3 June 2011
Woke up to the pitter-patter of a light rain, our tent tucked away behind the St. Stephen's United Church. There was a presbyter's meeting and we were invited for sweet breads and tea, the leftovers of a busy meeting. Curious old ladies amidst the bustle. But it was late, and we lay down before the sun, so we poured the tea in the sink when no one was looking. Up early, 6:30ish, and a quick stop to Tim Hortons for fuel and a sink. The border didn't take long, only a few mundane questions, despite Agnes' proud pronouncement that "we're going to cycle across America". I wanted, at least, an inquisitive query about the philosophy of science. We've barely stopped since the border: rolling hills and lonely meteors atop highland plains. Lots of tall pines and leafy deciduous. Lunch at a picnic table outside a singleton store, with a wide assortment of chocolate bars and gregarious ladies. The homes are wooden, unfinished (peeling with the weight of time) and the redwhiteandblue teased by the wind. Some uphills were vicious (should I be embarrassed to admit that I walked one?) but the downhills let us fly. First day of rain, for an hour or so, on and off, trudging (as we were) to each new height. And now: dry chicken on white bread, no gravy, side of fries; grilled cheese with tomato, coleslaw and onion rings: a roadside diner in Beddington. There are spinning-diner-chairs with red pleather cushions. The clients are true American, with that unapologetic grit of goldrushes long forgotten. A swagger of listlessness. Plaid and jeans. Chevys. We're ten miles from Dublois: Isaac's cottage and the anticipated finale of this first leg. Afterwards we're planning to take Hwy 1 down the coast to absorb Maine's small town, ocean breeze.