I woke up at the crack of 11:30 AM after the forceful deflation of my air mattress and after a sequence of shit-we-forgot’s and two pizzas which were eaten across from surly old people we made out way Northward.
I got to drive Pat’s Rav4 and being in another person’s car the most dangerous thing I did was drink and drive.
At a previous point I’d taken a picture while driving and holding my iPod, so this is a cakewalk. Pat and Joe were also strongly opposed to a practice I call “slap steering” which terrifies both of them.
Around 10 PM we stopped at a Target in Augusta to get a 1/8″ patch cable so I could bore everyone with The Economist audio edition. The hand dryer was quite potent and my hands came away red with windshear. On our way out, we hit a T-intersection with no obvious path back to the highway so I picked left at random. This small change resulted in us taking a sequence of country roads, byways, and semi-paved paths to Acadia through the “drive faster, I hear banjos” portion of Maine. I got bored and started taking long exposures of lights while driving of which some came out well.
We arrived at Acadia at about 11:30 PM, several hours after the proper closing of the park. My concern for lateness dropped when I learned there after-hours check in process was “go to a campsite, and tell us sometime the next day that you’re here”. We entered our gravel-covered campsite and discovered that one was supposed to sleep on the gravel. Gravel ranks as slightly below a battery of dull steak knives for uncomfortable sleeping surfaces and the hours taken to actually sleep proved this.
Luckily, the rest rooms were exceptional and even included two-ply toilet paper. The walls also held some of the most erudite graffiti I’ve ever seen including:
- A spot-on picture of Master Shake
- A Sierpinski triangle after three iterations
- I LOVE HUNGARY
- “Go Organic” with an arrow pointing to that phrase with the caption “wow, you convinced me”.
I was impressed.