Bicycling Maine (5) - Planning a No Itinerary Trip

Sunday Morning, May 24, 2015

Even though we like to travel with no set agenda, we still try to formulate a plan for each day, taking into consideration how far we feel like riding and where we might be able to spend the night. Because at the end of the day, it’s nice to be able to clean up, have something to eat, and have a safe and somewhat comfortable place to sleep. (As much as I enjoy winging it when I travel, I have so far managed to avoid having to throw my sleeping bag down by the side of the road.) Even so, any plans we start the day with are subject to change at a moment’s notice, because you never know what adventure lies ahead.

Here’s an example. In 1989 we were riding for two weeks in Nova Scotia. Our goal each night was to stay in either a provincial or national park campground because they tend to be so much nicer and cheaper than private ones.  This particular day, the closest provincial campground was only 15 miles away and the next one too far, so we decided we'd have to make a private campground our destination and planned our route for the day accordingly.

That morning the riding was both fun and stunningly beautiful – rolling hills with panoramic views of green valleys and farms. When we stopped for lunch and looked over the map, we discovered that we were on a scenic route that looped back to the main road we had started out on. We decided to stick with it and finished the day camping at a provincial campground after all - the one just 15 miles from our starting point.

Bicycling Nova Scotia in 1989

So here it is, the third day of a two-week trip meandering along the Maine Coast with a hopeful destination of the Canadian border before turning around and bicycling home to Madbury, New Hampshire. What's the plan going to be today? Even though we spent Friday night at a hotel (celebrating our anniversary) and last night with our friends Sally and Steve, we have brought along a full complement of camping gear. I’ll be damned if I’m going to carry all this gear and not use it. We’re camping tonight.

We rode 45 miles on Friday and 77 yesterday. How far today?

In 1980 I cycled solo from Boulder to San Francisco, by way of the Canadian Rockies. I spent eight weeks on the road, clocking 3000 miles when I rode over the Golden Gate Bridge. Some days I rode a hundred miles; if I needed a rest day I’d ride fifteen. Occasionally I’d take a day off to hike. In the end, my average came out to 55 miles a day.

But the image of some beautiful gardens I passed in Victoria, on Vancouver Island, stuck in my head. I didn’t stop because, at the time, I was just tired of being alone and thought there was no point in stopping when I had no one to share it with. I thought about that - and other days when I wanted to rest but had no one to spend the day with – when I looked back on my trip and decided that, on any future trip with a friend, 50 miles a day might be about right.

And that’s pretty much what Rob and I have done. On that trip in Nova Scotia, with no plans and much spontaneity, we had days when we rode over 90 miles and days when we didn’t ride at all. After 13 days, we'd ridden 650 miles - exactly 50 miles a day.

So with 122 miles behind us, if we are loosely aiming for a daily average of 50 miles (we haven’t yet made an adjustment for our advanced ages), we can take it a little easy today.

Sally makes blueberry pancakes and we sit around the breakfast table enjoying our coffee and tea and catching up on each others’ lives and no one is in any hurry to get moving on the day.

We talk about our problem of getting through Portland without a detailed map.  Steve suggests we get the DeLorme Road Atlas of Maine (delorme.com/mapstore/) . They make one for every state. “The company is right here in Yarmouth,” he says. “You can pick one up at the grocery store.” 

He shows us his copy. The state is cut into grids with detailed maps – showing local roads - of every section, and symbols for every campground and state park. It’s perfect. Except it’s unwieldy and heavy and we won’t need the whole thing.

I ask Steve, “How about we pay you for your copy? Then we can cut it up and take what we need and you can buy a new one.”

Now that we have a more detailed road map, we realize the challenge of actually riding the coast of Maine. So many peninsulas, little ones, big ones, you ride to the end of one – then what? You back track and head to the next one. Clearly we can’t get to all of them. Not if we are even going to have a prayer of making it all the way to Canada. So, we pick and choose.  We look for a campground about 40 miles away and discover a route that takes us partway down one peninsula, crosses over to another, and ends up at a campground - there's the little symbol - on Orrs Island.

The map doesn’t show mileage, so we do it the old-fashioned way. I take a scrap of paper and with the legend I measure two miles on the edge. Then I use it to roughly trace the route we’ve chosen and come up with 40 miles. I hand the paper and map to Rob. “Here. See what you get.”

Rob say, “I get 40 miles.”

Perfect.

Steve warns us that north of Portland we’ll be hitting a lot of hills. But we don’t really give it any thought, having ridden in Vermont, New Hampshire, California, and Colorado. We know hills.

Maybe.

Bicycling Maine 2015 (4) - U.S. Route 1 or the Interstate?

Day 2: Saturday, May 23, 2015

Ogunquit to Yarmouth

Today we’re off to Yarmouth, 10 miles north of Portland, where Rob's childhood friend Steve and his wife have agreed to put us up for the night.

The only information we can glean from the Maine tourism state highway map, which provides no mileage and little detail, is that the distance from Ogunquit to Portland is much further than what we rode yesterday. But we made 45 miles easily with a late morning start yesterday so we’ll just get on the road a few hours earlier and have no problem.

By 8 o’clock, after a walk on the beach and Continental breakfast on the veranda of our hotel, we’re heading north on U.S. Route 1 and a sign says 39 miles to Portland so I add 10 miles to account for meandering along the coast. We take Route 9 to Kennebunkport, where we stop to check the map, notice we’re in front of an art gallery and pop in for a quick look.

But the gallery contains some very fine art and since the day stretches far ahead of us, we linger for a bit.  Rob falls in love with an old painting of a ship at sea that costs more than just a few thousand dollars, which is just as well since I find it too dark and dreary. The gallery owner is a retired engineer who took up painting himself later in life. He has a few of his own paintings for sale and they are quite good. We talk about one he is presently working on, where he is painting with his palette knife.

We stopped for an early lunch on Cape Porpoise

As we leave he gives us a local map and suggests some roads to take that follow the coast. And now we’re off to explore new territory with names like Goose Rocks Beach and Fortunes Rocks and Cape Porpoise.

Biddeford Pool sits on the end of an obscure point of land on the way to nowhere else. We don’t regret taking the detour when, after riding past wide-open marshes, we cruise past stunning views of the surf pounding on a rocky shore. 

Relaxing in Biddeford Pool

Aside from the dramatic coastline, Biddeford Pool is mostly private residences, but we do find Goldthwaites Pool Lobster Co., where we check out the clam chowder. We’ve gone about 30 miles and, after studying the map I determine that we have another 20 miles to Portland. We'll get to our friends' house in Yarmouth by 4 o’clock.

We continue to follow the coast, but ocean views are scarce and uninspiring and it’s just hard riding with a sore butt. We pull into  Old Orchard Beach, with a crowd of tourists milling around an amusement park, hanging out in the streets, and sitting at outdoor restaurants. Rob sees a soft-serve ice cream stand and insists we stop, but the ice cream is third-rate and the music blaring over loudspeakers overwhelming.

I check the map and estimate 20 miles to Portland. We’ll get to Yarmouth by 5 o’clock.

We take the direct route now, heading to Scarborough.  When we pass a bike path that looks like it heads in the general direction of Portland, we follow it through a lovely marshland and pass other bicyclists out enjoying a leisurely ride on the holiday weekend.  We've bypassed Scarborough and manage to get back on Route 1, which should take us straight through Portland. We follow the signs for Route 1/I-295, assuming Route 1 will go one way and the interstate another, but they don’t and we’re on the interstate with trucks and cars speeding past us at 70 mph.  

The last time I found myself on an interstate was in 1980 when I was riding into Portland, Oregon, and I swore I’d never do it again. I didn’t intentionally get on the interstate then, either. It just somehow magically happened.

Rob is behind me and I have no idea what he’s thinking but there’s no way I’m going to negotiate crossing an exit ramp. I don’t care if we are on Route 1 and it’s the only way we know to get through Portland. I get off at the first exit we, which drops us off downtown. We’re hot and tired and have no idea where to go next.

We call our friends, and they don’t know how to get out of Portland either, because of course they always drive and take the interstate. But they mention the names of a few possible roads and, we head off in a northerly direction, find another bike path and eventually we're back on Route 1, north of the city.

It’s 5 o’clock; we should get to Yarmouth by 6. And all I can think of is Sally’s wonderful cooking and how good it’s going to be to get off my bike. We’re almost there and I see a grassy knoll and signal a stop, drop my bike, dig into my handlebar pack for some almonds, and lay down. I don’t care how close we are; I need to recharge. Rob doesn’t argue; he’s almost out of gas, too.

After only a few more miles we see our friends’ house.  Their 6-year-old son Pete runs alongside us as we pull into the driveway. He eagerly asks to carry in my gear as I unload my bike, and I, just as eagerly, say yes.

We’ve clocked 77 miles, in 7 hours and 21 minutes of riding, 10 hours on the road, including stops. It will be our longest day.

The hills are coming.