I woke up like shit. I didn't convince myself to move much until 8 something. Way too late to expect to not be found. I really just didn't care. I was too drunk and bug-attacked to put the one pole into the bivy sack. That's not a first. When you neglect the pole, you really are just sleeping in a Goretex bag. When I finally made myself rise, my body felt creaky, and my mind was a cloud. Riding back onto the directions, my heart was already warm and perfect. I was already laughing - how can it be so good? I'm having a remarkably good time floating north.
I'm sitting in a library. I'm stinking and typing and charging every single device I have. Three devices.
Devices charged. Now I'm sitting on a bench 24 hours later. I'm by the beach in Ocean Park. Yesterday was full of small towns and easy directions. I can still get lost a little bit, but only if I'm really slacking off hard. This book lays out a hell of a good route. It also might be that you just can't go wrong cycling through Maine - except if you get on I-95 or some such tragedy. Kenebunkport is nice.
Kenebunkport is one of those places that I knew existed, but didn't know where, how, or what-the-deal. It's a rich little artsy town in Maine. Six o'clock had come and gone, and I like cute little towns with lots of foot traffic. At 7:21, I'd been seated at an outdoor bar drinking beer from bottles that only God and the bartender will ever know the price of. I also got a side of button mushrooms and a side consisting of a potato that looked like it was sliced up with a cheese plainer and reassembled in a square. I really need some cheaper ways to amuse myself when I get to places like Kenebunkport.
I'm spending money recklessly. Let me tell you about how I only used my stove one time. it was in New Jersey. It's a big stove, and weighs way too much. Gotta do better than that. I said earlier "I plan to cook a lot." I guess I forgot who I was and every detail about how I roll. I meant "I'm gonna blow all my cash on sammiches and beer."
Notably enough, I saw former president Bush's 11 acre oceanside vacation pad. Yikesly nice setup, bro. I cycled past it. I own the earth, but he was rude enough to put up a guard gate to keep me off a nice chunk of my own property. C'est la vie, bro.
Sitting at that fancy expenso-bar watching the sun go down, I was wondering where I'd end up sleeping. Oh - I only got three beers. Restraint. I got more later where I knew the price. Local big IPA and a big New Castle. I drank these sitting on a big rock, eating peanut butter crackers and trail mix, watching the sun go down. This was an absolutely beautiful time. I was cycling toward a campground, hoping to see something freer along the way. It's all woods, I just needed to see the best spot. When I saw an "11 acres for sale" sign nailed to a tree, and I knew that I had it. I pushed back in the woods a considerable distance and knew that at least for now, I had the 11 acres for free. Talk about some beautiful land. This almost makes me ready to buckle down and get my tiny house setup. Sitting on the rock was good enough for the moment. Great enough.
It got cool enough during the night to use a sleeping bag as a blanket. I feel like I should have slept better. I had all the necessary elements, and a good level of comfort - but my bivy sack woods sleeping is still not what it could be. It was ok. I think one needs to adapt to the wilderness bag-sleeping. Great spot though.