In the past three days, I have crossed over the line, turned 70, driven along the Maine coast, and gotten a cold.
Betty and I visited both Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and Portland, Maine, yesterday, but we have decided that cities are not what we're after any more. So we're back on the happy and full-of-surprises back roads.
Route 1 along the Maine coast is so beautiful off-season, many businesses closed, little traffic, and good prices on motels.
We spent the night in Wells, Maine, and the weather turned sunnier, windier, and colder yesterday. After our forays into cities, we headed north toward the Shaker Village north of Portland, but arrived there too late for the tour. So we found a charming 6-room motel--The Sleepytime--literally in the middle of nowhere, and there are two cars here tonight.
Lynn, the owner, sent us to Mac's Steakhouse for dinner and the food was excellent. When we got back to Room 3, she had left a heating pad for me--to help me feel better with this cold! Tiny motels in the middle of nowhere--if this one is any indication--offer hospitality you can't find in large chain lodgings.
Often on a trip, you set out to find a particular thing and find all kinds of things you hadn't expected. We set out to find the Shaker village (and we will return there later this morning, then head to the White Mountains), but we stumbled on places and colors we wouldn't have encountered had the Shaker Village not called our names.
The foliage is getting golder and the barns redder the further north we drive.
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