The Road to Maine

My dad called me a few weeks ago and said "What are you doing the first week of february?" I told him that I wasn't doing anything, and so I volunteered myself to help him move (once again, and finally) to maine. Preparations took place in denver, and at 4:00 a.m. on February 1, we departed.


The sun had barely risen, and we were already out of colorado.

Shortly into Kansas, we were confronted by a mysterious freezing mist.

This unassuming spot is actually the geographic center of the United States!

This was the one piece of road kitsch that we saw. It was just outside of Santa Claus, Indiana.

This is Simponville's water tower which is part of the West Shelby water district. Coincidence? I think not.

My parent's humble abode in maine.

This is an abandoned fire tower on Mt. Pisgah.

The view from the firetower.

This is a maine pizza. It has more than a passing resemblance to my mother's homemade pizza. Universal resonance? I think so.

This is what is called a "Whoopie Pie." Marshmellow sandwiched in raw tasting dough. Absolutely disgusting.

We stayed on the interstates the whole time because we had a long, long trailer, and neither my dad or me could back it up with any skill. As a result, we saw less kitsch than one might hope, but we also made it there very, very quickly. We had to stop every 200 miles or so because my dad's truck has a modest gas tank, and an immodest appetite for fuel. I was pretty comfortable with that range though, and welcomed the opportunity to stretch my legs. It was a good trip, and I returned with a fresh supply of Moxie and blueberry honey.