June 4, 2015
6 – A Two-Hundred Dollar Piece of Magic
"You know, I'm pretty happy about this camp towel," Kristen tells me without a hint of irony after returning from the shower. And in so doing she becomes both the first and last person in the history of the world to have said so.
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We take Walter for walks, clean up, read, write, and pass the morning as we wait for the crunch of truck tires on gravel joined with the familiar sound of a decelerating UPS truck that will signal the arrival of Walter's new trailer. We expect to wait around all afternoon and maybe into the evening until that happens. After all, we ordered the thing only yesterday, and even overnight shipping can only do so much. But to our surprise we hear the truck rumble to a stop in front of the office at exactly 11:00. We're shocked and amazed.
Then again, the entire experience around the trailer is nothing short of amazing. Just over twenty-four hours ago I ordered it using a magic phone that fits in the palm of my hand. It then traveled on a series of trucks through a series of shipping depots between Central Pennsylvania and the coast of Maine in an ordered, flawless progression that can only be called magic. I know that all of this happened because UPS has a magical website that let me know the exact location of the package at all times. And when the thing arrives at the campground, all we have to do was pull it out of the box, take ten minutes to put it together, then latch it onto Kristen's bike and we're ready to go. There's nothing to weld or sand or stitch or even bolt; the trailer itself is a two-hundred-dollar piece of magic.
And with that an impressed, thankful, overjoyed Team Hawthorne returns to the road once again. There are a few concerned whines and yelps from our little passenger in the first mile or so, and then again when he thinks we're about to stop. But once he settles in and realizes he's safe in his bubble of a trailer the stress and concern drop away. We have our happy dog back, we have our peace of mind back, and we have a big chunk of our hopes and dreams back. Two days ago all of these things seemed impossible.
We only make it as far as Belfast, the next town down the road. It's a riverfront town with too many charming old brick buildings (all three stories tall and narrow with dark steep-sloped roofs) and too much cheap pizza to pass through without stopping. As we sit on a bench in front of the bank we notice the small book store, the barber shop, the cheese store, and several clothing shops. They all seem to be thriving, even though the pace of the town remains slow and we seem to be the only tourists. When I walk into the bicycle shop to look for a replacement bike computer, the owner talks to a customer on the phone and confirms that feeling.
"Well, if ya wanna know for sure, bring it on in and I'll take a look at it," he says to the guy on the other end of the line. "But it's gonna take until some time next week. I'm real slammed right now. I got six bikes in here."
A clock tower that chimes two minutes before 2:00 guides us away and into the country. We pass mortarless stone fences older than the United States itself and an endless series of red and white barns in varying states of decay. The air is heavy with the smell of fresh-cut grass and the light snowfall of dandelion fuzz. I hear the flap of American flags twisting in the breeze and see the shadowed outline of a '57 Chevy tucked into the left-hand bay of a detached two-car garage. The sun shines for more than five minutes in a row. It feels for the first time so far like we're off, like we're running, like we might just make it across the country. My heart soars and a wide smile never leaves my face.
The winding country highway and impatient Maine drivers guide us past villages founded in 1770. We look out on lakes free of obnoxious shore-front homes from gaps in a tunnel of trees. When the afternoon light finds the will to push through the leaves above it casts shadows like patterns of stained glass on the pavement that falls beneath our tires. On the longer climbs we try to dodge the caterpillars that scoot along the shoulder by the hundreds. On the descents that follow we realize that out here you don't see old cars on blocks in the front yards of houses but old lobster boats on blocks. There's still a chill in the air and we only feel warm on the climbs or while standing in the sun. But the fact that we're on the road again without the rain and without concern for Walter's happiness brings with it feelings not unlike what would run through our bodies on Christmas morning as eight-year-olds.
With so much success having already fallen our way we decide to keep the day short and rest up for the weeks of climbing over hills and mountains that lie ahead. Besides, the faster we go the more miles we cover. And the more miles we cover the sooner this trip comes to an end. Instead of cranking into the late evening we pull into a state park just north of Camden and settle into a site set among tree cover so thick that nightfall arrives an hour earlier there than on Main Street a mile down the road.
I'm proud of Walter beyond what I can ever explain to him. The fact that he now feels safe with us on the road opens up doors that at this time yesterday we thought might have been closed for good. Looking up into the darkness of the night with my head at rest on my towel-pillow and an owl hooting somewhere in the distance, I can't help but look forward to all of the places the three of us will go together in the months and years to come. I also can't help but look forward to the night that I no longer have to go to sleep wearing rain pants and a fleece hat just to stay warm.
Today's ride: 25 miles (40 km)
Total: 126 miles (203 km)
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