Started out 8:30 a.m.
Arrived: 4:20 p.m.
295.7 Miles
32.6 mpg
Gas: 25.00
As I was saying my trip back to America started out on a bad note. It was rainy, it was dark, it was dreary. It was Canada! (haha).
The way out of town from “Mount Royal” (thanks Gail, for that! I laughed about that a lot), was a maze of confusion. Honestly, with all my maps, GPS and guidance, I was still lost. Luck was on my side, however. I somehow just “happened” into the right highway exit…. And ended up on the right highway out of town. What a stroke of luck!!!
I was really laughing at myself how I managed to land like a cat on my intended targer. Whew!
I find it interesting that the closer I got to the US border, the clearer the weather. When I finally reached the Border station at a little town in Vermont, it was finally sunny and cool. The name of the place was appropriately called “Rock Island”.
The Border guard was much more agreeable on the way in, than the frosty lady in Michigan… He asked me for my Passport, and how long I was in Canada. He opened the tailgate to my car, to check for contraband. Then he handed me back my passport and said, “I hope you have a pleasant trip and thank you.” Wow. What a difference a Country makes.
Well, just over the border was a small Midwestern-ish town named “Derby” where I stopped for a good long time at a McD’s for a real US breakfast. I spent a good hour, reading my book and feeling better about finally coming back to my home in America.
Well, I girded myself for the quick race across three states and hoped that my next destination might be a little easier on my nerves. Well, it was a yes. And it was a no. The scenery in Vermont and New Hampshire were amazing. The colors on the trees are just now turning. Reds, yellows and lush, dark greens… along with sloping hillsides made fresh from the days of rain. So many post card pictures in the making!
Well, I decided that I had enough of crowded interstates with people either passing me like I was standing still or the bumper to bumper dance we’ve all become accustomed to on big highways. So I thought I would take a few side roads from Eastern Vermont and through New Hampshire.
Every time I think of New Hampshire, I think of that old black and white move I have called “The Devil and Daniel Webster”… Where only good NEW HAMPshire farm men grow good NEW HAMPshire wheat, Mary! It’s easy to imagine the first farmers and settlers that came here were devout believers in hard work, freedom, church and families. Not much has changed in 250 years, which I can tell by some of the old, old farmlands…
I entered New Hampshire without much fanfare, as I was traveling on a old country road that led me past “The Presidential Mountain Range”. I didn’t even know about it… but steeped in the low hanging clouds you could see Mount Washington, Adams and Eisenhower. It took me a while to recognize where I’ve heard of these mountains recently. This is the mountain range where several people, hiking have been murdered and left for dead. The beauty and the loneliness of the mountains in the distance, only gave me a chill as I remembered this.
I stopped in a tiny little burg just at the base of the mountains called Gorham for some gas and a soda… stopped at the “Faith Gas Station and grocery store” on the main drag. The very pretty young lady behind the counter (you paid for your groceries and gas at the same place), asked me for the “Pre-pay” amount. I told her ten dollars. Perhaps it was just that I was tired, but it seemed to me that she used both her hands to give me my change, and gave me a smile that could like up the mountainside. Wow.
As I headed out, I was opening the door for an elderly man that was carrying some supplies home. He thank me, and notice my car. He said, “oh, that’s a pretty classy looking car you got there. What is that called?”
We struck up a friendly conversation about cars and such… and I noticed he had one bad eye. He was probably 80 if not more so, but he was very friendly. He asked me where I was from. I told him, Wisconsin… land of cows and beer and Packers. He laughed and said, “Have you ever been to a little place up north called Antigo?”
Could have knocked me over with a feather. I said, yes… I had just been there weeks earlier. I told him that my folks used to take me fishing every summer on a little place called “Pickeral Lake”….and I’ll be danged if he didn’t know of the place! Well, we stood and talked for a good half an hour about the old north woods and fishing for “Pike” (the actual name for Pickerals’). Funny thing about angles, sometimes they look like old men.
Well, I headed East, into Maine… and then finally South toward the coast. Now, the stretches of roads in Maine where beautiful… EXCEPT.. it was obvious they were doing some major renovations on the winding highways there. And, they don’t fool around brother. Not like here, where they may close one side of the road.. no no no.. they literally take the road away, blast parts of the hills and you are traveling on dirt, mud, sand, rutted roads….bumper to bumper… at 3mph for stretches of 20 miles or more.
If my suspension is not wrecked before…it certainly is now.
The way into Portland was not as bad as I thought it would be, as I obviously snuck in from the rear, avoiding any of the really busy toll roads.
I found my motel easily and quickly, with little or no troubles at all. I was right downtown in old town Portland, Maine… and I had finally managed to take my car and myself from Coast to Coast.
Here, finally was the Atlantic Ocean! Ahoy!!!
Arrived: 4:20 p.m.
295.7 Miles
32.6 mpg
Gas: 25.00
As I was saying my trip back to America started out on a bad note. It was rainy, it was dark, it was dreary. It was Canada! (haha).
The way out of town from “Mount Royal” (thanks Gail, for that! I laughed about that a lot), was a maze of confusion. Honestly, with all my maps, GPS and guidance, I was still lost. Luck was on my side, however. I somehow just “happened” into the right highway exit…. And ended up on the right highway out of town. What a stroke of luck!!!
I was really laughing at myself how I managed to land like a cat on my intended targer. Whew!
I find it interesting that the closer I got to the US border, the clearer the weather. When I finally reached the Border station at a little town in Vermont, it was finally sunny and cool. The name of the place was appropriately called “Rock Island”.
The Border guard was much more agreeable on the way in, than the frosty lady in Michigan… He asked me for my Passport, and how long I was in Canada. He opened the tailgate to my car, to check for contraband. Then he handed me back my passport and said, “I hope you have a pleasant trip and thank you.” Wow. What a difference a Country makes.
Well, just over the border was a small Midwestern-ish town named “Derby” where I stopped for a good long time at a McD’s for a real US breakfast. I spent a good hour, reading my book and feeling better about finally coming back to my home in America.
Well, I girded myself for the quick race across three states and hoped that my next destination might be a little easier on my nerves. Well, it was a yes. And it was a no. The scenery in Vermont and New Hampshire were amazing. The colors on the trees are just now turning. Reds, yellows and lush, dark greens… along with sloping hillsides made fresh from the days of rain. So many post card pictures in the making!
Well, I decided that I had enough of crowded interstates with people either passing me like I was standing still or the bumper to bumper dance we’ve all become accustomed to on big highways. So I thought I would take a few side roads from Eastern Vermont and through New Hampshire.
Every time I think of New Hampshire, I think of that old black and white move I have called “The Devil and Daniel Webster”… Where only good NEW HAMPshire farm men grow good NEW HAMPshire wheat, Mary! It’s easy to imagine the first farmers and settlers that came here were devout believers in hard work, freedom, church and families. Not much has changed in 250 years, which I can tell by some of the old, old farmlands…
I entered New Hampshire without much fanfare, as I was traveling on a old country road that led me past “The Presidential Mountain Range”. I didn’t even know about it… but steeped in the low hanging clouds you could see Mount Washington, Adams and Eisenhower. It took me a while to recognize where I’ve heard of these mountains recently. This is the mountain range where several people, hiking have been murdered and left for dead. The beauty and the loneliness of the mountains in the distance, only gave me a chill as I remembered this.
I stopped in a tiny little burg just at the base of the mountains called Gorham for some gas and a soda… stopped at the “Faith Gas Station and grocery store” on the main drag. The very pretty young lady behind the counter (you paid for your groceries and gas at the same place), asked me for the “Pre-pay” amount. I told her ten dollars. Perhaps it was just that I was tired, but it seemed to me that she used both her hands to give me my change, and gave me a smile that could like up the mountainside. Wow.
As I headed out, I was opening the door for an elderly man that was carrying some supplies home. He thank me, and notice my car. He said, “oh, that’s a pretty classy looking car you got there. What is that called?”
We struck up a friendly conversation about cars and such… and I noticed he had one bad eye. He was probably 80 if not more so, but he was very friendly. He asked me where I was from. I told him, Wisconsin… land of cows and beer and Packers. He laughed and said, “Have you ever been to a little place up north called Antigo?”
Could have knocked me over with a feather. I said, yes… I had just been there weeks earlier. I told him that my folks used to take me fishing every summer on a little place called “Pickeral Lake”….and I’ll be danged if he didn’t know of the place! Well, we stood and talked for a good half an hour about the old north woods and fishing for “Pike” (the actual name for Pickerals’). Funny thing about angles, sometimes they look like old men.
Well, I headed East, into Maine… and then finally South toward the coast. Now, the stretches of roads in Maine where beautiful… EXCEPT.. it was obvious they were doing some major renovations on the winding highways there. And, they don’t fool around brother. Not like here, where they may close one side of the road.. no no no.. they literally take the road away, blast parts of the hills and you are traveling on dirt, mud, sand, rutted roads….bumper to bumper… at 3mph for stretches of 20 miles or more.
If my suspension is not wrecked before…it certainly is now.
The way into Portland was not as bad as I thought it would be, as I obviously snuck in from the rear, avoiding any of the really busy toll roads.
I found my motel easily and quickly, with little or no troubles at all. I was right downtown in old town Portland, Maine… and I had finally managed to take my car and myself from Coast to Coast.
Here, finally was the Atlantic Ocean! Ahoy!!!
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