Maine and Lobster Rolls

I drove to Maine this last weekend. My options were either drive to Montreal and see Coldplay, Jason Mraz, and Josh Ritter in concert or drive to Maine. I decided that I wouldn't make the decision until I got to Vermont (which is nice this time of year), at which point I would either go north or south on I-89. I chose south. Coldplay will have to wait. I started running low on gas in New Hampshire on Friday night, so I pulled off in New London, a place I didn't know existed. I proceeded to drive to 3 other gas stations, only to find that they were all closed and that they all looked like a scene out of the Mothman Prophecies. Oh, not only did I stop at the gas stations... I ran out of gas at the fourth one that I so happily visited, so I had to sleep in my car and wait until the station opened (luckily at 5:30). I honestly think the mothman may have been trying to forcibly enter my car. Anyhoo, I got gas and quickly ditched New London for Maine.

Portland, Maine. The other Portland. The not quite as agreen Portland. The Portland that I have not grown to love, but that many, MANY seagulls call home. I got to Portland early Saturday morning. I parked my car and went for a little bike ride through downtown Portland (weird?). The streets were almost empty, which was nice, but I quickly realized that I had a slow leak in my front tire. Shame. So after maybe a half-hour long ride, I tossed the bike back into the veh and drove on to bigger and better.

I inadvertently drove headlong into a 10k race, so I was forced to park my car and wait until the race was over. Apparently, that's why the streets were abandoned; everybody in Maine was running in this thing. So I stood by the sea and watched as the runners collapsed across the finish line. Just when I thought it was over, they started the kids race. Painstaking is the word that I would use. Not for the runners, but for me not being able to leave. And I was in loafers, so everybody knew I was a fraud.

I ate some lobster rolls. They are New England delicacies. I saw a PBS special on regional foods and have wanted to try an authentic one ever since. I had another regional sandwich when I was down in Louisiana, BTW. The poboy! I sounded so white when I ordered it. Anyway, the lobster roll was good. It reminded me of a kind of bland, kind of fishy, kind of expensive version of a gyro. But it was good. Both of them. I had 2. And some fries and Coke. Oh yeah, PS, I locked my keys in my car probably at the busiest intersection north of Boston, while blaring a used CD that I bought when I was passing through Saranac Lake, NY, consisting of (kids) songs from around the world. Lots of girls jogging by. Lots of girls in summer dresses shopping at the trendy waterfront shops. Lots of good looks possessed by girls and weird looks directed at me. They no doubt heard my bizarre music and saw me feeding the meter as I waited for the pop-a-lock guy to show. Man, I was glad to get out of there.

All in all, I hit 7 states: New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. 6 of which I had never been to. All of which had probably one Dunkin Doughnuts for every resident. Not too many Starbucksesiz. Almost hit a pack of old people who didn't look both ways. One thing I have learned throughout my travels: musical tastes tend to differ by region, but everybody listens to public radio. NPR. And everybody watches PBS. Everybody listens to Garrison Keillor. Well, not everybody, but at least a good chunk of people from every place. Everybody state has NPR on FM frequency and it is always one of clearest stations on the dial. End of rant. End of post. Here are some pictures. End of post now.