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We stopped in town for a little mid-morning bagel and drink, picked up some travel brochures, and planned our next move. As we headed in the general direction of Bangor, Sara came up with a great idea. “I hear the sunrises are fantastic in Acadia National Park,” she said. Sounded good to us, and it was right next to the town of Bar Harbor, a great place for tourists like us. Using Debi’s cell phone, Sara leafed through the brochures and started calling quaint little motels and inns for availability and price. “No vacancy”, “Too expensive”, until she finally reached one with possibilities: Edgewater Cabins, some right on Frenchman’s Bay. Edgewater Cabins At this point, Sara tactfully informed us that we needed two bedrooms. “I’m not sleeping with you two any more,” she announced. “Mom, you moan in your sleep and Aunt Kathy snores.”
“Did you notice me moaning?” Debi asked me innocently.
“Well, only a bit,” I replied, “but it didn’t keep me awake. How about me snoring?”
“A little,” she admitted, “but hardly enough to mention.”
Now, I have to admit that this didn’t come as a complete surprise to me, though it’s not a habit I like to own up to. But this is the “Tell All, No Holds Barred, Complete Ultramom Experience” so if you can’t take this dispelling of UltraMom, vision of perfection, you’d better stop reading right now. I recall a time when I was, as a mother-helper, accompanying my son, Jim and his classmates on a school fieldtrip. On the return trip, I got a little dozy, and was jarred awake by a sudden jolt of the bus. “Gee Mom,” enthusiastically said my 7 yr old son, who was my seatmate, “you were really snoring! Everyone was turning around to look at you!” I tried to slide under the bus seat while whispering, “Why didn’t you wake Mommy up, Honey?” “Well, you were sleeping so good!” he announced. “If that happens again, just give Mommy a little shake, ok?” Another time, not too long ago, we were at a family wedding in Utah, and, as we had been wont to do during vacations, UltraDad and I shared one queen-sized bed, and Jim and Johnny shared the other. I awoke the next morning to find Johnny missing and a note on the bathroom door, DO NOT DISTURB. When he finally emerged from the bathroom, after we had all meekly crept downstairs to use the facilities, he blearily informed us that he had forgotten his earplugs, and none of the service stations within walking distance, open at 12:00 at night, sold them. Apparently, both UltraDad and I had been snoring with great gusto. Jim can pretty much sleep through anything, but Johnny has always been a delicate little chap.
Now, I don’t think Debi has any stories as good as these to tell, but I do know that she was not unaware of her unusual habit of emitting haunting moaning sounds while in the deepest of sleep. In any case, Sara got her separate bedrooms, and we rented, for two nights, the lower floor of a perfectly lovely cottage, right on the bay, complete with kitchen, fireplace, TV and living room, porch, a king-sized bed in the sitting room, and a queen-sized one in a separate bedroom. I believe some elephants who were inclined to stay up late and get up very early were on the floor above us. As Debi and I preferred not to sleep in the large, open area, we shared the queen sized bed and Sara had the king sized to herself.

Our cabin on the bay

We asked the friendly proprietor to recommend an eating establishment, and, without hesitation he recommended “The Chatroom”. “The Chatroom?” we repeated. “No, the Chatroom.” Finally we asked him to spell it: C-H-A-R-T-R-O-O-M. We heard the restaurant mentioned several more times during our stay, and the locals always pronounced it the same way. We had an option to be seated in an enclosed outdoor area where we could have a view of the bay. We took it, but it was too dark to see the ocean, and Debi kept getting dripped on. We each had a salad, and each a different kind of soup. OK, here’s your logic problem. The writer of this column did NOT have the onion soup. The youngest member of the group had the clam chowder. Lobster Bisque was the other type of soup ordered. So, how many were going to St. Ives? We also shared an order of steamer clams, but they were pretty awful, so we drowned our taste buds in dessert. I had to ask the waitress 3 times for more water, and on the whole, we were not impressed.
Back in our room, it was time for baseball. Sara, and especially Debi, are big baseball fans, and I enjoy it if I’m watching it if I’m with others who do. The funny thing was that each night it was on, I was usually the only one awake to see the end of the game, which often involved some spectacular or controversial plays.
It was Sara’s job to awaken us in time to see the promised spectacular sunrise. Did you know that Acadia Park is the first place in the United States to see the sun rise? It only beats a couple of other places in Maine by 15 seconds or so, but first is first. When we awoke and the clock said 7:00, I knew we had missed it. But Sara assured us that it had been too cloudy and rainy to see it anyway, and judging by the current sky, I was inclined to believe her. Having had my bath the previous evening, I went exploring around the bay while my cabinmates got ready. It was amazing to think that I was seeing the Atlantic Ocean. I saw some lobster traps piled up near some boats a little way along. Later I read a story (local folklore?) about a woman who was really concerned about her friend moving to Maine. She had read that a lot of people had lobster traps, and wanted to know if it was true that the lobsters were so thick that they came right into people’s houses and they had to set traps for them. Funny, huh?

To be continued………….(probably forever)

Sara and Jason had somehow caught a ride to Portland and they met us at the depot. It was my first time to meet Jason, and I found him outgoing and charming, but I gotta tell you that those kids smelled bad; like armpit or wearing the same unwashed clothing for many days, as it turns out they had. They didn’t even realize how bad they smelled, and we would become a bit more used to it as we joined the ranks of the unlaundered. When you are a thru hiker, you carry everything you need to live in your pack. As Bill Bryson’s friend Katz discovered, those packs can get a bit heavy when you are carrying them for 15-20 miles a day. So, those who have been doing it for a while learn to pare down, including extra clothes, and laundry opportunities can be few and far between.
There had been a bit of a discussion about how we were going to find transport back to the trail, a ride of some 3-4 hours, so it was decided that we would rent a car in Portland, Maine. That turned out to be one of the wisest moves of the whole trip. The rental car clerk informed us that our car was one of the bigger ones, and was kind of yellow, but not really yellow. It turned out to be a two door and was screaming yellow. But the back seat (my domain) was very comfortable and we could always find the car in a parking lot.

Debi & Sara in front of our big, slightly yellow rental car

Now, Debi and I had thought we were going to be one of those aforementioned thru hikers, at least for 5 or 6 days. So, we had pared down our packs to the bare minimum, and left some items that, in hindsight, it would have been pretty nice to have. Topping this “wish list” , were our digital cameras. We eventually bought 4 of those lightweight little disposable ones, but were pretty disappointed in the picture quality. They definitely did not do justice to the spectacular Maine fall colors. We also had no shampoo, comb, curling iron or blow dryer (yeah, really roughing it), and it got to the point where another shirt would have been rather a nice thing to have, but on the whole, it was kind of liberating: no agonizing decisions on what to wear that day. “I think I’ll wear the trail pants, trail shirt, trail socks and shoes, fleece and jacket.” I memorized it after a couple of days. No make-up or hair fixing. If only I could pare my everyday wardrobe and lifestyle down so handily! Of course, if we had known we would have the car, we would have augmented our packing accordingly.
Sara, Jason and Ricky ( for a reason I never did find out, they called their threesome the “Girl Scouts”) had, for a while, been hiking with some other guys they had met along the trail. There is really a whole culture, community and vocabulary amongst the AT hikers. On the whole, they are, like the “Girl Scouts” , in their 20’s and inbetween college and career. There are trail books at some of the shelters and landmarks for hikers to record observations, thoughts and advice; and necessarily they will meet other hikers at approved shelters and hostels, so they get know quite a few of the others after a fashion Some they were with off and on, but there were several who had become a permanent part of their trail “family.” We would come to know them also, and they always made us feel welcome and comfortable; never like we were in the way or like two middle-aged (though very youthful and attractive, mind you,) women whose company was to be endured.

Honey and the K-9 Chuck Wagon

We drove the car to a charming little hostel in Rangely, Maine where the group was staying that night. This area of Maine strongly reminded me of the areas of Oregon we drove through on our last vacation, just a few miles in from the coast. It was wooded and picturesque with windy roads, and, while we were there, eternally raining. In the hostel, there were several rooms with bunks, a bathroom, and breakfast provided next morning. I guess this was one of the nicer hostels they had stayed in, but a bit spendy at $20 each. Bob, the elderly proprietor, was charming, solicitous, and talkative.
The boys who had hiked that day: Ricky, Jay, Pace and Blue Phoenix (he was only with the others that one night, and I never did learn his real name) had quite a tale to tell. They had never seen the trail like this; never hiked in such conditions. It turns out that the info naming Maine as the toughest part of the trail was correct. There were several rivers to cross, and due to the unrelenting, uncharacteristic rain, they were running pretty high and wild. But the part we found hard to believe was that the water ran even higher on parts of the trail than in the rivers; waist deep in many cases, and they all swore it was true. Honey often had to swim for it. Sara had told us how Jay always hiked in his “Crocs”, kind of insubstantial rubber-plastic shoes with a heel strap.http://www.nofeargear.com/nofear/dept.asp?dept_id=6072&ad_id=ADW&key_id=crocs&”>croc footwear He joked that his trail shoe was the Croc with the heel strap down, and his camp shoe was the Croc with the heel strap up. Jay had worn out many pairs of Crocs on the trail, and had even contacted the company with the complaint that the shoes weren’t holding up, but they replied that the shoes really weren’t designed for trail hiking, so no replacements. Well, that day, with all of that wading, Jay was forced to wear his hiking shoes! I thought that was kind of funny, since “Croc” sounds like a water shoe, but he couldn’t wear them hiking in the water….......
The guys were exhausted, but exhilarated to have come through such hardships and to have an audience to wow. We cautiously advanced our trail names of choice, but were “shot down”. We would be given appropriate trail names at a later date, we were informed, if and when we had “earned” them. Hmph.

Getting ready for a big day’s hike (some of us are only pretending)
Jason, Debi, Ricky, UltraMom, Blue Phoenix, Pace, Honey and Jay

The girls are getting ready for an adventure of their own

..........to be continued….......