Early Breakfast and New Engand People

Charley woke me up too early this morning. But when he is traveling he likes to get started first thing. So now we are off to find breakfast.

Well that was interesting, or not. It seems New England people don’t speak much in the early morning. I stopped at a roadside restaurant and sat at the counter. Everyone was huddled around his or her cup of coffee. I could tell they were regular customers. One word questions from the waitress and one word answers from the customers.

Today I stopped at a few roadside stops. Each one had its own version of picnic tables, barbecue pits and painted 50-gallon drums for trash bins. A few were set near streams and small wooded areas. Of course I had to let Charley run around for exercise.

The mountains were beautiful, as were the fir trees dusted with snow. Some of the other trees were still bright with color. It is the exactly what you see in magazines. No words could describe how pretty they were.

At one of the rest stops I sat by a stream and watched the trout come to the surface. As peaceful and beautiful as my day has been so far, I finally decided to move on. I knew when I started this strip I would have to stop every few days at a motel to take a shower. A pot of hot water is ok for a quick wash, but real hot shower would very nice.

I had to cross over a very high iron bridge and then a low and winding stone bridge. I finally made it to Deer Isle. The house was located over a hill and down a narrow road covered with pine needles.

 The feeling I had while I stayed in Deer Isle is hard to describe. The water was dark; the wind blew cold and had a high pitch cry to it. The pine trees rustled. This should have been a typical small town in America, but the feeling here was more like England. The accents spoken were like that, and the architecture had the houses set up in layers all the way down to the bay. And what made it even weirder was that the people were secretive.

I went to Stonington Harbor this afternoon and saw all the lobster for sale and summer boats were being stored for the winter.

I went into a hardware store to buy a few supplies. I could never shake the creepy feeling of Deer Isle. It was a beautiful town, from the trees and houses to the people. It was just something about it that I can’t put into words. It has been fun, but it is time to move on.

I drove up the coast until there was no more coast, as Maine sticks up into Canada. Actually, Main’s northern border is farther north than Quebec, Canada. I also noticed how the houses had a weathered look to them, like the winters had worn them down.  There were few people around also. Very few towns showed much life at all.