Day 83: Killing the Kanc, State Line - MAINE, Stephen King

Day 83:  Wednesday August 27th, 2014.

Lincoln, NH to Bridgton, ME.  66.0 miles.  

Up early, Claire, Sarah and I left the campground before 8 am to make the ascent up the dreaded Kancamangus Pass while it was still cool.  We split up once again to ride at our own pace.  I passed by the Pemigewasset River shortly after leaving the campground.

Entering the White Mountain National Forest, I was surrounded by more trees and hills, the cooler temperatures of higher elevations promoting slightly more color-change on some of the trees this early in the year.

The route was gorgeous, and a good distration to the steady climb.

Several roadside pull-outs provided incredible vantage points to take in the scenery.  I stopped at each one, partly to catch my breath, and partly to stare in awe.

Some of the trees were really starting to pop with color.

I climbed most of the way up before turning into another viewpoint parking lot.  The ascent, while a serious challenge, so far didn't seem nearly as bad as Middlebury Gap.

I looked back from the entrance to the parking lot and could see Sarah on her way up the hill I had just climbed.

The view from here was even more spectacular.  Yellow flowers were blooming all over the place.

I could only imagine what this scene will look like in a month from now, as the trees fully change to brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows.

Sarah and Claire caught up with me at this viewpoint, and we rested for a bit before jumping back into the climb.  Knowing that our paces would likely separate us, we made a plan to meet in the next town, up and over the pass, at the bottom of the mountain for breakfast.  

"My only criteria is that we meet at a place that has pancakes!", I said.

Anxiety prevailed as I pedaled out of the parking lot, turning right in an attempt to tackle the last, and biggest obstacle between me and the Atlantic Ocean.  I remembered the words of my friend Brian Jennings, who has traversed across the United States on a bicycle twice, providing me with a wealth of helpful information about how to be prepared.  "I rode across the entire country, through the rockies, across the plains.  But, when I had to get through the steep mountains of the Appalachians, it was the only time I had to get off and push at one point.  Man, those hills are steep.", he told me.

Conquering the "Kanc" was more than just pedaling over a challenging mountain.  I knew inside that, when I made it over the top of this pass, I would be successful in what I originally set out to do when I pedaled away from the Pacific Ocean on June 6th, 2014.  But, as was the case yesterday, as I started up the road, after less than a half mile, I was there. I was already practically at the top.  I did it.  It was not nearly as difficult as I had thought.  But, it was a big challenge, and I was reminded of that as I glanced back and saw the "9% Grade" sign for the hill I had just climbed up.

Sarah and Claire were cheering and I joined them.  We took photos at the pass before continuing on.

Moving forward, the viewpoint looking ahead provided a glimpse into the state of Maine.  I was overwhelmed with a flood of emotions.  I could see the only state left between me and the Atlantic.

As we rode the long descent to the town of Conway, Claire and I lost track of Sarah, who was behind us.  We had breakfast in Conway, and then I said goodbye to Claire, heading out on my own for the town of Bridgton, Maine.

I rode along a busy road through residential areas for a while until I came upon a road sign that read, "State Line - MAINE".

I stopped.  The state of Maine was just a few feet in front of me.  Straddling my bike with my two feet planted in New Hampshire, I drew the imaginary line across the road from the sign, perpendicular to my path.  This line was really more like a huge wall, a wall of emotions, of experiences, and of memories, of my journey coming to a final celebratory head.  By no means have I reached the destination yet.  But, I knew that when I crossed this line, it would be the beggining of the end of my incredible adventure cycling across the U.S.  I stood there, along the side of the road, in front of the sign, for at least 5 minutes, reading it over and over. "State Line - MAINE."  "State Line - MAINE."  "State Line - MAINE."

Taking a deep breath, I looked down at my feet and the pedals of my bike.  With the top of my left foot, I scooped up a pedal and rotated it around to the top of the crank revolution.  I then placed my foot on top, and stood up with both feet off the New Hampshire ground.  The weight of my body pressing down on the left pedal initiated a forward momentum.  I rolled across the boundary and into the State of Maine.

I started pedaling faster and faster, sailing through the state that is home to my final destination.  I kept thinking over and over, "I'm in Maine.", trying to convince myself that it was real. It wasn't working.  I then started saying it out loud, "I'm in Maine.  I'm in Maine.  I'm in Maine."  Tears were running down my cheeks and into my beard.

I took several different back roads en route to Bridgton.  The forests encroached upon the road making it seem more like a bike path than a street for automobiles.

Just a few hundred yards before reaching  Main Street in Bridgton, I came to a park on the edge of a lake with a beach.

It had been hot all day, and I was excited to see people swimming in the lake.  I pulled off, changed into my bathing suit, and jumped in, swimming out to the floating dock offshore.  The water temperature was cool, but perfect.  I felt so refreshed.  I sat out on that dock, peering into the beautiful surroundings.  It was very peaceful.

A young boy, probably 8 years old, climbed up the ladder onto the dock.  I said hi, and he replied with a "hi" while in the air, doing a cannon ball into the water.  When he came back for a second jump, I asked him, "Hey - What's the name of this lake?"  He replied with a series of questions, "Well, have you ever seen the movie Friday the Thirteenth?"  I said, "Yeah."  "The first one?", he added.  I replied with a "Yeah."  "Well", he said, "This was the lake in that movie."  "No way!", I said to him.  "As in, like right here - this beach?" He said, "Yep.", then jumped into the water again.  He didn't know that the lake had another name - Highland Lake.

While I was at the beach, I ran into two guys, Greg and Nicholas, who were asking me about my trip.  I told him that I was looking for a campground, and he replied with, "Stay at my place - you can pitch your tent in my big backyard."  He gave me the address and told me it was the big ranch house just past the cemetery on the left.

With my accommodations secured, I headed into town to the Black Horse Tavern for dinner.  My beer glass reminded me of where I was.

I told the waitress, Pam, about my encounter with the boy at the lake, and his story about the movie Friday The Thirteenth.  She said, "Oh yeah, Stephen likes to use this town for his work."  She was referring to Stephen King, who has a house in town, and has used various sites in and around Bridgton as the setting for his stories. "My kids went to school with his kids.", Pam said without any excitement about it.  She then added, "His kids could come over to my house and play with my kids, but I wouldn't let my kids go over to his house."  I laughed about that.

I ran into Claire and Sarah again, and all of us stayed at Greg's place just up the hill from the town.  His yard was expansive, with the cemetery on the outer perimeter.

Greg was a great host, and the rest of the Grinnell family was wonderful.  From left to right, Greg, Bruce (dog), myself, Sarah, and Claire.

While Claire was headed to Portland tomorrow to finish her trip, and Sarah was continuing on towards Bar Harbor, I decided to stay for an extra day in Bridgton to gather my thoughts and get mentally prepared for the final day.