September 16, 2006

A good day's ride. I got lost twice, once seriously, which depressed me, and raised my greed for comfort and security, so I busted my ass to Kennebunk and checked into the over-priced under-equipped Kennebunk Inn. A big bed and breakfast, essentially, but the breakfast was coffee and a muffin. Kennebunk was established about fifty years after Santa Fe, and might have an old town somewhere. The Inn is downtown, I think, in a neighborhood that looks the way downtown Davenport, Iowa looked fifty years ago, with perhaps a few more 3 or 4 story brick buildings. My point is that nothing seemed more than a hundred and fifty years old.

Freeport is a yuppy feeding frenzy. Stores, fancy factory outlets really, for brand names like Jockey. I was tempted by a Ben and Jerry's because it is good ice cream and a good outfit (compared to Jockey) and the day was warm. And I rode past a BBQ food stand that looked interesting. Everything else, including the people, even clean cut teenagers, repelled me.

Straight pipe hogs. Maine either has no helmet law or Harley owners feel obliged to ignore it. Loud bikes and unfriendly riders. But stop at a crossroads store back in the woods and you can spend an hour talking to folk who are interested in, and supportive of, what you are doing. Or get on your bike outside a health-food store in Kennebunk and engage an 89-year-old lady from the Merrimachi who visited her relatives in Chester in the '40s (they owned the Sword and Anchor). She had her car door open, and my bike would have been in the way of her getting out, but she didn't want out, she was just getting a little cooler air. We admired each other for a few minutes.