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Dark clouds rolled in over the road ahead of us and headaches, reminiscent of the night before, lingered as we first got into the champagne-colored Taurus. The fate of our trip was uncertain, but we were determined to make it to Mount Desert Island and have a good time doing it. Claire, who had an eventful sail the night before with Captain Morgan, was wearily propped behind the wheel. I, Michelle, was riding shot-gun trying to form correct sentences, but failing. My brain was obviously left in the ditch that I had rolled out of early this morning.
Our first stop was the Big Apple on Main Street. Claire was having some issues not only parking, but with the gas pump. She didn’t know how to use it and I was in no state to offer any assistance. While Claire pumped the fuel, we began to take notice of our unfortunate surroundings. But our excitement grew when, just to the left, exiting the ice cream mobile, a bowl cut mullet wearing a triple X T-shirt and smoking a Marlboro Red appeared. We couldn’t tear our eyes away from its amazing structure.
Back in “The Taur” we made our way through the traffic-infested streets of Homecoming weekend in Orono with our minds and hearts set on getting to Bar Harbor. We jumped onto I-95 south, and took the Taur to the max at 75 miles an hour. Everything seemed to be running smoothly until Claire began to notice the wind, which tussled the car to and fro. She began cursing at the other motorists on the road and fired out the bird once or twice to passersby. Not only was the wind causing complications that day, but The Taur, at maximum speed, is not the smoothest ride. She shook down the highway while Claire and I disputed over the preferred temperature of the vehicle.
Forty-five minutes into our trip, we began to ask the inevitable question: how much longer? It felt as though we’d been driving for hours. The dark clouds that were once up ahead, were now above us waiting to break into a downpour at any moment. After passing at least 20 ice cream establishments and just as many lawn ornament stores, we reached our destination.
Driving through downtown Bar Harbor was much more difficult than one would think. We were faced with the challenge of dodging tourists while searching the unfamiliar streets for a parking spot. Finally settling on one, we hesitantly got out of the car and faced the cold rain set to ruin our day. Walking through the center of town, we noticed a plethora of old people roaming the streets and filling the tourist shops. It was a mass of puff paint sweatshirts, moose paraphernalia, and grandparents spending their retirement funds on stuffed lobsters for little Johnny. Entering the first store, Acadia Outdoors, Claire quickly realized that anything “moose” goes in Bar Harbor. Moose drool and moose droppings were among the featured items at the register. Being the first-class hiker that I might someday become, I wandered over to the hiking gear. There was plenty to offer a nature lover like myself.
Out on the street once again, we heard the beautiful sounds of an electronically-programmed key-board and some sort of wind instrument. We turned down an alley to come upon a man performing in front of Pretty Marsh Gallery. It didn’t take him long to notice us either, and with the key-board still playing he paused for a second to send a “Rico Suave” hello. Claire then turned to me and asked, “Did that just happen?” and we both chuckled our way into the colorful gallery.
Our next stop was, as Claire so excitedly pointed out, The Chocolate Emporium. Entering the store, it seemed as though we were in chocolate heaven. Quickly we sparked up a conversation with the girl behind the counter, who informed us that all the fudge and truffles were made right there in the store. Claire began a fairly lengthy conversation with the girl working behind the counter, however, walking away, we realized the girl spoke very little English and probably didn’t understand half of the conversation that had occurred. In fact, all the girls working at this store seemed to speak little English.
Looking at the various ice cream flavors offered, we were mystified with one labeled Lobster ice cream. We had to try it. The girl behind the counter handed us small samples. Claire, being courteous, swallowed the ice cream and tried desperately not to make a face. I, on the other hand, was not so successful in doing so, and dry heaved my way out of the store after taking yet another sample of some other ice cream flavor much more appealing to my taste buds.
Still feeling sick from the ice cream, we decided to approach a pierced young man folding sweatshirts in a gift shop. Living part-time in Bar Harbor he was able to inform us about the local life, which seemed to have little excitement. He said the high school “on the island” had the highest drop-out rate in Maine, which he attributed to the fact that “all the locals are junkies”. He then looked at us and said, “There is nothing else to do but party, hike and hang out in the park if you’re not a tourist. That is why I am working here.”
What the guy had said about the downtown park sparked some interest, so we decided to check it out. However, approaching it, we realized the weather had deterred anyone from enjoying the grassy area that day. So, being cold, soaked and annoyed with the pellets of rain flicking in our faces, we decided we needed some grub and a dry seat. After a little wandering, we decided on Donahue’s Eatery and Spirits. The food was good, but nothing special and a little over-priced for what we got. Claire, somewhat sarcastically complained to me about the two fries they generously gave her.
Having enough of the rain, we hopped back into the car and made our way to Acadia National Park. As we drove up the long windy road to Cadillac Mountain, the sprinkles had turned into a complete downpour. Not able to see 10 feet in front of the car, we began to discuss the possible “what ifs.” I mentioned losing control of the vehicle while Claire touched upon the loss of brakes and we both silently pictured the car tumbling down the mountain. Quickly, we changed the subject.
We finally made it to the summit of the mountain and realized there was nothing to see but fog, so we snapped a few quick photos and made our way back down. Finally making it to the bottom, we realized there was a foul burning smell and we had just driven with the emergency brake on all the way up and down Cadillac Mountain. The champagne Taurus was less than appreciative of the mistake and Claire quickly released the brake and apologized to the vehicle hoping the smell would just go away.
We made the seemingly longer trip home, leaving Bar Harbor in the dust. We talked about how a warm shower and our beds would feel once we reached campus. Finally, we put The Taur to rest and hurried back inside to relax. We reflected back on the day, specifically remembering our pierced friend in the gift shop and what he said about the youth in Bar Harbor. We had to agree. Though the town is quaint, if you weren’t moose shopping or sight-seeing, after a while the touristy atmosphere might weigh on you. But who knows, without the impending hurricane it might have been different.
