leaks with seam sealer but guess either I did a terrible job or the leak is actually not in the seams.  But at least the drip drip was more of a light spatter instead of a ping! So after the ugly drive and the ugly night I was feeling pretty ugly. 

At least the coffee smoothed over some of the rough edges and I decide to get on the road and explore the park. This campground is at the northern end of the park so I settled on a visit to Lake View Beach.  It was still early in the day so there actually were available parking spaces and proximate to the historic homes from the Chicago World Fair.  With relatively few people on the beach it seemed like the perfect time to view the Century of Progress Homes constructed for the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair to show the future of housing and then brought to the Indiana shoreline afterwards. Were these models an accurate depiction of what housing looked like in the future? An aside. They featured the new amenities of garage door openers and dishwasher. When I think about it a whole lot of homes to this day don’t have those.

With temperatures already in the 70’s, sunny skies, and calm waters, I braced my self for very chilly temps of Lake Michigan but the water was actually quite refreshing and not chilling. I decided on a short walk and it definitely seemed a bit incongruous to be in a National Park and see industrial complexes in both directions with Gary Indiana to the west and power plant in Michigan City to the east..For many years I had a preconceived notion that all National Parks were basically in the hinterlands and not easily accessible to city dwellers. Though most are, there are now a cadre of parks that are much more citified (i.e. Cuyahoga, Gateway Arch, Hot Springs) .

The one hike I wanted to do was the Mount Baldy Dune Trail which was the northern most and tallest dune in the park. So I was determined to test it out. I was a bit tenuous as there were cautions all around about the ease of going down the dune but be aware that the hike back up would be a lung buster on the shifting sands. It was a half mile path to the dune apex and when cresting it, the vista was gorgeous and I naturally made my way down the dune face to the waters edge. A short walk east gave a much closer view of the Michigan City Power Generating Station which many mistake for a nuclear power plant instead of a hyperboloid cooling tower. I looked this up min case you thought I was an expert on electrical towers.) Since I am older and wiser than when my youthful endeavors at climbing dunes and mountains were a “timed event, ” I know I do not have to prove anything to anybody anymore so I inched my way a small step at a time and did not have to pant and gasp for air.

Never satisfied until I am bone weary, next up was The Great Marsh Trail. Seems marsh trails have become a theme of my adventures and this one was a sweaty, bug swatting lovely adventure. This was much more proximate to the marsh water as it was basically a built up dirt path through the wetland area often with marsh water on both sides.

The wildflowers were an absolute delight and it showed yet another facet of marsh vegetation.


After dinner at the campsite, it was a relaxing evening and I settled in bed read. But before too long I could hear a rumbling in the distance and what I had not foreseen was yet another thunderstorm heading over to pound my rainfly with a drenching rain and prove once again my rainfly was incapable of doing the job it was designed to do. . Water was pouring down into the tent from numerous spots – which is only possible because the whole upper portions of the tent is net – the better to stargaze through while cozy in one’s sleeping bag. I had never intended to stargaze and had not given the design much thought I will never again get a tent with a net/mesh top.

August 17th  was a driving day…. and once past Chicago, traffic eased up. I   was heading to Carlisle Lake Recreation Area. Thankfully driving wasn’t absolute chaos with fewer truckers, weavers, speeders, pokers,  and tailgaters. I was not in a particularly positive mood after the thunderstorms and the resultant tent debacle of the previous nights. I had already researched motels near that area anticipating another dismal experience because of all my wet and dirt caked gear. But the weather outlook was good and the site I had selected was an A+ selection and just about perfect (except for the barking dog across the way).   It was a large grassy shaded site right on the lake. I spread everything out  and it all dried quite readily and before long I had a camp set up on  this lovely  lakefront spot.

This evening at Carlisle Lake was filled with a  light cooling breeze, the gentle lapping of the waves on the rocky shore, fireflies twinkling about, a  pastel sunset and the moon waxing gibbous and about 98%full and brilliant. It reminded me of my summers as a child at our lakefront home where lakeside evenings were always magical. The only thing missing here was the whistle of a train across the lake. in Topinabee.   But since I had on over-abundance of those train whistle at the dunes, the paucity was a blessing. Now that I am veering farther south, the evenings are not cooling off as much as they had been the rest of this trip so it was time to haul out lighter weight sleepwear and not sliding  down into the depths of my sleeping bag. 

On August 18th I awoke to the shrill barks of the dog across the way – who after putting out the rallying cry, was responded to by several of the fellow canines in the area. I think everyone camping here has a dog as evidence by the chorus of not so sonorous barks. Though wanting to be annoyed, it wasn’t worth the effort and I wanted to be packed up and on the roas by 9:30am( which I accomplished.) I was heading into The Gateway Arch National Park in St. Louis. I discovered that night that the St. Louis Cardinals had an afternoon home game and I was headed to the Gateway Arch which is a very very close neighbor to Busch Stadium. I wanted to get into the city before it got crazy with fans all arriving for the ballgame. I was so grateful I pre-paid for Arch parking the evening before. It was $10:00 . When I got to garage the parking fee was $40.00 for the game.

The Arch is quite an impressive architectural structure. The complex is quite extensive and though I had not intended to take the tram up into the arch, I would not have been able to as it was sold out. I had done the tram many years ago and I disliked it tremendously because of both the claustrophobic cars and the very noticeable sway of the arch I felt at the top.

It was a lovely day and being that this park is right along the river it was quite the enjoyable time meandering along it and taking a gazillion photos of the arch from every angle. My goal was to get on the road and head west once the traffic heading into the area for the Cardinals game cleared. Since the parking garage was right next to the stadium it was kind of fun milling about that area amidst the fans.

When I surmised the worst of the traffic mess was over, I headed out of the garage (which was no easy feat since most exits were blocked off. After taking out a couple of trafic cones trying to wind my way out, I finally came upon the one place one could exit and get on a road out of town. The end point was Columbia MO and since I always feel frazzled by the challenge of executing the complexity of city expressways, I was happy that I had pre-planned a night at a hotel in Columbia MO. Since I had been dining on camp rations, I saw a T. G. Friday’s right next door and though I have not eaten at one in a long time (my recollection was of a menu featuring mostly high fat, high cholesterol, breaded, and fried heart attack inducing foods. I did not want to get back in the car again. So Friday’s it was.

For The next couple of days I was headed into the relatively flatland and featureless areas of the mid-west. Western Missouri and Eastern Kansas had a slight bit of definition to them i.e some mildly rolling hills and trees mixed in with the cornfields. Western section of Kansas did not. It was a bit saddening to be traveling through this area which clearly has suffered from drought and observing mile upon mile of corn fields clearly devastated by it. Stalks were all browned and yellowed except for a very few fields which had the capacity to be irrigated. The one highlight of my traverse through Kanas was a stop at Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve.

Tallgrass Prairie is one of the very few areas that remains today ( less than 4% of the 70 millions of acres) remains intact, mostly in this area, the Kansas Flint Hills. According to the NP brochure “ the preserve protects a nationally significant remnant of the once vast tallgrass prairie ecosystem. Here the tallgrass makes its last stand.” But most noteworthy and exciting for me was to discover there is a resident bison herd and I was again fortunate to be able to observe it off in a distant field. Now these enormously large bovines with their unpredictable temperament were proximate to an identified hiking trail in the preserve and I discovered I could access that trail via an unlocked gate. I wandered in a short distance and I was quite tempted to get a bit closer to these massive elegant beasts but the rational side of my brain won out and I settled on a few snapshots and was on my way.

I had been planning to camp in Marion KS west of the Topeka Kansas area but was not one iota motivated to roughing it. Instead of the campground, I just continued heading westerly and stayed at Comfort Suites in Salina KS. The next night I had a motel reservation in western Kansas but decided to push farther west with the goal being Colorado Springs on August 20th.   In trying to think about what might have been remarkable about today’s drive, terrain wise it was mostly flat until just sort of Colorado Springs.  Lots of dead corn, lots of silos, and lots of windmills.  I know there is a lot of controversy around windmills dotting the landsscape, but there is something I find calming and peaceful about watching them, the blades slowly turning agaist the backdrop of a vast sky. The time sped on along with my car speeding on and soon I was in the eastern part of Colorado Springs negotiating rush hour traffic getting lost, never being in the correct lane, getting  thoroughly turned around, missing exits, and spending about one-half-hour + finding my motel which was originally less than 1 mile away.  Once there and checked in was not going anywhere. 

Falmouth (not Foulmouth), Ava (not Gardner), and no E-Zee Pass to Philly

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July 31, was a travel day. I was leaving Acadia National Park and I was somewhat dreading the drive. I was headed down to Cape Cod and if I wanted to arrive the same day I probably would need to travel I-95, a road I have dreaded driving forever-and-a-day. So after a somewhat halting drive down route 3 with many one lane construction stopping points and way too many pokey Sunday drivers, the projected arrival time kept getting later and later. Since I would rather get there in the light of day and definitely before midnight, I changed course and opted to travel I-95 much to the gruesomeness of this choice. Definition of I-95 by Miriam-Webster: major highway on East Coast epitomized by construction, bottlenecks, congestion, heavy commercial traffic, urban crawl. True to the depiction by the esteemed Webster, traffic remained solid (recall this is a Sunday) through the whole corridor from Bangor ME until I veered off towards Cape Cod. Getting around Boston seemed like something that I feared would give me night mares. Of course, once off I-95 the traffic on the other main highways, mostly limited access, remained heavy and crawling along like a centipede. My anxiety barometer dipped to zero once I pulled in to the driveway of the friends I was visiting for a few days. I got a warm greeting from Lynn and Connie, but a totally ballistic greeting from their dogs Ava and Sophie, but especially Ava. Ava decided I was her person and her company and she would escort me every step of the way during this visit.

Lynn and I set out on a tour each day of a portion of Upper Cape Cod making the rounds of Woods Hole, North and West Falmouth, Cataumet, and Bourne during the visit. So on August 1, a hike through the Cornelia Carey Sanctuary to The Knob in Quissett Harbor was first-rate: ’twas an easy but not too easy 1.25 mile hike peppered with a few tripping roots and stumbling rocks. The “hill” juts out into the water with marvelous views of Buzzards Bay. What a disappointment to not see overhead any buzzards (this bays namesake). But I got over this great disappointment and thoroughly enjoyed views of the harbor and then a meander on through Chapoquoit Beach and downtown Falmouth. It was a touristy day well spent and then an evening of good food, good chatter and watching the Olympics.

August 2 was another warm steamy day on the Cape. I keep hearing that this heat and humidity is unusual on the Cape and there are usually cooler off shore breezes. Can I trust this depiction since most weather services and people reporting the weather are quite often wrong. The temperature was 9 degrees above average and humidity 80%. It actually felt like I was back in a Florida summer and was panting away to catch a breath, fleeting that it was! It felt like there was so much “water” filling my lungs as we set out to walk a couple of miles on the Cape Cod Canal Trail. To my delight when we pulled into the parking lot, before me was a vertical lift railroad bridge, the second longest lift bridge in the United States. I imagine my readers have been hoping I would be over my bridge obsession. NOT! since having been introduced to this type of bridge when in Duluth in July and having come across several since (Duluth MN, Ranier WI, Hannock MI, Cape Cod MA,). There are according to Wikipedia about 85 of these bridges in the USA and something I have not ever had awareness about. I have walked across the Steel Bridge, a double-deck vertical-lift bridge across the Willamette River in Portland, Oregon, but had no clue of the type or history of this structure.

We headed up the Canal Path towards the Bourne Bridge and in spite of sweating profusely (clearly I am not acclimated to hot humid weather), the walk was enjoyable with vistas of the canal and maritime traffic. Walking into the cooling effect of the wind on our return was welcomed but more importantly, I was fully engaged in seeing the lift bridge train bed lowering. It lives and feels at home in the up position (it is in the down position for active roads) until the occasional train approaches and then lowers to ground level. I just find it fascinating to witness the lifting up and down of a roadway or railroad track.

You would think I would be totally satisfied with the days activities and my energy spent observing the bridge lowering adventure (obsessions take a lot of energy), but we went onto prowling the Dimmick Waterfront Scenic Vista, a delightful spot to view a wetland. I figured it was necessary to get my feet wet in a wetland so prowled through the reeds to get a better view of Cataumet area harbor. Lynne copped out having no need for wet muddy feet.

I was delighted to find that this part of the Cape has not only rocky coastline and marshes but also sandy beaches and picturesque harbors. I had been to Provincetown years ago and this area is much more peaceful and quiet. So an afternoon adventure involved all of us (includes puppy friends) touring around by the Megasnett Beach and Nye’s Neck harbor with a contrasting mix of GRAY weathered cottages and weathered cedar shake sided mansions, many of which were all decked out in fringes of purple hydrangeas.

August 3rd was another humid day (91% humidity) but not to be daunted and yearning for another drenching sweat adventure, Lynn and I were off on a hike on the Shining Sea Bike Path through the Great Sippewissett Marsh. I just love the sound of some of the Cape Cod names. My appetite was not thoroughly whetted (groan) by now but our tour of West Falmouth was less sweaty because we stayed in the car for a drive by of the Town Dock.

These of course are the highlights but lovely times were spent visiting friends, walking their neighborhood, enjoying meals together, and watching the Olympics AND loving their dogs

On August 4th, I bade farewell to friends and traveled to Philly to visit my son Nick for a few days. Fortunately I left early enough to not get caught in the notorious bottleneck that befalls many a driver using the Bourne Bridge (NOT a vertical lift bridge). As anticipated the I-95 adventure was not for the feint of heart. I was needing to be on high alert for the aggressive and erratic drivers, the sudden lane changes, the tailgaters, the road work, the choked traffic at the George Washington Bridge (this is a sub-plot in itself with the merging traffic, tolls, and the lane jockeys out to win the race to somewhere.) I again was flabbergasted by the New Jersey Turnpike and its 5 lanes. Seems last time I was on it, it was 2 lanes. Somehow I ended up exiting (don’t know how that happened) and heading into Newark airport. Ugh! I finally found a way to get back on but ended up going through the E-Zee Pass lane (I have no E-Zee pass) so had to pay the whole length of the turnpike fare even though I paid the first portion when I accidentally exited and then contact the authority when I get a bill for my travel blunder. Lesson learned. Get a receipt! Fortunately I have been to Philadelphia often enough that I wasn’t too flummoxed by getting to my son’s home in the Art Museum District (Hi Rocky). I spent several days there and this was mostly a time for rest and recuperation from the first month of cross country travel. Mostly enjoyed family time with Nick and Miriam (Luke was in Australia) , Nick’s garden exploits (I forgot to get a picture of his massive zucchinis) , puzzle working, city walks on decrepit sidewalks, and going to see the movie Inside Out 2 and being the only ones in the theatre. All of the above in addition to Carmel, the star of the show who loved sleeping with me every night. Can’t say I did much in the line of picture taking.

Murky Skies, Walking the Plank, and “The Loud Family”

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By now it is July 28th and I have been on the “open road” for one month, having left Oregon June 28th. On this day,  I headed for the final destination of this eastward journey, Acadia National Park on the Atlantic. It was time to be up and out, so began the  disassembly of  everything I had assembled two days ago.  I bade goodbye to the tiny bees though I discovered that three of them had hitchhiked with me hoping to start a new colony at Acadia.   I managed to sh0e one out of the car early on but the other two were having themselves a good time buzzing about.  I became less concerned when I realized they really had no interest in me.  Guess I must be quite malodorous  since showers are few and far between. This last campground charged $2.75 for 6 minutes and the shower was not one that I would feel clean from after I finished there. There will be no showers in Acadia. 

Acadia National Park,  the eastern terminus of this grand park tour/ driving adventure, is the 57th park I have visited of the 63 national parks. The quickest and most direct route from the White Mountains would be making my way via secondary roads to I-95.  My need to get there fast was less acute than my need to avoid not only interstates but particularly this interstate.  So Siri wound me through the countryside and small towns with a few  roller coaster roads  thrown in to make it an enjoyable and also fun drive.  Traffic was quite cooperative as there were no slow-pokeys to grouse about, it  moved at a decent clip but not like the world was going to end tomorrow and they need to get off of it.

I arrived at the Acadia National park on Mount Desert Island in Maine. At the Hulls Cove Visitors Center visitors center I discovered that the campground I was staying at was a 25 minute  drive  south on the other side of Bar Harbor. After collecting  ideas of things to do from the Park Ranger,  I headed to Blackwoods Campground.  It definitely lives up to its name as it is nestled in a dense forest of fir trees with minimal sun and is quite damp and humid.   Per usual, I drove in arcs trying to figure out the layout and where in the heck the signs were as to which arc I was on.  But at least I got it on the second go round.  Within minutes I knew the new “Loud Family” was kitty-corner from me. When writing this 4 hours later,  there has been no let-up.  I wonder if they stopped to eat or just took turns between bites to keep the uproar going. My inner guide kept encouraging me to say “Isn’t it lovely what a wonderful time they are having.” I was almost an insurmountable challenge. But in no time I was set up and ready to sit back and relax. One great surprise here was having cell phone service in the campground.  Guess we were close to Bar Harbor towers. So I had my “normal” Facetime visit with son Nick and grandson Luke which felt awesome in the dark woods holding a flashlight on my face.

As I but my head on my pillow I had thought perhaps the sounds of nature would lull me to sleep but instead I listened to a screaming baby down the way, a barking dog in the “block” behind, the chopping of wood for the campfire close by, the cars driving by returning those who prefer restaurant food or a bar to camp food or a beer around the campfire, the loud family having a whale of a time, a cadre of several adults having a rousing game with everyone cheering every minute or so.  I actually fell asleep.

I awoke and thought I might be hallucinating. It sounded like the patter of a light rain on the tent.  I figured it couldn’t be because when I went to bed I had checked the weather forecast and it was for the next two days being mostly sunny and perhaps rain by Wednesday. But it was in the low fifties and spattering rain off and on.  Of course last night was the first night I had left the chair and other things out since for the last few days when checking the forecast it was all positively on the spectrum of a few clouds and sun. I covered my wet chair with a rain cape and managed to enjoy a bit of coffee and oatmeal and decided I might as well be on my way to see the sights.  

The only way to drive the Cadillac Mountain road, One of the “premier” experiences at Acadia is through a reservation system ahead of time.  I had reserved a spot for  the 11:00 am hour.  I knew the prospects were pretty dim for feasting my eyes on some spectacular vista of the harbors and waters surrounding Acadia.  With time to spare, I drove down to Otter Point and though the craggy rocks of the coastline were visible, a shroud covered everything mid-treeline and above. 

But a part of me irrationally thought perhaps the fog would lift or there would at least be a brief break to witness what is describe as amazing vistas around.  NOT!  The fog was thicker, the rainy mist thicker, the wind stronger.  Not to be daunted I prowled around the rock faces, hiked the Cadillac Summit Loop Trail, bracing myself against the wind all the while, and then got in my car, removed my dripping raincoat, found a towel to dry my hair, and blasted the  the heater on high. I was not liking Acadia National park very much. 

Returning to the main visitors center, I could at least get my park stamp and managed to spend some money – an alternative activity when the weather sucks. I heard tell that Jordon Pond is one of the favored activities in the park.  After fixing a sandwich from my trunk kitchen,  I started driving toward there when my car made a hard left turn towards  Bar Harbor.  Well since Lady Spitfire headed that way, it  might be a good time to check it out .  Naturally there were throngs of people on this miserable day,  engaging in shopping therapy to assuage their disappointment in the weather.  I fortunately pulled into a full lot and I knew parking would be a problem as I had witnessed the mile long line of cars parking on the road into town.  I somehow had the good fortune of being almost up to a car whose tail lights went on and  was leaving so I jammed on the brakes and voila Lady Spitfire pulled right in and paid $2.00 for  30 minutes to walk about town.  

The harbor was quite picturesque as was the quite imposing Bar Harbor Inn.  Several blocks on the  main shopping  street hosted the classic tourist shops of souvenirs, fudge shops, restaurants gifts, graffiti donuts, jewelry, coffee shops and most with the twist of lobster, lobster claws, lobster rolls making it uniquely Maine. Thirty minutes was plenty of time to spend having no desire to spend so I headed on to Jordon Pond. 

Of course parking here was an issue as well as all the lots were full and I was about to head back to the campground when right on the main road someone was pulling out of a spot.  I was glad I am good at parallel parking.  So I headed to find out all about Jordan and his Pond.  I had not really had any thought about taking a hike but there was a lakeside trail I thought I might walk a piece.  I did have my walking stick but also my purse which I definitely prefer to leave in the car . Usually there are no shops along a wilderness trail to squander my dollars.  There was a family in front of me with the gramma who appeared to be in her 70’s so I thought I will turn around when they turn around.  Well they kept on going so I kept on going.  The trail was this weird boardwalk quite unlike any trail  I have encountered. Mostly two boards wide with every so often a short 4 board platform to allow for hikers coming the other way to pass.  By now I was committed and was quite enjoying this new challenge.

There were a lot of people going in both direction so I was passing some oncoming traffic, allowing faster hikers to pass me and of course getting lots of kudos for being out there negotiating this crazy walk that mostly the “oh so young” were doing. The boardwalk turned into a bit of a boulder climb and for a short while and then into a bit of a tripping root and  tripping rock trail. 

This was a loop trail so by the time I reached head of the pond (When does a pond become a lake?)  the trail had smoothed out into an ordinary well groom flat trail.  I am sure glad that I accidentally chose bearing left at the trailhead rather than right as the most difficult and challenging part was done on fresh legs. By the time I straggled  back to the restaurant and gift shops I was done so I headed directly to my car but quite proud that  I did the loop hike.

My brain was fogged and I turned the wrong way in trying to go back to camp so I did my drive in circles routine until I accidentally hit upon the road that led me home. Funny how I now consider my tent and my car my home wherever they might be parked.

Back at camp it was as dismal and damp as when I left. I thought then that I did not want to spend another night here between the weather and the high level of noise  and so made a reservation up in Ellsworth  for the following night. It would also make the next days drive a bit less of a distance but not having to break down in the morning easier.  With that decided, in an effort to cheer myself up I decided to build a fire which of course smoldered out pretty quickly.  All the kindling I had collected and laid out the previous day was wet.  But after dinner I decide to give it one last shot and had an old newspaper which I stuffed under the wood and it took off.  Success. So given the less than ideal weather it was nice to have a fire to cozy up to…but not too cozy. 

Since it had unexpectedly rained the night before though not hard enough to drip drip through the rain fly that is supposed to keep me dry, to be on the safe side I found my rain cape and draped it over the part of the tents mesh roof that would keep the rain off of my face and bedding at least. The third day at Acadia, though still damp, cloudy, and foggy over the water and mountains, after the morning rituals I decided I would like to take a nice hike before I headed up mid-afternoon to Ellsworth. A coastal hike on the rugged rocky headlands along the Atlantic would foot the bill. I headed back to Otter Point (no otters there) to hike to the Otter Cliffs  (still no otters) , a popular hiking trail of packed gravel with majestic views of coastline,  rocky cliffs, tide pools,  boulders.    Plenty of eye candy later and with the sun making a feeble attempt to shine down,

I returned to the camp for lunch and my get-a-way. The only regret I had about leaving was that the loud family had departed and there might have been a quieter night at the campground — but then again a new loud family might appear. After a stop to view the Tarn landscape, traveling on, I arrived in Ellsworth and happily roosted in a comfy room for the night though I did have to turn on the heat as the room was frigid.  The air conditioning had been set to 63 degrees. This is the first hotel I have ever stayed at that offered free cups of hot soup from a tureen in the afternoon…  the soup of the day was broccoli cheddar and was robust and delicious. 

How Did I End Up in England, Parle Vous Francais, and White Knuckling It…

uniquelytheo2 Comments

A new itinerary for a new day was to have Lady Spitfire with myself as guide tour Ottawa’s Parliament Hill and then head to Montreal. I have not encountered many opportunities to negotiate big city driving anymore, so I wan’t sure if this was the wisest plan but wise or not I was determined to see a bit of Canada’s capitol city. The first challenge was negotiating the plethora of construction areas on the Canadian cloverleafs to reach Parliament Hill, the prime (not Amazon) tourist destination. Getting there with my trusted navigator Siri was quite easy but where to park was the dilemma. Siri led me to a lot for government employees only. Since there was a plenitude of open spaces, I thought I would risk leaving the car there and take a short walk, snap a few pictures and then be on my way out of the city if I could not locate suitable parking afterwards. It worked well since I did not get ticketed or hauled off to an Ottowanian (I made this up) brig. I headed on through the very congested streets and marveled at the plethora of government building in the area. It was akin to the huge swath of buildings of our government in Washington DC but these all had a distinctive British Parliament and Buckingham Palace look . I wanted to wave to the King Charles but alas I guess he is quite far off across the ocean in London. With no available parking closer to leave Lady Spitfire while I ambled about Parliament Hill, I opted to head out of town.

It was only a 2-3 hour drive to Montreal where I had reserved a boutique hotel room in Centre de Ville and within walking distance of the Port Vieux. Upon crossing the border into Quebec, I felt like I was entering a very different world. All I could think of was French snobbery. Whereas in all the other provinces I had traveled through, all signs were in both English and French. They are primarily English speaking but a subset of the population speaks French. Here the language is French and almost all of the signage everywhere had only French. I found that annoying though I recollected enough of the French I studied for two years in college to read a good portion of them. Though I am feeling a bit softer about France since the Olympics, but having lived a summer in France during college, the elitism and attitudes of the locals was that of cultural superiority and exclusivity. This to me was reflected in almost all of the signage in the city. The roads into the city were mostly limited access but were in horrible condition and huge parts were under construction.. The drivers were not particularily yielding to mergers and of course they also loved to speed. But I managed to find my way to my hotel with my nerves frayed just a bit. I really liked this pension and the desk clerk was about the only pleasant and solicitous person I encountered during my stay. I unloaded my belongings and as there was no onsite parking I had to take Lady Spitfire to her “parkingtel” down the street.

After settling my stuff in my room it was time to commence my walking adventure of Old Montreal. My mission was to find a restaurant where I might get some out-of-this-world French onion soup.. According to the hotel operand, that traditional soup is quite out of favor here in French Quebec and the darling is poutine (it’s a mish-mash of french fries, cheese curds and brown gravy.) Poutine did not sound the least bit appetizing and since I had first been introduced to French onion soup in Montreal almost 60 years ago when I was on my honeymoon, I wanted to recreate a happy memory. He suggested Jardin Nelson down in the port district, about a one mile walk. So I was off to experience this historic portion of this city. Wisely, I selected a route with the least steep hills (so noted in iMaps). The weather was predicted to be clear but 5 minutes out there began several small spatters of rain. I finally arrived at my destination and only slightly damp. I was ecstatic to find French onion soup on the menu and order that followed by a hearty crepe. I definitely don’t have any clue of how it compared to the original but it was quite satisfying and I accomplished my mission.

The crowds in the area were plentiful, the feeling quite festive, and after a brief cruise around the old port I headed on back “uphill” to the hotel to enjoy a second night of comfort sleeping.

The next day when I was checking out at the desk, the clerk asked if I had my parking garage ticket and of course I did not as I always leave it under the visor in the car. So she instructed me on how to get into this very secure parking garage. Since the ticket is the way to unlock the door, I would need to head down the car entrance ramp to the garage and position myself under the sensor and flail my arms to activate it. I also took a brochure to add height to my short arms and body. Unfortunately I was not able to apply this technique because just as I approached a car was exiting the garage and I could just walk down the ramp. So much for a secure facility.

I was off around noon and was tightly gripping the steering wheel and gritting my teeth as I had to make my way through the city with its rude hurried drivers hell bent on not ever giving anyone a break. But I made it out with nary a dent and for the first 50 or so miles I thought I was on I-75 or I-95 during spring break when there is a solid stream of rushing cars heading out of town to a Florida beach party and then back home again at top speed. As I finally reached the point where I headed south toward Vermont, the traffic magically disappeared. Guess these Quebecans were all traveling east to destination that was beckoning their holiday spirit and trying to maximize the time at their destination. The rest of the drive to Dolly Copp campground, located at the base of Mt. Washington in the White Mountains of New Hampshire was smooth and a non- event.

Once there and with no one camped out on my reserved site, I began the chore of drying everything out from the drenching storms at the last camp a couple days ago. I was even more certain that my choice to bail on Fitzroy of Canada was right, as even though the rain had diminished to a light drizzle and, given the real mess of mud and debris on the tent and the infamous leaking rain fly needing repair and still oozing water, I would probably have sat down in one of puddles in the campsite and cried. At least here it was dry, sunny and about 72 degrees with very few airborne pest at the campsite. The main insect to watch out for was tiny buzzing bees but they were mostly attract to my food and not me. Guess no sweetness oozing out of me. But the hot hood of the car did wonders on the rainfly and with the muddy underside the tent laid up over the picnic table I accomplished my household chores in no time.

I have come to the realization that every campground has to have a loud family. So tonight I have the good fortune to be on a site next to “the loud family” that is having their yearly reunion of all the sibs and cousins. They are having a marvelous time and sharing their celebratory mood with a large swath of the camp ground around them. But I recall a day when we might have been dubbed the loud family by some others when our family and/or friends gathered, so I just smile and comment on how wonderful it is to be able to be together. I was in my tent reading and wondering when the raucousness would end but at almost exactly 10:00 it went silent. I wasn’t aware until the morrow that the quiet hours bean at 10:00 pm.

After a good nights sleep, coffee and breakfast I planned to head down to drive the Mt. Washington Summit Road.  Mt. Washington is New Englands’s highest peak (6,288ft) and is famous and infamous for its  weather patterns that can change drastically.  Unprepared hikers have suffered horrible fates for not being prepared . The Mt. Washington Auto Road is steep and narrow with precipitous drop offs, NO guard rails and one could smoke their brakes on the decent. I have always enjoyed driving curvy mountainous roads but this one is in a class by itself.  The first chapter of this driving drama was the price tag.  I actually paid $45.00 to  terrify myself but having read so many gruesome tales about Mt. Washington, I was willing to fork it over. With the hundreds who drove this road today, you would think they could afford a guard rail or two… but then it would definitely temper the utter terror of driving it and the “war story” to tell afterwards. The price tag did give me pause to think about whether I wanted to and I am sure it keeps the number of vehicles at more manageable levels. Did  I really want to do this. Of course. 

To add to the drama of driving it, even at 11:00 am there was a steady stream of cars descending and though most drivers do have a sense of the width and position of their cars on the road, there are those terrified few who prefer to err on the side of caution, hugging the middle of the road to avoid the ditch on the inside edge but inadvertently forcing you to almost tilt off the steep precipice on the valley side. So I tensely did the 7 mile drive and at points certainly asked myself why I thought this was a good idea? But once at the top I immediately pulled into the first spot in lower parking lot and dried my sweaty palms.

I was determined to spend a fair amount of time up there (to get my moneys worth???). No quick in, snap a picture, and then out. The top of Mt. Washington held not only several weather related installations but it is also a bit of a tourist mecca with tourist information facilities, a large viewing platform, a couple of souvenir shops, a food “emporium” . I found it cluttered, utilitarian and industrial in appearance. Particularly interesting was seeing the buildings “tied” down. As with many mountain valleys, especially in the summer, the high humidity levels result in a foggy or hazy effect and thus reduced visibility of the valleys. This is no natural and untouched mountaintop.

Of course, I had to wait in line to get the “obligatory” picture of me at the Mt. Washington summit sign. Again, to keep the crowds down it was a rocky spot to negotiate and keep it a “real” summit it was definitely not an improved trail to get the last 50 feet. But it was fun watching people, talking to some other adventurers, and deciding I did not need to but any kind of decal or t-shirt to mark the occasion.

I could also forgo the cafeteria like food line. It was after 1:00 by now and often I will fix my lunch and eat it while driving. NOT TODAY. Though I could see people were waiting for parking spots, I calmly sat there and ate, congratulating myself for getting out early before the even larger throngs ascended. I steeled myself for the drive down and actually found it much “easier” that traveling up. I knew enough not to ride my brakes and leave a smoke trail to follow and could not forget it since all the way down there were signs at frequent interval to pull over and let ones brake cool. Since I mostly pumped them and used some engine braking I left no trail of smoke or breadcrumbs.

Before heading back to visit Dolly I drove a bit farther south to visit the town of Jackson. It is home to “Wentworth” and that whole area was what I picture classically New England. But tired of driving, I headed back to the campground. I wanted time to sit back and relax, have dinner, read etc. and do a bit of organization to head to Maine tomorrow. It was a very quiet afternoon amnd evening next door. The “Loud Family” was nowhere to be seen or heard and yet their cars and equipment were still there. Needless to say it was a very tranquil evening.