Oh Canada!

It was an early start to the Father’s Day leg of our journey. We were up, showered, coffee’d  and on the road by 7:45. Before we left, we chatted briefly with a really cool couple who were saddling up their Harley trike about riding in general (they recommend a spin on the Green Eyed Snake), but specifically about the switch from two to three wheels. Marketing genius for Harley I must say. It definitely extends one’s riding life.

The Maine coast continued to be spectacular, with stunning views and quick teasing glimpses through the thickets of fir and pine trees filling the air with the persistent smell of balsam and Christmas. Americana is everywhere – flags waved proudly from front yards, front porches and telephone poles, welcoming us like old friends. The American spirit is so prevalent here, we even saw a bald eagle soar overhead as we rode through Gouldsboro, it’s white crown unmistakable against the backdrop of towering pines.

It was a blustery day so we finally surrendered to the wind and layered up in Machias – another first. I’m used to peeling off layers as the temperature rises, not adding them as we push further north.  I swear it dropped 10 degrees right after we crossed the border into Canada. But before we got there, we stopped at a few scenic overlooks and took in the incredible views, including the St. Croix River, which was simultaneously rustic and majestic. 

Once in Canada, we detoured slightly to St. Andrews, or St. Andrews By-the-Sea, as it is commonly called.  This tiny seaside town – population less than 2,000 - was founded in 1783. It retains much of its colonial charm, and is piping with quaint character and bungalow type dwellings clad in cedar shakes painted in shades of gray and brown courtesy of Mother Nature's weather brush.

We found a similar roadside treasure in Lepreau Falls, just outside of St. John. Early area settlers relied on the Lepreau River for transportation and fishing and the power to move logs and run sawmills. During Prohibition in the US, American bootleggers used this relatively isolated spot as a rendezvous point to load their boats with liquor. Bootleggers would smuggle the liquor from New Brunswick to Maine and sell it at black market prices.

Sun shone like a beacon in spots along the way today, but it couldn’t quite muscle its way through the insistent blanket of clouds. And the closer we got to St. John, the more dismal the sky became.

At first blush, St. John is nothing to write home about – or blog about for that matter. Of course, I can only comment on what I’ve experienced so far, snaking our way up, down and around a roller coaster of hills to our hotel. So far, and maybe it’s the influence of the wind and grey fringed clouds, it feels very much like an old urban town. And quite frankly, it is. It’s the oldest incorporated town in Canada, but rich in architecture, galleries and quiet historic charm.  Uptown, I’m told, is where we need to be, but we’re only here for the night so a true St. John experience will require a return trip.

Stay tuned.

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2014 Harley Ride: Day One

Day One of our 2014 adventure is in the books.

We left Massachusetts under suspicious skies, but luckily, the threat of rain never materialized.  This ride was a year of firsts – first on the new Harley, first time the ride originated in Massachusetts and the first time we’ve headed north instead of south.

Today’s destination was Bar Harbor, Maine and dinner at Stewman’s Lobster Pound. The road to the promised land  - at least to the promised lobster – was Route 1. We traversed the Bay State and hugged the Maine coastline, skirting any hint of bad weather and sailing with the sea breezes.

Route 1 was littered with Victorian era homes transformed into B&Bs or antique stores.  Every so often we’d pass a lonely cemetery with its white limestone headstones standing stoically as reminders of lives past or meander through a Main Street town with trendy restaurants, small boutiques and a walkable downtown, like Portland, where we stopped and enjoyed lunch at the Dry Dock Tavern & Bar.

Jason loves navigating the Harley along these secondary roads, listening to me sigh as the antique stores pass by. There’s no place to put anything, packing for 2 weeks is challenge enough, but the only thing I can get at an old roadside cemetery are pictures. I don’t usually ask to stop, because it’s too easy for me to get caught up in the genealogy, but there were just so many of them today, I couldn’t resist.  I spied a collection of leaning headstones and asked to stop. The yard wasn’t marked, so all I know about it for now, other than the names of the interred, is that we were in Verona, Maine, just outside of Bucksport. I scrambled up the small grassy incline and surveyed the small collection of headstones, some ramrod straight, others leaning and broken. Some weathered and illegible, others with crisp details chiseled into smooth granite.

After a 15-minute fix, I was back on the bike and we were back on the road.

Bar Harbor and its rugged coastal landscape is home to Cadillac Mountain—part of neighboring Acadia National Park. The first settlement in the area was recorded in 1761 by Abraham Somes, a sailor and fisherman from Massachusetts.  In 1855, the first hotel, Agamont House, and the first wharf were built. Even back then, Bar Harbor was a place of inspiration for many people. That tradition continues today. Bar Harbor is beautiful, but after 8 hour on the bike, what inspired me was lobster.

You can’t go to Maine and not have lobster. Our dinner at Stewman’s started with appetizers  - a blueberry margarita, a slightly pink, perfectly sweet libation garnished with a slice of lime for me and a Sam Adams for Jason. We both opted for the Downeast Lobster Experience Dinner – steamed lobster, mussels, corn and potatoes with the obligatory drawn butter. And for dessert, blueberry pie.  Yum.

And now - yawn. It's been a long day and another one is scheduled for tomorrow as we head on to New Brunswick, Canada.

Click here to see more pictures!

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Civil War Harley 2014

For the last few years – four to be exact, my hubby and I have spent a two week vacation doing what some may think unconventional. Two weeks on a Harley. Let me tell you, they are the best two weeks of the year.

I dubbed our inaugural ride the Civil War Harley tour because our route, through the scenic highways and byways of the south, was charted with specific Civil War sites and battlefields in mind. We hit the biggies, starting with a Gettysburg drive-by (that’s a blog for another day - my continued and relentless request for 4 days in that most hallowed ground), Manassas, Vicksburg, Shiloh, Franklin, and Antietem. It was an exhilarating and oftimes somber trip through history and Americana. Armed with my trusty Canon (this year I’m bucking for a GoPro to capture the whole trip), I have snapped thousands of photos of people, places, architecture, withered barns, beautiful landscapes and small Main Street towns over the years.

I wrote a blog each night well, almost (www.civilwarharley.blogspot.com) and an annual adventure was born.

This year, we’re taking the Root Beer Float (my name for the bike, not Jason’s) -  a beautiful root beer colored 2013 Anniversary edition ElectraGlide, which, when sitting in the back seat, truly feels like you’re floating. And we’re heading in a whole different direction.  North.  The ride will take us through Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Prince Edward Island, Niagara Falls and a visit to Buckfield, Maine, the tiny town where Jason’s great, great grandfather, Civil War Alvan (to note his military service and distinguish him from several other Alvans and Alvins in the family) was born and raised. While not a Civil War tour in our traditional sense, homage to an ancestral veteran of the War Between the States will keep the Civil War in our tour this year.

Of course, I’ll be blogging and capturing the ride on film – well, digital film – so get ready to ride along!

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