I made it!

Today I rolled up to the Canadian border at Calais, ME ....
And found that Peter was being detained at the security office and needed me to corroborate his story.  He had inadvertently walked over the border into Canada without his passport...

But the main thing is - I finished the East Coast!  2600 miles in 47 days.  I'm tired and ready to be done.

And Maine is beautiful!

Strange sights, part 3

Wild Blueberry Land

The watch repair mascot is a dinosaur?

More interesting people

We've found some interesting folks to talk to in the North, too.

A three-year-old chased her puppy into our campsite in Bangor and asked, "What's your name?"  I told her and she said "Well, what's his name?" I said Peter, and she said, "Oh! Like Peter Rabbit?"  I said, "No, like Peter Wolfe."  She stopped talking.

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I stopped at an intersection when I was riding a bike trail in New Jersey and another cyclist asked which way I was going.  When I pointed to the trail, he said, "You should go this way.  It's much nicer. It's a really great trail."  I said, "Too bad.  That path won't take me where I want to go."  He said, "That's the trouble today.  People don't take the time to try a new path.  Everyone's always in a hurry."

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Peter tells everyone about my trip. Not everyone seems appreciative, though.  A campground clerk in New Hampshire listened and then said, "I knew a gal who rode a bike from somewhere in California to New York.  Yeah, there was something wrong with her."

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I found a kiosk on the Greenway Trail when I got to Maine, and was looking for a map to the next section.  There was a woman there looking at the map with her son.  I pointed to the sign that said "Connecting Maine to Key West" and said, "I just rode here from Key West." She smiled and said, "Well, you sure picked a nice day for it!"

Just a few days from the end

Yesterday I rolled into Maine!

So we are in Maine and I have about 250 miles to Calais, which we found out they pronounce "kal-us".

I can't believe there are only a few days of riding left.

Today we ate the famous New England lobster roll and shrimp cocktail at a lobster shack.  It was great!

Then we had Maine blueberry pie.  Also great.

Just when it couldn't get worse....

Well, the good news is that we got to stay in the dorms at the Coast Guard Academy last night, and today I rode into Rhode Island.

The interesting news is that I evidently have the Stephen King version of Google Maps.  The Google lady directed me to a bike trail that is actually a creek bed.

Oh, it starts out sort of looking like a bike trail.  And there is a quaint custom we've discovered in the North Eastern states - street signs are an unnecessary luxury reserved for tourist areas.

So.  Google Lady says to take something called "New London Turnpike" -  and I think, "well, that sounds fancy."  I had come to a fork in the road with a dirt path between the two road options.  No signs anywhere and she says "Continue on New London Turnpike."

I tried each of the roads and each time she said "Make a u-turn and continue on New London Turnpike."  So I went down what I thought must be a bike trail.

The path was in the middle of a dense forest and seemed flat at first.  Pretty soon I came to a wide boggy spot.  It was too wide to ride around.  I thought, "well, if it doesn't get any worse than this...."

After carrying the bike around two more black, stinky ponds in the road, I was committed.  Or maybe I should have gotten committed.

The trail became a dry creek bed featuring deep sand in the center and large rocks on the edges.  I thought about turning back and remembered the black ponds I'd have to get around.

And- huge mosquitos were buzzing in my face.  There were biting flies and these weird moths kept landing on me.  But I had slathered on the insect repellant.
So I carried and pushed the bike over the impassable terrain.

Then it started to get steep.  I listened for banjo music and tried to get Google lady to tell me how much farther to a road.  It showed a crossing at a quarter mile.  Ok I can do anything for a quarter of a mile.

So I sweated on as the dry creek bed became an active creek.  The "road "  Google showed I was coming to turned out to be another path crossing the creek. Like a deer path.  There weren't any bike tire marks anywhere. The map showed I had to push on for two more miles. Uh, ok I can do anything for TWO miles.

The only sounds I could hear were furtive rustlings in the bushes.  And, of course the mosquitos buzzing in my face. Each time I came to a flatter spot I tried to ride to move faster.  I slipped and felt the front sprocket hit the back of my leg.  I noticed my sock felt wet.  But I didn't stop. I wanted photos, but was afraid I was about to happen upon Clem and Homer's secret spot.  I kept moving.

I started thinking about how to escape toothless hillbillies.  I had a swiss army knife.  Go for the groin.  I was reviewing Sandra Bullock's self defense advice from Miss Congeniality.  I was not going to wake up in the morning chained to a rusty still in the woods.

And I came out on a paved path!  I pulled the bike over the last berm and saw stenciled signs at the opening to the forest that said "Enter at own risk".

I jumped on and started riding, feeling relieved, as a mangy old dog came racing out of nowhere. It snarled and barked and jumped on me while I yelled for it to go home.  It seemed like it was right at home alright.

Growling and scrabbling, it actually bit my shoe!   I poured it on and noticed I was going 20 mph!  I didn't stop till I came to a marked street about a mile farther.

Peter miraculously navigated his way to my uncharted position in "Butcher Holler" and tended to my bleeding leg and hugged me. And gave me a cookie.

I set off again to get the last 20 miles to Providence, RI before dark.  Just as Peter drove away, it started sprinkling and I got a flat tire.

So I quit for the day.
And that's the most drama for the entire trip.

Urban ratmaze

New Jersey was a fright.  Upon crossing the Delaware River from Pennsylvania, I was in the Trenton area and it was dismal.

I didn't stop to take pictures until I reached Princeton.  Luckily it was Fathers Day, so it seemed like the zombies were in a good mood. I was anxious the whole time.

Trenton was rundown and boarded up and dirty.  There were thugs roaming the streets with rap music blaring.

With my skin-tight biking underwear and dorky helmet, I fit right in.

It was also pouring rain.  So, after 30 miles of that, Peter picked me up in Elizabeth, NJ and we drove to his sister Gayle's.

After a too-short visit, we left in the morning, back to Elizabeth and I rode to Newark and then to Staten Island and to the ferry terminal, where we found out that cars can't go on the ferry any more.


We jumped back in the van and drove around to Battery Park ferry terminal where I started riding the Hudson river greenway trail.  It was beautiful and surprising.

Pennsylvania, Baby!

Too many hills!  I'm climbing and climbing and there are too many ups and downs.  It's too much.

It's big time farm land and Amish horse carts.  And no, they don't clean up after them.

There are woodchucks busy doing things on the side of the road.  I didn't know what they were but I looked up wildlife of Northern Maryland the first time I saw one. They look like gophers, but three times as big.  I was worried about radiation.

The roads are narrow and I have to pull over to let cars go by.  Luckily, there isn't a lot of traffic.  Like, ever.

Yesterday I came through a little town that was hosting the Budweiser Clydesdales.  I thought it was a parade for me.  But it wasn't.