Like a Rolling Stone

In the last two weeks (-ish), I have slept in three houses, one condo, one cabin in the woods, one tent, and one dorm room. I have driven through five states, flown across two countries, and ridden on four boats of various sizes. I have eaten pancakes with chocolate chips inside the batter and pancakes with chocolate chips added on top. I have taken several fine naps. Most of all, I have eaten pancakes with chocolate chips inside the batter.

The condo was in Mammoth, which I vacated on August 15th. The first house is that of my parents, which held me on the nights of the 16th and 17th. The second house is that of my friend Mark, and it is in Brookline, a town almost surrounded by Boston. I spent the night of the 18th there, and watched part of a Red Sox game with Mark and his dad. Ordinarily, I could find few things less exciting than a baseball game. But Mark's dad was into it, and that was enough to keep me entertained.

On the morning if the 19th, a Sunday, Mark and I drove his car from Brookline across small parts of Massachusetts and New Hampshire into Maine, to a town called Rockland. From Rockland, we took a ferry to the previously-considered-mythical island of North Haven. North Haven, Maine. Population, according to the 2010 census, of 355. High school graduating class in 2011 of eight. Cross country team at that time of one. And that one was Chuck. Oh, Chuck.

Looking back at the Rockland port from the ferry.

Looking at the ferry from . . . the ferry.

Downtown North Haven from the ferry. Downtown is one restaurant, a gift shop, a community center with board games and such, the ferry port, and a few parking spaces. And, sometimes, Liv Tyler.

When we landed on North Haven, Chuck met us and guided us back to his house on a moped/scooter thingy. His place is at the end of a rather long dirt road, surrounded by trees, somewhere between the world of humans and the world of the Fae.

Chuck's driveway.

Chuck's lair.

North Haven is a beautiful, beautiful place. And apparently Liv Tyler was on the island at the same time we were, but we didn't see her. For shame. Unfortunately, you don't get to see pictures of the most beautiful parts because I elected not to take my phone either on a run or in a kayak. I regret neither decision, because I remember what it looked like and I still have a functioning phone. You do, however, get to see the cabin next to their house that Mark and I slept in. And you get to see a few other things. But just a few.

Where we slept.

The inlet near the cabin where we slept. 

Relatively generic view of North Haven.

Sea kayaking (the smallest of the four boats of varying sizes I alluded to) off North Haven was spectacular. The coast of Maine is very different than that of California, and the best way I can make that clear is by quoting Chuck. When he first came to San Diego on our freshman year Spring Break track trip, he looked out at the Pacific and said, "Where are all the islands?" This because he was used to the coast of Maine. Allow me to illustrate, with the aid of Google Earth. This screenshot encompasses all of North Haven and much of the Penobscot Bay, and as you can see it is a much more nuanced coast than California's. Also of importance: Maine has huge tides. There are places that are islands at high tide but peninsulas at low tide. In fact, if you don't count tidal areas, Maine has 228 miles of coastline, good for 9th of any state, but if you do count tidal areas, it has 3,478 miles of coastline, leapfrogging it past California and several other states into 4th. So says Wikipedia.

North Haven is the one directly north of Vinalhaven. Now it should be easy for you to find.

We had Maine lobster for dinner one night. I will describe it no further because each word I type continues the illustrious tradition that words just like it have been upholding for millenia: not doing justice to that which they are supposed to describe.

When our time on North Haven came to an end, Mark, Chuck, and I hopped in Mark's car and rode the ferry back to Rockland. We then drove to Moosehead Lake, a few hours north and inland, to Mark's family's vacation home. To none of your surprise, Moosehead is also a beautiful spot. So . . . pictures.

Sometimes party boat called the Katahdin. Passed by a few times a day, and blasted "Sweet Caroline" in the evenings.

Chuck and Mark on Mark's family's boat.

More lake.

 In between nights at Mark's, we drove the two or so hours each way to Baxter State Park, and between driving there and driving back, we camped and hiked. Allow me to go into more detail.

We set up our tents at the Katahdin Creek campground, roasted hot dogs, played Hearts in the dry, played Hearts in the rain, and went to bed. The next day, we hiked around eleven miles round trip from our campground (~1,000 feet) to the top of Mt. Katahdin (5,267 feet) and back. Tallest mountain in Maine, wouldn't you know?

Katahdin from our campground.

Chuck tiring of Mark's games.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold . . . (Yeah, the trail kinda goes straight up those rocks.)

Looking down at the trail.

Similar view.

Up up up we go.

The top. I'll tell you about the guy who took this picture in a minute. 

Tons of lakes all around the mountain.

More mountain.

We had left pretty early in the morning and we passed a few people on the trail, so we were the second group to reach the summit that day. The first group was an army of one — one badass who just completed the Appalachian Trail. You see, Katahdin is the northern terminus of the 2,200 mile long AT, and this guy did it solo. He was a Vermonter (naturally), and he looked a little bit like Steve Jobs. Similar glasses, slightly longer beard, mostly grey. He took our picture and we took his. Got me thinking. Finishing the AT is something he will remember as long as he has his mind, so doesn't that mean he'll remember us? At least an impression of us, for decades to come.

Sign at the summit.

Hey Nicole, you're in Maine a lot. You should hike Katahdin. You really should. It's definitely the prettiest place I've seen out east. Do it. Good.

After hiking Katahdin, we returned to Moosehead for a couple of days. Then we drove back to Brookline, stayed two nights, and drove to Middlebury. This was last Tuesday. From Middlebury we went to Goshen for pre-pre-season, where the entire cross country team rents a couple of houses out in the boonies for a few days of fun, running, and that little piece of Venn diagram in between.

On Friday we moved into our dorms on campus and began pre-season, during which we are training at Middlebury with our coaches. Classes start next week. More to come.