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Keag's Hospitality "Estimated amount of glucose used
by an adult human brain each day, expressed in M&Ms: 250." Rain trip-trapped across the cookhouse roof like small billy-goat hoofs on a wooden bridge. But, instead of hunkering down, and waiting out the drizzle - enjoying our dry refuge - the two trolls packed up and hit the road. "If we're going to catch Sue and Vicky in Portugal, we'd better get a move on," I prodded. The lashing rain sapped our energy reserves. Near Houlton, we pulled in to a rest stop and consumed a dozen doughnuts. Strictly medicinal, of course. Blood glucose level zoomed into the hyper zone. Under the influence of a sugar buzz, I listened to a busload of giddy seniors ("recycled teenagers," Sharon called them). "Where are we going again?" a blue-haired woman with a jutting jaw questioned. "Nova-what?" she intoned upon hearing they were on their way to Nova Scotia. "How do you spell that?" she asked, thrusting her jaw even more forward. While motion may not necessarily constitute progress, apparently the most important thing was that one was going. We got underway ourselves, back into the grey mist and drizzle. The rain in Maine turned into an all-day pain. By evening, in Mattawamkeag, I was past drenched. We donned dry clothing, and entered Keag's café, seeking warmth and respite from the horrid outdoor conditions. The folks treated us well, feeding us, joking with us, warming our bodies and spirits. They even suggested we could find a camp spot behind their café. So, after supper, in sulky light, we explored the area, searching for high ground. Each step squelched deep into sodden grass. Squish. Squash. Sploosh. "So much for dry socks!" I lamented. But our search was not in vain. Amongst the swings and teeter-totters, we found a playhouse on a raised platform. In the murky dimness, even though I couldn't see Sharon's expression, I knew she had hit upon the same idea. High. Roof. Perfect. Being suspended five-feet above the ground suited us just fine. Bring on the rain! In near blackout - no moon or stars to aid us - we pitched our tent on the tiny wooden platform, poles dangling off into mid-air. "Swiss Family Robinson-style," Sharon concluded. "Yeah," I muttered, sleepily. "If you go out tonight, remember that first step's a doozy." |
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