Going Downeast

Where to go for vacation?

A trip of a thousand miles begins with a single plane flight.
Those fins at the end of the wings indicate this is an Airbus.

We started asking that question several months ago. I'd always wanted to go to Maine, though I can't really explain why. It's a picture in my mind, and I wanted to see it in reality.

I told Sharon, and she agreed it would be an interesting place to visit, though it was obvious she wondered why I wanted to go. The questions then became when and where.

We could go in late September, early October and hope to catch the foliage changing color, but we needed to get away, and I wasn't sure at the end of spring that I could wait that long. Some Internet research revealed that the East Coast's first National Park -- Acadia National Park -- was in Maine, and a bit more research indicated that would be a great place to go. So we made our plans.

We'd arrive on a Sunday -- Sept. 9 -- and leave the following Thursday. We'd spend a day at the park, a day in town and a day doing something else, depending on what we discovered. With some more Internet research, I found out we could go on a whale-watching tour, and that settled our last activity.

One of our plans wouldn't come to fruition, though, or so we thought. Taking a cue from some folks we know who'd rented a Mustang convertible for their vacation, we thought we'd give that a try. But the car rental site didn't show any available Mustangs, and the convertible listed was going to cost a chunk of change. We settled for a "midsize" car -- Toyota Corolla class, which doesn't quite meet my definition of midsize, but it would have to do.

The day arrived. We loaded our one suitcase each -- to keep baggage fees down -- into the car and headed for DFW International. Leaving early, about 6:15 a.m., helps with my nerves about driving there, but I won't begin to relax until we've checked and boarded our plane for the first leg.

I go through security first, through a machine that looks like the standard metal detector. The TSA agent asks me to stay put and calls out, "Passenger assistance." Another agent comes and asks me to follow him. We walk to the end of aisle, and he tells me to put my hands out. Then he swabs my hands and says, "Stay there, sir," like I'm gonna run off or something. The swab-reading machine clears me, and I'm on my way.

Sharon goes through without a hitch.

Once on board, I can relax. We fly to Philadelphia first and have 45 minutes to grab something to eat and get to the farthest away terminal. Neither proves to be a problem thanks to a moving walkway and a shuttle. As we walk through the terminal we see a succession of small, prop-driven aircraft that I insist has to be the kind of puddle jumper that will take us to Bangor. (By the way, the Mainers pronounce that town's name as Bang-or, with a slight emphasis on the "Bang," not Banger.)

But when we reach our gate, we discover the plane is a decent-sized commuter jet. Both legs are  uneventful, and we arrive on time in Bangor. After retrieving our bags, we go to the Hertz counter, and the lady tells us she only has one car on the lot, a Mustang convertible. We can have it for no extra charge, if we'd like. Hmm. Let me thinkyes.

We load up the Mustang and head for Bar Harbor. I brought my GPS with me, and it indicates that Bar Harbor is about 48 miles away and will take about and hour and half to drive there. What? This definitely ain't Texas. Route 3 to Bar Harbor is a two-lane, winding road, and even though the speed limit is sometimes as high as 60, we rarely go that fast.

Sailboats moored at the hotel docks.

The day is overcast, and it had rained earlier in the day, but the scenery is still gorgeous. Trees. Seventy to 80 feet tall or higher. Picturesque houses. A business that looks like it used to be a farm house with the barn attached. If the sun comes out for the rest of the week, as it's supposed to, this place is going to be gorgeous.

We cross over a causeway to Mount Desert Island, where the park and Bar Harbor are located. Our hotel is situated by a bay, and after we check in, we go exploring. Our room doesn't have a view of the bay, but the elevator has a glass back wall, and we see the bay every time we go downstairs.

This guy buzzed my head so closely I thought he was going
to hit me. And he seemed to love having his picture taken.

The hotel also has its own boat dock, and a couple of sailboats are moored there. I think that a bunch of spots we see floating on the water are mooring buoys, but I discover while looking at the photos later that they are lobster buoys. More on them later.

A gull buzzes my head, then lands and struts around nearby, allowing us to shoot as many pictures as we want. While we wander about, the clouds break a bit, and the setting sun casts a golden glow over the landscape. Looking toward the Harbor, we see a cruise ship and a four-masted schooner, the Margaret Todd, at anchor.

The cruise ship weighs anchor and steams away while we watch, its white hull tinged golden as well. This is going to be a great trip.