64 Miles. Avg. 13.2MPH. Top Speed 34.2MPH

Total: 746.4

It's back to motel life tonight. I've been strengthening my psychological callouses over the past nine days or so and learning what I can accept. I have learnt that camping in the rain isn't for me. No shame in that right? To be clear, the motel I chose tonight is a bit of a dump, but then again, as the rain poured down earlier I would've gleefully paid for the Bates Motel, so not too much back patting here. Oh yes, the rivers did flow again today, but I didn't get frustrated, mind you, I just ploughed on through and still managed to complete the days projected journey, so it wasn't a total wimp out.

It was an odd day today, the climate and sky may have contributed to the feeling of gloom, but the towns I travelled through didn't help. There is a real feel of desolation everywhere once the Adirondacks finish and it isn't helped by the aggressive signs aimed at the government that seem to be on display all over in towns like West Leyden and Redfield. It's about as cosy as a night in a Ukrainian cave with only Tubular Bells on the iPod and Joseph Ratzinger for company and I'm looking forward to hitting Lake Ontario proper tomorrow where things should perk up. It's also worth noting an increase in patriotic symbolism in these more impoverished towns, I'm not sure what we can learn from the correlation between jingoism and poverty, but it certainly opens an interesting debate. Obviously gun law regulations are high on the agenda here and I can't help but feel it brings out the worst in people. The chest puffing and machismo it seems to ignite in some citizens is not something I feel comfortable in nodding along to. It's a macho enough culture as it is, what with the big trucks and excessive facial hair, but these things are relatively harmless until talk of weaponry is involved. But you can't change cultural values, and the cultural values around these parts are deeply engrained. I guess I'm just surprised (possibly naively) to be discovering it this side of the Mason-Dixon Line.

I took a break from the rain to have lunch in Orwell at about 12:30 and talked with the owner and the patrons - which seems to be the usual fayre in this nation - and despite there being a level of bitterness and disenfranchisement in their conversation they still maintain the hospitality of the New Englanders whose company I enjoyed so much. 

You will see from the picture above, but I am in Amish country now. Oh yes, those of wooden barns and horse drawn carriages fame. I saw one go past the motel window a moment ago, but they move with surprising pace and I couldn't quite catch it with the camera before it disappeared from view. I wonder if they'd be up for a race? There's nothing in their rules about a little friendly competition is there? I say friendly, Black Betty would slaughter those other mares if necessary. No doubt leaving a bloody homicidal trail of claret in her wake. You all know what she's like by now, but her competitive streak is fearsome, destructive and strangely arousing, certainly to some of the handle-bar moustache wearing gang I alluded to earlier, no doubt.

Well, it's back to the old nudey bed thing from Bethel last week. Not for too long, though. I have another "warm shower" tomorrow night.

Screw it, I might throw that tent out. It smells like a frat boys sock that's been left to fester in a fish tank, anyway.

87.2 Miles -Avg 13.2MPH Top Speed 40.2MPH
Total: 682.4 Miles

Awaking in a lovely bed was no motivation to arise early this morning. But arise I did, like a knight of the realm ready for battle. Black Betty was hungry for action and I was in no mood to deny the rampant wench. She gets angry when deprived and I wasn't prepared to play with fire. I started with a coffee with old Jon and after he gave me some of his and Linda’s music (I’ve not listened to it yet) I was on my way with a very grateful goodbye. Now, I chose to go off route today, this was because I knew how hilly the on-route map was and I don't mean to whine, but I was knackered and fed up with ups and downs, and because I had gone out of my way to stay with J&L, I was now equidistant to tonight’s destination via another route. And tonights destination was Boonville. That’s right Boonville.

Today was really about the cycling and little else, I put my foot down and felt great all day. I stopped only for food after 4 hours and the rest of the day was about pure rhythm, The Rhythm of the Day, if you like. I managed a real consistency of movement going and quickly settled into the highly sought after meditative state that can happen when things are running smoothly in the saddle. Despite my sore left knee, this was definitely the best day to ride so far.

There were two things that threw me both today and yesterday. The first being the number of closed businesses. Motel after motel was no longer in operation due to Interstate Highways removing their customer base and gas stations were left dilapidated as far as they eye could see. Even in the golden sun, these sights with overgrown weeds were really depressing. It makes you realise how oft forgotten parts of our societies can fail when the going gets tough. On the positive side of things, I noticed how few chain businesses were around. The USA is a country we associate with un-regulated commercialisation, but that hasn't been the case at all since I arrived here. Natural beauty and small businesses dominate the towns and rural areas with virtually zero billboard advertising and I have only seen seven McDonalds since arriving here. Seven in four states. Incredible really. The brain really has time to breathe and think with freedom without unsolicited distractions and I didn't expect that in the US.

After 8 hours of riding, I finally came to the place on the map that said “camping” but it was a general store. "What’s this then?" I mused. Well, after a brief enquiry they told me they accepted campers for free out the back. How good of them. So here I am. Typing away looking over a lake intermittently raising my head to see the sunset. It’s all very pleasant. Well, until I went in to grab a beer when I noticed NRA signs all over the store, this has confirmed my suspicions after seeing several "Don't Tread on Me" flags and plenty of aggressive political slogans in car windows, front lawns and convenience stores . Well, I’m certainly out of the liberal New England. I wonder if this is an ominous sign for the future.

Might get a gun just in case. It seems the sensible thing to do.

87.2 Miles. Avg 13.2MPH. Top Speed 37.6MPH
Total: 595.2 Miles

So a good nights sleep wasn’t exactly forthcoming last night and I have no one to blame but muggins. I was up all night and severely berating myself for opting to buy a cheap sleeping bag. I couldn’t stop sweating and then, in a fit of illogical rage after some semi-conscious dreaming I ripped the bag apart by the zip, desperate as I was for the minimal warmth it offered but without feeling like I was in a flexible sauna. Sleeping bag ruined. When morning eventually broke I looked down at my discarded poly-blend chrysalis to discover I’d had the bloody thing on inside out. No wonder I was sweating. The polyester should be on the outside. Oh well.

I stumbled around like Oliver Reed re-incarnate for a while trying to gain some grip on reality and I managed to settle down after a shower and a dose of Colombia’s finest. Coffee that is, and coffee that I brewed myself with the old propane canister. I really am getting used to this outdoor living vibe.

It was shaping up to be a beautiful day in the sky and on the ground with new landscapes to be discovered, but first thing’s first, I needed sustenance and fast. When you’re cycling this much four meals per day is the bare minimum. Problem was that I was out in the wilderness and diners and cafés weren’t as ubiquitous as they had been earlier on in the trip, I eventually found a private campground run by the excellently named Barbette to pick up some high-sugar snacks, not because I wanted them, just because that’s all that was on offer. We shot the breeze for the while, you know, as you do, and Barbette told me about her recent second knee replacement operation and I trivialised this by equating it to my ever-so-slightly aching 30 year old knees. What a dick.

After that ill-advised foray into empathy I made my way through the beautiful Adirondack National Forest. The landscape didn’t resemble what I had come to know so far, in fact, with the shadows cast by the hitherto hidden sun it was as if I were in a new country. This region mainly comprises of beautiful lakes and lots of them, and so I had my first contemplative stop of the entire trip at Paradox Lake today. I didn’t stop to think about anything in particular, but the sheer tranquillity of the view over the beach with the gentle rippling waves seemed to warrant my attention for ten minutes or so. (pic below)

I continued on with the day knowing I would be going 16 miles off route to stay with Jon and Linda tonight. They are the generous souls who would give me shelter for the evening after I enquired on warmshowers.org. It was a little hilly to get there, and I will admit I did let out my first “Fuck” as one corner turned into another, but I was soon there.

When I arrived the pair of them were recording music in their studio. Yes, that’s right. I had happened upon a pair of cool musos. Cue fear of inadequacy, especially when they asked me to put on some music to accompany dinner. I started off with some cool hipster shit, but that ruined the mood, so Daft Punk took its place. Safe bet. Embarrassment averted. Just. Phew. We chatted outside by the open fire and had a few local brews and it was the first time I had had a social occasion that was similar to one I might experience back home and for that I was truly grateful. They were a really great pair and it was a pleasure criticise (slag off) Rupert Murdoch and the Fox brigade with them. Every night must end, however, and as I settled into my bed for the night I realised just how much I had enjoyed conversing with like-minded souls. I’m eager for more of that, so America, don’t do you self a disservice by presenting me with reactionary tea-partiers from here on in. I need the stimulation. 

80 Miles. Avg. 12.5MPH. Top Speed 50.6MPH 
Total: 508 Miles

I was back in the saddle after the luxury of spending all day yesterday holed up at the Nestled Inn, only leaving to buy cigarettes for my host who’s wife was unaware of his sneaky little habit, still, it got me 5 dollars off of the price of the room that he let me boil a dozen eggs in for future use. I must have looked a right creepo hunched over a camping stove in there, but so be it, I do love my eggs, me. Full of protein didn’t you know.

I left at 9:15 on the dot and realised after sitting on the bike for 0.012 of a second that things weren’t feeling quite right. Tuesdays cycling in an Old Testament storm and pedalling up and down (mainly up, it felt) mountains had appeared to make the gears as creaky and sticky as a pensioner who'd just been witness to a clandestine strip-bingo showdown (do old people get aroused by other old people?), and as a result it felt like I was working twice as hard to get Black Betty moving and I don’t even like working once as hard, so you can imagine what a 100% increase in work-rate did to my spirits. I persevered for a bit until I found a bike shop some 20 miles away in Rochester, VT. They could see I was touring and really meant business, what with a GoPro attached to the helmet and expression that screamed "Hey pal, Daddy's got to shift some cranks, so let's get busy" (obviously I said none of this, as I let my eyes do the talking) so Kinley, the wonderfully erudite and personable mechanic-in-chief looked at her straight away. I will say this now, this mare has never had such a thorough going over, on top of that, Kinley showed me a few tricks of the trade should I need them later down the line. Whattaguy. After 45 minutes or so of tweaking here and there he had her working like new, she was a treat to ride yet again, momentarily I felt guilty for overuse of the whip earlier that morning, but an internal stewards enquiry exonerated me on grounds of raw passion. BB seemed to forgive me too, she purred like a cat who'd got my cream. Saucy minx. I set off then, ready to leave Vermont and fortunately the weather wasn’t so bad, overcast, but no rain and this made for some fantastic backdrops. This was the Vermont I had imagined. Steep hills of spruces and pines set against dairy farms and long winding roads. It was beautiful. And smelt mainly of horse excrement. Just as I like it.

After some more steep climbs, including another push job up a mountain called Bread Loaf I stopped in the gorgeous little town of Middlebury for lunch. It was reminiscent of the town centre set from a futuristic 80's feel-good family movie where Michael J Fox doesn't get Parkinson's in the end. And it was here I met two other cross-country cyclists, Emma and Mary, who were headed to Seattle. We’d arranged to meet for a nibble, but then guess what, a problem arose. Hoorah! As I checked my map I realised I needed to get a ferry from Shoreham, VT to Ticaronda, NY and it only ran until 6. I had 90 minutes to cycle 20 miles and it was at this time the daily rainstorm was ready to tumble from the heavens, and boy was it ready, but no complaints, "head down and lets ride", I thought. Now we’ll see how good a job Kinley did. I went hell for leather and made it with time to spare. Good job, Kinners, can I call you Kinners? Good. 

Emma, Mary, if you ever find this blog, my apologies on the terrible bail. I would’ve only cramped your style with my excessively tight spandex anyway. You're better than me and you're better than that.

So, with that I left Vermont and entered New York State.  I have found a campground and need my shuteye, for tomorrow there are mountains. More mountains. However, I know the day will end well, as I have had a reply from Warm Showers. Yes, I have a place to stay tomorrow and can’t wait for the comfort and some human interaction. I'm sure it'll be another poetic journey to see if people from this semi-autonomous political entity are as friendly as people from the previous semi-autonomous political entities. Game on.

83.5 miles Avg 12.8 MPH. Fastest 39.6MPH
Total: 428.2

I feel it to be my duty to inform you of the good times and the bad with equal honesty. I would just like to caveat that whatever I write over the next few minutes doesn’t mean that all hope is lost as I can’t wait to see the rest of this beautiful country, but today has truly been the most miserable of my life. I think I may even have cried at one point. What a bell-end.

I was up at 8:30 this morning and ready to get going. Yesterday was so good I felt ready to go all guns blazing. There was one major problem though, and that was the conditions. There was rain all day, but the first major deluge happened at around 11:30am as I was on my way to North Haverhill to pick up my washbag that was so graciously despatched by Miss Penner. You’d think the downhills may give some respite on a gruelling day, but all it did was serve to intensify the cold and by the time I arrived at the General Store I felt physically sick. But I took a couple of hours out with, you guessed it, the kind manager of the store who invited me in to his warm office for coffee and a chat whilst we waited for UPS to get their collective thumbs out of their enormously tardy arsehole. Two hours I sat in that office trying to squeeze the juice out of every last fruit of conversation in order to avoid the inevitable conclusion of the days ride. Two hours. The problem was that the conclusion of the days ride took another 5 hours. When I looked at my map I realised that there was no sheltered accommodation until Bethel, Vermont, which was approximately 65 miles away. Screw it, I thought, I have no choice, there’s no way I’m pitching a tent in this weather, not to mention the stench exuding from me. I hadn’t showered since Saturday night.

Don’t ask me what New Hampshire looks like, I really can’t tell you based on today as it was covered in a thick mist and that saddens me, although, I will concede the White mountains did look stunningly atmospheric early on this morning, (see last pic), but I had to pedal hard to get through. I must confess I did travel by means other than riding at one point, and that was to push my bike - which did a wonderfully convincing job of impersonating a member of Eddie Stobart's fleet - up a hill for one mile whilst the sky puked liquid all over the north-eastern United States. I even had to bypass viewing what I was led to believe was a 35 foot statue of that prophet/con-man Joseph Smith as I didn’t have the energy to see it, and I’ve seen Book of Mormon! Turns out it's just a massive granite obelisk though, so I'm not that fussed.

Eventually, I got to Bethel at 7:30pm soaked to the bone and freezing cold to find the Nestled-Inn (see what they did there) B&B run by Sue and Rick. I was so deliriously happy and relieved that I wanted to kiss them both. I didn't though, that would have been weird and they're not my type. 

Oh, I also had a shower where I discovered two large red paintball like injuries on my rear-end which I believe to be saddle-sores.

So, that's how shit today was.

Now, I’ve just stuffed my face with a dirty pizza and a questionable chicken by-product coated in some hot sauce and am currently in the process of watching some basketball players being cheered on by boisterous whooping twats whilst I lay on someone else’s bed butt-naked, scratching myself and drinking a beer.

Tomorrow is already looking up, though. You know why? Because I’m taking it off.

56.1 miles Avg 12.1MPH fastest 42.6MPH
Total 344.76

I awoke in my disused campground by the lake feeling a little mopey since my eyelids felt as if they’d been soldered together with glue. It took me a while to get going and I thought I’d start with a good old American diner breakfast to get me in to gear. I cycled the short journey to Ricky’s Diner and soon all the staff and patrons were asking questions about the trip. I felt a little like an after dinner speaker, except it was pre-breakfast and I’m not too sure what the market is like for them. I was casually interacting with one couple and when they left my server Joyce (pictured to the left) informed me that they had paid for my breakfast. I couldn’t believe the generosity of these people. Yet again Mainers continue to surprise me. Perhaps it’s more a question of me re-evaluating my reactions when people ask me for a favour as opposed to being so taken a back when others are so kind, either way, I was incredibly grateful. These people have made my journey fantastic so far.

So, it was with a heavy heart that I had to leave my beloved Maine, but not before I popped into an old Shell garage that was now a book and bric-a-brac store run by Pauline Lutte. She told me she and her husband ran the garage for 40 odd years, but when he died she turned it into this little treasure (pic below) she also told me I was her very first customer since she opened up for the season. It was a fitting interaction in which to leave Maine, which was now only half a mile from becoming an expired chapter on this trip.

But we must not mope over lost loves, on to the next state. The first treat New Hampshire had in store for me was a trip through the White Mountains and across the Kancamangus highway, the entire landscape was dotted with so many variants of lush green vegetation it felt as if they had been ordered from the Pantone booklet. I had been dreading today as there was a 2,855 foot climb over just 5 miles. The clock was ticking at 4 o’clock, but I thought I’d give it a crack anyway. And I won! In just over an hour of constant climbing my legs felt like they’d had a lap-dance off of Andre the Giant, but the psychological boost was fantastic, not to mention the downhill the other side. What a feeling those 90 minutes were. I’ve now set up camp in the White Mountains National Park and food has been stored away due to the fear of having a black bear using my face as a napkin after devouring my deliciously chewy thighs (oh yes, that they are). Oh, and I’ll get my lenses back tomorrow as Julie (of Penners’ fame) has sent them by UPS to a grocery store a few towns away. What a gal.

I’d now like to show you the transcript from a chat I had with Maine a few hours ago if I may. I’m sure she won’t mind, as we’ve been through this together…

“Maine, sssh, let me speak for a moment will you, you've been trying to seduce me from the moment I walked away from that plane. Now, we flirted for a while then we fell for each other. There were so many beautiful moments and not without some hairy ones too, of course. Oh, how we laugh at those tribulations now. I said ssshh, I haven’t finished. It’s a shame we never got to consummate our relationship as I would have loved nothing more than to plunge myself deep inside you for eternity, but it was too early for such a commitment, you know it and so do I. But know this, you’ll forever be in my heart, even when I’m hanging out the back of Ohio. Now please, let’s say nothing more as I ride off into the sunset.

I will love you always,

Lycra Cowboy”

Fucking beautiful.

91.1 miles Avg 12.8MPH Top Speed: 38.4MPH
Total: 278.61 Miles 

Marmite! Marmite in an American household? That is what I thought I had heard from Marie as we were expertly devouring gelato in downtown Brunswick last night. Well, this morning was my opportunity to give this stuff a go. It was a marmite jar, but it had the consistency of vegemite. Surely one of our nations weirdest flavourings wouldn’t have been tampered with in such a way. Well, although it didn’t have the bitterness of Unilever’s finest, it still went down well in this wonderfully novel breakfast spread that also consisted of a creamy sweetcorn gravy and potatoes. For Breakfast! Still, The Penners expressed their disbelief at our hankering for mushrooms and beans before lunchtime, so I didn’t argue, and it did taste good, so there.

I left my new friends/guardians/nurses at about 10 o’clock aiming to get into Conway, New Hampshire to stay with friends of the Penners. Today was the first day I had left the coastline and began to move inland, the landscape changed dramatically within 10 miles or so, from bustling historic towns to rural farms and wheatfields. One thing remain the same, though. Hills. Bloody hills. I cannot tell you how sick of hills I am. It is hard to enjoy your surroundings when you’re dragging the equivalent of fat triplets uphill behind you.

I went through a beautiful marina town called Naples when I realised I may not make it to Conway on account of having gone an accumulative 16 miles out of my way with wrong turns. My legs were tiring, so I thought I’d find somewhere in the next town of Bridgton. I went to the campsite, but they wanted $44 so I cycled around for a bit looking for somewhere nice when I realised I’d lost my map. My one and only map for the region. So I had to go looking for the damn thing otherwise I’d never make it out of here. What ensued was a 4 mile climb up a hill retracing my wheels before, with great relief, I eventually found the bloody thing sitting limply on the hard shoulder. Then I had to find somewhere to sleep. I eventually found a disused campground by a lake which was perfect, but by the time I‘d done all this riding around I could easily have made it to Conway and stayed at the Penners’ friends house. Oh well, you live and learn. Live, anyway.

There was still time for another screw up, though. Oh yes, there always is. As I was unpacking my stuff I realised I’d left my washbag at the Penners’. That washbag had all my lenses and glasses in it. Off to the local optician tomorrow morning then, no doubt I’ll walk through the doors squinting like a bukkake victim. Oh, and I stink, too. Tomorrow could be a weird one…

69.4 miles  Avg Speed 12.6 MPH -top speed 36.2MPH 
Total 187.5miles

So I didn’t get the opportunity to use my propane gas canister this morning due to the torrential downpour that was happening outside of my little plastic sanctuary. I was bitterly disappointed as I really wanted to give it a crack, but under the circumstances it would have been like trying to light a fart in a Jacuzzi; marvellous when it comes off, but unlikely given the conditions. So I sat disconsolate in the tent wondering how I would tackle the elements in packing up my gear, when after some internal deliberation it finally occurred to me! MAN UP. Yes, that’s right boyo, stop being such a whining ninny and get yourself wet, so I did just that. It wasn’t pleasant, but when I’d actually managed to pack it all up and get on the bike I felt great. The clouds broke at about midday and after that it was a glorious day to ride. I went through some more picturesque New England towns. Bath was the highlight for me, with it's riverside promenade and red brick buildings, but I ended up in Brunswick when two spectacular examples of Maine hospitality reared their heads. Firstly, a man in a van stopped me as I was riding up a back street, it turns out he owned the local bike shop and he always stopped bike tourists to check that their wheels are aligned, gears are clicking nicely and saddle sores didn't need wet wipes applied by a third party. I said I was AOK on all three, but we went to his shop so he could get me a map and some free energy gels anyway. Whattaguy.

I took his maps and headed for a local campsite to pitch up for the night by making my merry way down another of Maine’s tree lined streets when I saw a family near a beach, I asked if they thought it would be ok if I camped there, and they said probably not, but that I could use their garden instead. "Good Lord", I screamed (inside), "these people want to help a sweaty stranger from another nation they know nothing about" I thought, but I was in no position to be coy on invitations, I met some of their friends including the Maineopedia, Brad who was always on hand to help me brush up on my New England history. When I turned up at Marie, Julie and Greg Penners' place they pointed me towards a good spot on the lawn and I gleefully made it my home, but that wasn’t all, they invited me in for dinner. It was a vegan feast, which isn’t something this carnivore is used to, but I took it gratefully and it was very tasty and most importantly filling. I was also afforded the luxury of a hot shower before the final surprise of a trip downtown to have some highly praised gelato, they had soy gelato on the basis on their veganism, but I went creamy old school. I’m a little rebellious like that.

So, a day that started terribly, ended wonderfully with me being treated by possibly the nicest people I’ve ever met, let alone in this state. Oh well, onwards and upwards, I can’t stay around eating other peoples organically grown spuds forever.

57.5 miles. Avg Speed 12.6 MPH, Fastest Speed 40.2MPH
TOTAL: 117.9 miles

Howdy, Day 2 down then and it started well, Peter and Donna allowed me in to the rolling mansion for some strong coffee and cereal with blueberries. BLUEBERRIES IN CEREAL. You see England, that’s why America is better than you. You unimaginative toad of a breakfasting nation. 

Today was harder than yesterday for sure. It was very gloomy and although the towns through which I passed, such as Belfast and Camden (no bombs or pot, disappointingly) were beautifully untouched by the hand of modern man, I was starting to ache a bit and the countless amount of up and down hills from Belfast to Rockland started to take their toll on my legs so every time I hit a glorious descent only to see another imminent climb I felt as though I was yet again being shown the boobs but the knickers were staying firmly on. Not nice.

I made my first stop in a Walmart today. Christ. As you can see from one of the below pictures, it wasn’t exactly nutrition central, and no, I didn’t take any pictures of the shoppers themselves as this would have been extremely disrespectful to my hosts, and my phone had annoyingly run out of battery when I tried. Rest assured though, everything you hear is true. Walmart did have some vital items though, including some mozzie repellant (the blighters have been at my back today) and – at last – a propane canister for my stove. Operation Become More Like Ray Mears But More Clumsy And Less Posh is well underway. I’m going to start easy by boiling some water for my coffee on it tomorrow morning, but after that the sky is the limit. I saw some very tasty looking roadkill earlier on. Heck, if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right (or wrong, depending on how prudish you are)

I met more great people today. Scott (a pilot) and Heather (his lady) were on a casual ride around their home town of Camden and took me for a little detour down by the rugged coastline. People really do go out of their way to take you out of yours here and I'm truly grateful for it, because when you're alone on the road the kindness of others gives an immeasurable boost to the loner. I also met a chap called Doug in Belfast who was also on a cycle tour to someplace named Canada. Anyway, Doug mentioned there is a website that cyclists use to get accommodation called warmshowers.org. Now, although this does sound like a website I may have stumbled upon in the past I must say it’s new to me, but I’ll be sure to check it out now, because it’s raining outside my crap tent, and is going to continue to do so for the next 5 days. This bike ride has basically been cover for me wanting to spend months outside building a perma-tan and now I feel like I’m in Cornwall in March, beautiful as it may be, I’m not really interested in how the early morning mist lights the bay. I want sun. Anyway, hopefully I can get some warm showers sprayed all over my pallid chest in the next week. That’ll cheer me right up.

60.4 miles . Avg Speed 13.4MPH. Fastest Speed 41.2MPH

As I type after retiring from Day 1 I sit at a crimson bench staring at my flimsy excuse for a tent; the only tent in view in fact, for tonight I reside at Shady Oaks campsite in East Orland, and by campsite I mean a Dutch window display for behemoth RVs. Fortunately, most of these locals seem to have taken pity on me, it’s hard to get anything done here as I’ve constantly been stopped and questioned with genuine interest about my journey from young and old, male and female, and black and white. Not black actually, as Maine is a little like 16th century Britain in terms of its demographic diversity, but you get the point. 

I arrived at my first campground in Bar Harbor at 9pm last night with just enough light remaining for me to pitch my tent. It wasn’t what I had expected. I had to sleep alone in a gravel strewn overflow car park that looked as if it had the hallmarks of the Fred West Landscape Gardening Co, it was petrifying, I spent an hour trying to go to sleep wondering whether or not I would wake up to find some grinning toothless perv wearing my testicles as earrings. However, when I went to pay the man this morning, “no charge” was the reply. He could see I was tired and didn’t exactly get the most out of my night there, so he waived the fee. It’s Bar Harbor Campground by the way, you know, if you’re ever in the area and after a freebie.

I was up early this morning and after building my bike began my journey in the sun around some of the best scenery I’ve had the fortune to lay my eyes on. Winding, sloping, wide roads acted as the main character in this production, but the scenery was something else; enormous, sheer faced mountains contended with glistening blue ocean for pride of place in the memory bank. I must‘ve looked like a right div because I cycled for nearly the entire day with a smile on my face arching my neck from left to right as I attempted to take in all that was before me.  The smile didn’t last though, as after 45 miles I happened upon a puncture. On the first day! I’m hoping that was just beginners’ bad luck, because 80 odd inner tubes would cost me a bomb, and I ain’t got the perseverance to find and fix a hole the size of George Osbourne’s heart every day. Fortunately, a very convivial lobster fisherman named Rocky (yes, Rocky) was on hand to help, that was, until his Harley broke in what can only be described as an 8 square foot Bermuda triangle for dual wheelers. Don’t bother coming to help, though, we’ve sorted it, have me and Rocky.

Apart from the spectacular scenery, this state is really about the people, I woke up this morning alone in a serial killer’s theme park, and go to bed having been offered three places to stay on my journey, help with a puncture, butane for my stove and countless other words of encouragement for the journey ahead from the likes of Jack, Travis, Peter, Joyce and Kathie (the delightful owner of a restaurant that supplied me with the best eggs benedict I’ve ever had this morning). If I meet kinder people in any state, then I’ll be a lucky man.

The mosquitos on the other hand are right greedy bastards. My legs look like an aero bar. Little shits.