Em Dee Eye

Day 48

It is stunningly beautiful here. We are shrouded in a thick grove of conifers, and so we sleep in until 9, a luxury in our translucent summer home. We keep it in low gear this morning, enjoying coffee, boiled eggs and chats until nearly 11 am.

Our agenda today is to explore some of the many the back roads of MDI. We head north from our camp ground, intending to stay of the Quietside of the island today. We find some well maintained logging roads in no time, and to our delight, we are the only ones on them. I decide early on to tuck the maps in my pocket, and only refer to them once we are certain we are lost. This is a liberating feeling.

There are no helmet laws in Maine. Since there is no traffic, and we're in the shade, we decide to forgo the armor and enjoy the 20 mph breeze in our hair. It's wonderful. We glide along the sun dappled roads as though we are seeds on the wind. The forest here is carpeted in moss, and I mean moss-green-shag-in-a-70s-era-rec-room carpet. It's expansive, it's thick, and the “pile” is almost shameful. There are groves of paper bark birch, expansive stands of conifers, masses of ferns; all green and lush.

We discover a reservoir at the crest of a hill. It's old, the sides are lined carefully with rectangular pieces of granite, and it slopes deeper at a gentle, determined angle. We take off our shoes and quietly slip our feet into the pool. We watch as small bass swim together in the deep sections, brightly striped frogs sunbathe just beside us, and minnows flirt with our toes. It reminds us of our first date on the banks of Paint Creek, shyly soaking our feet and watching critters come and go.

Once we're cooled off, we get back on the Girl and drift around the wooded roads some more. We see a few bicyclers, blissed-out and bedecked in new lycra for their MDI adventure. We pass tiny cemeteries from the 1800s with plastic flowers adorning the graves; one headstone for a woman who lived 104 years.

We find that we have crossed over to, what can only be, the Loudside. We didn't mean to, but since we're here, we thought we'd check out Bar Harbor. The section we ride through is hectic and touristy, so we make an escape as soon as we're able. We are soon riding sort of parallel to the Acadia park loop. It all looks very much like the Blue Ridge Parkway; we pass under beautiful stone bridges and along low stone walls. It's a lovely ride. In Northwest Harbor we pick up Sergeant Road, which takes along tasteful estates, marinas, B&Bs and a sound that cuts deep inland.

Soon, our appetites begin to dictate our experience. We find ourselves in Southwest Harbor, next to the Coast Guard Station at Beal's Lobster Pier. Upon entering, the first thing we see is the lobster tank, filled with dark green “bugs”, claws secured with thick rubber bands. There is a guy there who will take your order for all of the “boiled food” you might want. He then gives you a ticket, which you take to the cashier who will take orders for fried things, etc. Our meal is almost entirely boiled: a 1.5 pound lobster and 2 ears of corn. At the last minute we also get some rolls, which are ideal for scooping out the briny guts of the much anticipated crustacean.

We wait what seems like forever, then, finally our number is called and we fetch our feast. It comes laid out on a fast food tray. The lobster is in a plastic bag, the corn is still in it's husks, and the rolls are in a little cardboard boat. Everything we ordered comes with it's own butter. The lobster it too hot to eat, and we burn our fingers trying. We go for the tail first, chewy and taut like a giant shrimp. Then the soft, delicious guts, then the face meat, which is the Pirate's absolute favorite. We suck the tiny bits of meat out of all the little legs along the side, saving the claws for last. The claws come out all in one piece, the big top section and the smaller bottom piece. They are speckled and pink. They are the taste and consistency of a very dry, slightly sweet fresh mozzarella; creamy, yet firm and hardly any taste of brine.

It's so good, we get another one. They are running us about $10 a piece, so it seems like a luxury we can afford. By the time we're finished, we feel as sleepy as though we've just had Thanksgiving dinner. We find a coffee shop in downtown Southwest Harbor, and settle in for some people watching. We punctuate the day with ice cream from a shop on Main Street, thick with families, young kids and a cranky owner; summer in touristy Maine.