The sunrise on our last morning in Acadia.

Since we were already getting up insanely early for our thirteen-hour drive home from Maine, we thought we’d get up even earlier and watch the last sunrise from the top of Cadillac Mountain. However, it became apparent that we weren’t going to make it, due to my misunderestimation of both how long it takes us to get it together at 5am and how long it takes to get from where we were staying to the top of Cadillac Mountain. So, we pulled over at Canoe Point and watched the sun rise over Frenchman’s Bay instead. It was beautiful, and we consoled ourselves with the belief that we probably wouldn’t have gotten to see the blazing-ball-of-fire-over-the-ocean type of sunrise anyway, since there was a thick blanket of storm clouds obscuring the view. One more thing for us to do next time we’re up there.

Once we got on the road the trip went smoothly. Bangor’s morning rush hour was nothing like the rush hour of major cities, so the timing worked out perfectly all the way down the coast. The only excitement was car-related: we had the sidewall of our front tire develop a bubble, which made a huge amount of noise on the road and then burst in the parking lot of the gas station where we were seeking directions to an auto repair shop. Thankfully, there was a shop just up the road; once we drove the car there, they pronounced the other front tire ‘crap’ and proceeded to replace them both. We were so tired—and grateful that the tire hadn’t blown while we were driving up the mountains or just a few seconds earlier when my hands and face were in range—that we didn’t mind just hanging out reading in the waiting area. In the end, the delay was only an hour and we had beautiful traffic the rest of the way; apparently everyone in New York decided to actually stay at work until 5pm that day.

The only negative of the rest of the trip was the way we were chased down the coast by Kings of Leon. Yes, we could have put on CDs, but there are a decent number of radio stations in the stretch between NYC and DC that we were enjoying listening to. Except the Kings of Leon part, which was worse than usual because apparently they are on tour. So there was that. Having to constantly surf past bad music did spark several long conversations about alternative rock, grunge, and which bands that sing about heroin I like (Velvet Underground, Nirvana) and which I don’t (Alice in Chains). The upshot: I barely tolerate Pearl Jam out of respect for their timeliness, and all other bands that sound like them make me want to ralph exasperate me.

Now that we’re home I’m working on getting the photos off my camera so that I can retro-post about our experiences of getting up at 6am and hiking around for hours in a haze of stink and Deep Woods Off ™ before collapsing into bed and doing it all over again the next day. It was far more awesome than it sounds.