Intermission

We'd arrived rather late at a motel near Acadia National Park when I mentioned that the park was known for epic sunrises, and perhaps it might be worth waking before daycrack to take some unforgettable photos. The irony of such words leaving my mouth was not lost on these very close friends of nearly two decades.

"Um, aren't you the vampire who works nights and wakes up at the crack of noon? Crack being the operative word there. Please put down the pipe before you burn your lip."

"Ha fucking ha. How many times in your life are you going to be in Acadia to see this?"

We rose after precious few hours of sleep and drove toward the highest peak of Mount Desert Isle. As we neared, an ominous fog rolled across our windshield. By the time we climbed Cadillac Mountain, the fog didn't roll so much as barrel through us like rain clouds caught in a blustery sea squall. Our clothing got soaked just standing against a 40 mph wind. Next "winter" if I bitch about the "freezing" 45 degree weather we have in Southern California, please reference this photo and ask me what that wind would feel like in February.

Isn't the sunrise breathtaking?

Soon after the aborted sunrise recon mission, we retreated to a diner in Bar Harbor and realized that Mainers are a fun lot with a particular code of humor known only to each other. So a few questions for you Maine readers out there:

1) How many days a year can you see this alleged epic sunrise? Is this a local gag to clear out the motels early so's Housekeeping can get home in time to watch Oprah?

2) If you're going to name a far-from-deserted island Mount Desert Isle, shouldn't its highest peak be called Mt. Desert and not Cadillac Mountain? If the National Park Service is selling off corporate naming rights, may I suggest the very obvious Golden Arches National Park?

3) The stereotyped "cahn't get there from he-ah" Downeaster spirit is very much alive and persistent with nearly everyone we asked for directions. For future reference, instructions like "we're right next to the Coast Guard station" are not useful to us tourists arriving by land and therefore bereft of nautical charts that might guide us to the Coast Guard station that you're looking at through your window. When I asked for directions, perhaps I neglected to mention we were driving. Y'know, in a car. My bad.

I loved visiting Maine, the great folks we met, and the food they made for us with love and pride. Next time I'll bring a GPS and we won't have these directional miscues distracting us from the important things like lobster boats, you-pick berry farms and county fairs. To be continued...