Day 11: Wednesday, June 25, 2003

I slept until 10 AM in Bangor because I had been up late the night before. Once awake, I showered, packed the bike, and set out to find Borders Books and Music at the Bangor Mall. Directions from the desk clerk at the hotel were good, and I spent an hour or so at Borders having coffee and a bite for breakfast and doing emails.

I then set out for Cherryfield, Maine, about a hundred miles by road, to visit my dad. On the way, I took a side trip from Ellsworth, ME, out to Mt. Desert Island (Acadia National Park) and Bar Harbor. Bar Harbor was the usual summer tourist mess, so I didn't spend much time there beyond the twenty minutes I sat in traffic on the main street. In Acadia I found some other tourists to take my picture and rode part of the loop road. I was running short on fuel, though, so I backtracked before doing the entire loop. Before leaving the park, I stopped at the information center and picked up a brochure and some advice on hiking trails. I had the idea I might come back on Thursday and do a short 5-6 mile hike.

Heading back to the mainland, however, I encountered a horrendous five-mile traffic backup. Although I imagined there was construction or an accident, when I got to the end of it after over an hour's delay, I found the entire backup was caused by one poorly timed traffic light in Ellsworth. Unbelievable! How much wasted time, as well as wasted fuel and pollution, one bureacratic screw-up can create!

As a result of this delay, it was almost 7 PM when I finally arrived at my dad's house. Since his address is a simple rural-route address with no street number, this was not going to help me find his place. However, I carried with me two snapshots he had sent a year before showing the coast highway at the position of his driveway, one looking north and one looking south. As I rode US Route 1 north toward Cherryfield, I compared the scenery to my recollection of the two photographs. Eventually I came upon the recognizable scene, and there was my dad's drive and house, just as I had anticipated.

My dad came out to greet me as I parked my bike, and his two dogs provided a rousing welcome.

My dad moved from Michigan to Maine on his own two years ago, shortly after my mother passed away. He is building this house himself, mostly with his own hands -- although he purchased a prefabricated garage and had that assembled by others. I was quite amazed. I asked him if he had framed up the walls of the two-story house himself. He said yes. I asked if he had anyone help him tilt up the walls and fasten them in place. He said no, he had done it all himself and attached the roof. Then he hired a roofing contractor to install the shingles. My dad was building a similar house in a sky park in Lake City, Michigan, which he sold before moving to Maine. Building his house is what he does. Up until a few years ago, he was also piloting his own airplanes and building some ultralight planes that never got to the flying stage. When he purchased 18 acres of land here on the coast of Maine, he told me he thought there might be room for a runway for his airplanes. I think he has given up that idea. He recently sold his partially constructed planes to a former neighbor in Michigan.

Almost immediately I pulled my bike into his garage, unloaded a few things I needed to freshen up, and we went to dinner at a restaurant on the coast highway in Millbridge, the next town south. My dad drove us in his new Honda CRV. He is an amazingly aware and skillful driver for his age, 87 years. I do not feel uncomfortable riding with him, which is more than I can say for some younger acquaintances.

I slept at my dad's house. The house is unfinished, rough inside and out. He had an extra mattress, but no extra bedclothes. I used my down sleeping bag. The dogs were consigned to sleeping quarters under the stairway and were quiet all night. Although we turned in about 9:30 PM, it took me and hour or so to fall asleep. But then I slept well until six in the morning.