I stepped onto the platform, amazed at how empty and clean the train was. Leah was waiting for me outside the station, grateful that I hadn’t taken another crowded and smelly Greyhound bus, which I promised myself for the fourth time I’d never do regardless of how cheap tickets were. We embraced and headed over to Gloucester, where we’d stay with her parents for a few days before driving up to Maine for the week.
Her folks owned a cabin right on Sebec Lake, one of the state’s more spectacular lakes. We had talked about visiting together for years but never prioritized it; international trips and visits to blockbuster destinations would always get the first pick on a limited pool of vacation days. With travel restrictions this year, the cabin in Maine seemed like the perfect spot to hide out from the pandemic and disconnect from the world. We saw on a map that we’d be close to Acadia National Park, and realized it’d be an ideal time to visit: the Canadian border was closed and the lack of cruise ships unloading tourists into Bar Harbor presented a once in a lifetime opportunity. I was also eager to give Acadia another chance: my first visit left me feeling that it was the Disneyland of national parks given how car-friendly it was.
On the evening before we left, Leah tried out her new wetsuit in the ocean a short walk from home. She was excited for swimming in Sebec Lake, which apparently would remain cold til late August. She made sure I didn’t forget to ask Ben for his wetsuit, which he kindly let me borrow.
Sunrise over Sebec
It took some persuading the evening we arrived to convince Leah to get up for sunrise at 4:45am. To squeeze out a few extra minutes of sleep, she had me believe that it’d take a while before I’d see any light and that I might as well set my alarm for later. (None of that was actually true).
I woke up before my alarm, excited to put on my shoes and head out the door. I wasn’t sure if Leah would join, but she eventually rolled out of bed and we stepped out into the sweet piney air together. We followed a dirt trail til we found the last dock. The owners weren’t home so we sat out and watched the warm colors slowly drain from the sky.
Out for a swim
Leah was bummed that the boat on our dock wouldn’t start, but we donned our wetsuits and went for a dip in the lake. To our surprise the water was more refreshing than it was cold, even in the early morning hours.
The afternoon weather wasn’t looking too promising, so we decided to do just a short hike to the summit of Borestone Mountain. This trail might have been the most popular one in central Maine, but everyone we came across was heading down. Once we reached the top, the wind picked up and held on til the thick rain began pouring on us. Fortunately we were below treeline when the thunder was crackling into the open sky.
The following day we took out the canoe to Buck’s Cove, which Leah said was one of the more wilder parts of the lake. It hadn’t been inhabited by people since the Natives. The trees also grew thicker and darker on this edge of the lake . We even spotted a bald eagle perched on the edge of the water, watching us curiously from a distance.
Finding our way in the woods
Leah mentioned there was a locally-known trail behind the cabin leading to the “Ice Caves.” She was in middle school when she last saw the massive glacial erratic boulders that held cold air all year round.
We ended up on a wrong path and never found the ice caves. About a mile of hiking through thickly vegetated woods where the spongy dirt sank a little with each step led us to a deserted cabin. There were piles of odd, old metal bits and parts scattered around, junkyard-style. It was clear someone lived there, but it didn’t seem like anyone was home. We stayed for a minute or so and then quickly slipped away before the excited swarm of mosquitos chewed through our clothes.
After several days of relaxing and enjoying the lake views from the porch, we packed up and headed to the coast. On the drive we listened to a podcast about the 1947 fire in Maine that changed the ecology and population of Mount Desert Island. Shortly after we arrived to the park, we hiked up to the top of Acadia Mountain. Just as quickly as the fog lifted for us when we topped out, it enveloped us as we descended. We met a solo hiker named Chris who had grown up on the island before moving to settle in New York City. He asked if we wanted to hike and chat, which was a bit unusual given the pandemic. None of us had masks on and we didn’t make any intentional effort to keep a strict six feet of distance.
Sand Beach
We found the parking lot for Sand Beach to be nearly empty. I took in a deep breath of the cool, salty air as soon as we stepped out of the car. There weren’t many visitors. We sat on the edge of the water, listening to the rumble of the grey ocean crashing into the short. The sun finally cut through the overcast and the scene transformed. The waves took on a vibrant blue and the tops of pine trees above the cliffs were painted with an evening gold.
We drove along the park loop road a short distance to Thunder Hole. To get away from the few groups waiting to take photos at the main ‘splash zone’ vista, we kicked off our sandals and climbed down and up a steep chute to access a large rocky platform. We were just beyond eyeshot of the other visitors and certainly couldn’t hear them over the waves.
Otter Point at sunset
We made one last stop before calling it a night. Just as the sky became a cotton candy pink, we pulled into Otter Point. Not a single car or visitor was in sight; we had the entire sunset to ourselves. Out in the distance, we could see and hear a white buoy ringing a bell with every wave that rocked it, warning of a hidden rock formation just below the surface. From here, the waves sounded like a hushed whisper broken only by a clear ring every few seconds.
A very lucky accident
Leah suggested we get some major miles in on bikes around Mount Desert Island. The most I had ever ridden was a little over 20 miles, and I had never been on a road bike before. The rental shop accidentally sold the bike I booked and was entirely out of stock. They instead had to take a brand new $7,000 road bike from their sales floor and slapped a rental sticker on it, meaning I’d be the first to give it a spin.
I was impressed at how much faster I could bike without exerting any effort. We certainly slowed down to enjoy any views, walking our bikes along gravel paths that led to the edge of the water. Our loop today would 42 miles on what was called the “quieter side” of the island. Our path took is in and out of the national park and residential streets. It was fun to see the homes and imagine what it might be like to live in such a scenic place. None of the houses were too gaudy; all seemed to prioritize being secluded, which wasn’t surprising: the park had over 3 million visitors in 2019. For context, the entire island has a population of 10,000.
Bubble rock
We still felt fresh after the ride and the sun was still high in the sky. After some popovers at the Jordan Pond House, we put away the bikes and hiked up to South Bubble for a view of Bubble Rock, a glacial erratic precariously balanced on the edge of a cliff. The most popular photo pose is of someone trying to push it over. Eventually it will topple (geologic time includes now), and I wondered who that lucky and surprised soul would be.
We planned to get takeout at a restaurant and sit by the Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse. The restaurant we had in mind announced that it’d be closing its doors for good in two days given the pandemic. When we showed up, to our surprise they asked if we wanted a table for two. Apparently Maine had just allowed indoor dining to resume, which was quite convenient because it started raining hard. Sitting in a restaurant was quite an odd experience to say the least.
I woke up the next day feeling pretty great in my legs, which didn’t surprise me. My recipe for recovery has a simple but strict regimen of aggressive hydrating (without alcohol), lots of protein, relaxing stretching, good sleep, and my favorite: blasting away any soreness with a massage gun (I use the Hypervolt). Today we’d be tackling a bigger loop of about 60 miles through the more populated side of Mount Desert Island. It was also Friday, July 3rd, so there’d be more car traffic to deal with. Fortunately we had clear skies and a nice breeze from the ocean to cool us off whenever we needed to catch our breath.
I was even more grateful today to be on two wheels, which allowed us stop wherever and whenever we wanted. There were random short paths that led out to amazing, secluded vistas just off the side of the road, some of which didn’t have a convenient spot to park a car. We were able to roll up and get a lesser-seen perspective on Acadia because of the freedom of being on a bike. I’m sure that earning our views with each pedal stroke also made the moments feel all the more special.
Daydreaming
In addition to the added mileage exposing us to more scenery, we also coasted through more residential parts of the island. Leah and I fantasized out loud about living here when we retired, going back and forth on whether we thought our friends would visit us. I assumed they would, but mostly to see the park and use the extra bedroom. I quietly wondered which national park would be the best one to live near. I’ve got my money on Yosemite.
At the high point
Whatever comfort in my riding strength I had evaporated when we started the climb up Cadillac Mountain, the island’s high point at 1,529 ft. It’s not particularly high, but I hadn’t ever biked up anything more than a small hill prior to this. The slope was also never very steep, it just seemed to go on forever. Halfway up I began to quietly damn all the cars that gliding up the road. I wanted to give up for a short breather at each minute, but I knew I’d be prouder of myself I stayed in the saddle and pushed on.
Happy and sore
Despite my padded bike shorts, my butt was so sore at the top. Leah and I laid down on a clearing of flat rock and didn’t move for several minutes. When we finally made our way down, which I’d been looking forward to the entire ride up, I felt like a missile hurtling down to earth. The views at every turn were incredible and the roar of the cold wind was deafening. I had to keep myself in check from going too fast and accidentally biking off the road on the hairpin turns.
We closed out the evening by eating a spread of ice cream, pizza, curly fries, chips, and lobster rolls. It felt great to get real food in us after a diet of sucking down energy gels and chugging electrolyte water for the entirety of the day. We pulled up to Echo Lake, and ate our food on a small beach. We didn’t go in for a swim, but the freshwater here is some of the warmest on the island for taking a dip.
On our last day out in the park we had just enough time for a hike to the top of Mansell Mountain, overlooking Long Pond. As we drove through the island, we noticed that some parts of the island were shrouded in thick fog whereas driving two minutes away would open us up to a perfect summer morning with blue skies. The trail we took up was the Perpendicular Trail, a steep staircase of a path that was appropriately named. We happened to be on the foggy side of the island, so there wasn’t much for views, but any day on the trail is better than a day off trail.
We had a phenomenal week in Maine. Even on the days that it rained up in the cabin, we made the most of it by sitting on the porch watching the weather roll in and out, even swimming in the lake when it rained (you can’t get any more wet after all). It was both a relaxing and stimulating week. I changed my views on Acadia and got to experience it in a different way. I wouldn’t ever come again on the fourth of July, but if I did, I’d definitely be on two wheels and would avoid any of the popular, blockbuster trails unless I were to do them at odd hours (sunrise or very late in the day).
I hope you get a chance to experience some Acadia magic yourself. However you do it, be safe and be responsible! 😊
