Day 43 Narraganset Rhode Island

Day 43 — A Taxing Day

The day began at 3:30 a.m. when I woke up with my mind in a frenzy over several unresolved issues that had been tormenting us the day before.

We were in Baja when we were supposed to file our taxes last spring, so we filed an extension, postponing both the paperwork and the annual stress that accompanies it. Unfortunately, postponing something doesn't make it disappear. It just gives it more time to grow teeth.

The extension deadline was October 15.

For a variety of good and not-so-good reasons, we hadn't filed our taxes on any of the multiple occasions we'd planned to tackle them. Now we found ourselves standing at the edge of a cliff, scratching our heads, beating our chests, staring into the abyss, and wondering how on earth we were going to get to the other side.

Yesterday, we'd had an opportunity to take advantage of excellent Wi-Fi at our Harvest Hosts location at Webster Lake. Instead, we decided to set sail for Rhode Island, where we were assured there would be good internet access at Fishermen's Memorial Campground.

Alas, that was not to be.

There was much consternation, gnashing of teeth, and muttering of unprintable words.

Last evening, in desperation, we drove the motorhome to the local library, hoping to access its free Wi-Fi from the parking lot. After 90 minutes of frustration and a signal that seemed to be transmitted by a carrier pigeon with a broken wing, we surrendered.

We decided to return the next day, go inside the library, and use its quiet room and presumably stronger signal to complete the monumental task of bridging the great tax chasm.

But at 3:30 this morning, the worry fairies were back, armed with calculators and sharpened pencils.

Rather than surrender to their torment, I decided to develop a plan.

First, I discovered that TurboTax had an app promising a 30% faster filing process. Even better, we had excellent cellular service at the campground!

Then came an even more comforting revelation. Since we didn't owe any taxes, there would be no federal late-filing penalty if we missed the deadline.

No black helicopters would descend upon the campground. No men dressed in black suits and ski masks would rappel down ladders, armed with sharpened pencils and machine guns, ready to seize our motorhome and whisk us away to a secret prison hidden inside an off-the-grid Walmart.

Phew!

With the tax crisis downgraded from DEFCON 1 to a manageable inconvenience, I turned my attention to the next great challenge.

How in the world were we going to get home?

While staring into the tax abyss yesterday, we'd also begun pondering another rather significant chasm: the approximately 3,000 miles separating Vermont from Roseburg, Oregon.

We wanted to get home in time to vote.

We've thoroughly enjoyed our long, somewhat leisurely cruise to the East Coast, stopping to explore, visit friends and family, chase fall colors, and savor the journey. But now it was time to turn westward, raise the sails, and chart a course for home.

We had 12 days to reach our destination without hitting any icebergs or provoking a mutiny aboard the Goodship Lexington.

Yes, I realize I've abruptly changed metaphors. Our beloved Chariot of the Dogs has temporarily become the Goodship Lexington. Sue me.

On second thought, please don't sue me. Just sigh mournfully and carry on.

I consulted Google Maps, which suggested that the quickest and probably most weather-friendly route would take us southwest through Salt Lake City and then home to Oregon.

Google estimated approximately 40 hours of nonstop driving.

Of course, that assumes the three of us (Taddy included) would wear enormous adult diapers, eat while driving, and tape our mouths shut to minimize wind turbulence between meals.

Seemed doable.

Fortunately, I came up with a somewhat more civilized alternative: average about four hours of driving each day, with two full days off along the way.

That should put us on our doorstep in time for Halloween!

Feeling considerably better about having developed reasonable solutions to two seemingly insurmountable problems, I rolled over around 5:30 a.m. and fell back asleep.

I didn't wake up again until nearly 8:00!

Unbeknownst to me, Janice had already taken Tad out at 6:00 and quietly returned to bed.

I slipped out of bed, dressed in the living room, and took our First Mate for a stroll on a beautiful Rhode Island morning.

We walked about a third of a mile to the park headquarters.

The previous evening, we'd decided to extend our stay another night rather than sail off to Connecticut as originally planned. We figured that forcing the crew to pack up and hit the road immediately after navigating the tax crisis might provoke a full-blown mutiny.

Janice suggested moving to campsite #73 because our current site, #80, wasn't available for another night.

I'd already reserved #73, and when Tad and I checked in at headquarters, the ranger told us we could move as soon as the current occupants departed rather than waiting until the official 2:00 p.m. check-in.

Things were looking up!

On our way back, Tad and I met another camper named Bob and his dog, Stanley.

Bob was from Florida and had recently retired. His wife had retired four years earlier and had finally convinced him to join her. They were headed to Bar Harbor and looking forward to many adventures together.

As a seasoned sailor, and with Dr. Rick nowhere in sight to counsel me against becoming my parents, I puffed thoughtfully on my imaginary pipe and offered Bob some imaginary nautical wisdom.

"Do your taxes before setting sail, batten down the hatches when storms are brewing, and above all, keep your crew happy. There are cannibals on some of those islands, and a mutinous crew might just decide to drop you off on one!"

Having generously shared my considerable seafaring expertise, Tad and I returned to the motorhome.

I made coffee and breakfast and shared my brilliant plan for bridging the tax chasm with Janice.

And then...

Fast forward!

We moved to campsite #73, a beautiful spot overlooking the harbor.

And, wonder of wonders, I successfully filed our taxes!

Not only that, but we were getting a refund!

There is a long and somewhat comical story behind the final stages of this triumph, involving considerable frustration and the removal of approximately 12 of the remaining 100 hairs on my head.

I'm now down to 88 hairs, a much more manageable number.

But the important thing is that we'd crossed the abyss. The tax monster had been vanquished. The crew was safe. The Goodship Lexington was still afloat.

And we had a spectacular new campsite with a view of the harbor from both our kitchen table and our firepit.

Life was good!

In the afternoon, we took Tad for a long walk around the campground. The weather had changed considerably from the previous day, when temperatures reached 75 degrees with a somewhat muggy atmosphere. Today was cooler and more refreshing.

After our walk, Janice and I hopped on our bikes and set off on an 11-mile ride to explore the Rhode Island coast.

For some reason, I'd imagined Narragansett as something resembling Coney Island, complete with a seaside boardwalk, old-fashioned Ferris wheel, and crowds of happy vacationers enjoying the last warm days of autumn.

Well, it wasn't quite that.

In fact, it seemed almost abandoned.

We encountered only a handful of people. The shoreline was peaceful and quiet, but there was something strangely unsettling about the absence of activity.

It was a stark contrast to Bar Harbor, where we'd recently enjoyed bustling streets, shops, restaurants, and people everywhere.

We decided to make a loop through some nearby neighborhoods on our way back to the campground.

The houses were impressive, many quite substantial and beautifully maintained.

But where were all the people?

The streets were eerily deserted.

It reminded me of an old Twilight Zone episode in which the main characters wander into a town that looks perfectly normal, only to discover that something is terribly wrong.

We passed a hired lawnkeeper mowing a lawn that didn't appear to need mowing.

Suspicious.

Then an electric Amazon delivery truck glided silently past us and stopped to deliver what I assumed were empty boxes to an abandoned house with cars parked in the driveway.

Highly suspicious.

There could be only one reasonable explanation.

Aliens had invaded Narragansett!

Clearly, they'd abducted most of the population and left behind a handful of caretakers to maintain the illusion that everything was perfectly normal.

The lawnkeeper was probably an alien. The Amazon driver was undoubtedly an alien. Even the empty boxes were likely part of some elaborate extraterrestrial deception.

Janice and I pedaled onward, anxious to return to the safety of our island campground and the reassuring company of normal Earthlings.

Fortunately, the people at the campground were wonderfully friendly. Most had dogs, and everyone seemed happy to smile and wave as we passed, just as they had when we walked with Tad.

Unless, of course, they were exceptionally convincing aliens.

Back at our campsite, I built a fire while Janice prepared dinner.

The sunset was magnificent.

We sat beside the crackling fire, enjoying our dinner and looking out over the bay as the last golden light faded from the sky.

Tad was thoroughly entertained by a bunny sitting just a few yards beyond the reach of his leash. The bunny seemed completely unconcerned about the large Irish Setter watching its every move.

Perhaps the bunny was an alien, too.

As darkness settled over the campground, a slender crescent moon appeared overhead. A cool breeze drifted in from the harbor, gently suggesting that it was time to retreat to the warmth of our floating home.

Janice promptly defeated me in a game of Spite and Malice, proving once again that the crew was fully capable of staging a successful mutiny whenever it suited them.

We then attended two Zoom meetings back in Oregon, one for KQUA Community Radio and another for our environmental education work.

It felt good to see our friends, share updates, and check a few accomplishments off our collective to-do lists.

Even though we were 3,000 miles apart, we were still working together toward the same goals.

One of the remarkable things about this adventure has been discovering how connected we can remain to our community while traveling across the continent. The miles may separate us physically, but our shared purpose travels with us.

Later, we called our dear friend Ken Carloni and made plans to meet him and Jenny on Saturday in Cavendish, Vermont, for a hike at Cavendish Gorge.

Ken and Jenny are visiting family in Connecticut, and we'd begun discussing this rendezvous months ago.

Now, somehow, here we were, just days away from making it happen.

It amazes me how much has come to pass since we first began dreaming about this Grand Adventure. So many places, so many experiences, so many wonderful people, and so many unexpected twists and turns.

And still, the adventure continues.

Finally, we climbed into bed and listened to a couple of chapters of our audiobook, The Visitor, about an alien stranded on Earth.

After our bicycle ride through the mysteriously deserted streets of Narragansett, I couldn't help but appreciate the irony.

Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence after all.

Outside, the harbor was quiet. The Goodship Lexington rested peacefully at anchor, metaphorically speaking. The taxes were filed, our westward course was charted, and the crew was content.

We'd begun the day staring into an abyss, overwhelmed by worries about deadlines, distances, and obligations.

We ended it watching a beautiful sunset, enjoying the company of friends from afar, and drifting off to sleep together on calm waters.

Sometimes the greatest adventure isn't conquering a mountain, crossing an ocean, or discovering a new place.

Sometimes it's simply finding your way through the worries of everyday life and emerging on the other side with a little more gratitude, a little less hair, and a renewed appreciation for the extraordinary gift of being together.

Fair winds and following seas, my friends. Tomorrow we sail again!

Day 42, October 14 2026: Franklin, NH to Narragansett, RI- Road miles

After the big rain overnight, the clouds parted and things started to dry out. Our walk along these little streets without sidewalks indicated we were in rural New Hampshire. Since we arrived late last night, it was hard to tell. 

A Boondocks Welcome sign greeted us as we raised the shade.

Franklin NH is named for Ben Franklin. It is home to Daniel Webster (1782–1852) a leading 19th-century American statesman, constitutional lawyer, and orator who served as a U.S. Senator and Secretary of State. A prominent leader of the Whig Party and member of the "Great Triumvirate" alongside Henry Clay and John C. Calhoun, he successfully argued landmark Supreme Court cases that strengthened federal authority, including McCulloch v. Maryland and Gibbons v. Ogden. Renowned for his fierce anti-nullification rhetoric and iconic phrase "Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable," Webster spent his career defending the American Union, though his support for the Compromise of 1850 and its Fugitive Slave Act ultimately alienated his Northern base in his final years. 

Tad and I discovered the colorful floral and fungus in the neighborhood.

The residents are embracing fall.

We were headed south today. I think. It seems hard to remember that the coast is to the east. There wasn't anything in particular that was news worthy. We selected the route to avoid tolls and found some marvelous backcountry roads.

Tad enjoyed the slower pace so he could look out the window. 

Destination was Fishermen's Memorial State Park, a 91-acre seaside public recreation area and campground located on Point Judith in Narragansett, Rhode Island. Occupying part of the former military installation Fort Nathaniel Greene. 

Unlike parts of the West, we can easily drive through multiple states in a matter of hours. We started in New Hampshire, drove through the narrow section of Massachusetts, and are in southern Rhode Island.

The only thing lacking at our campground is good wifi so we headed for the library 4 miles away to take care of some business.

It is an impressive library. It has been in the present location for 3 years. They have all kinds of things that you can check out including musical instruments. 

Tad and I walked the neighborhood that felt quite affluent with the big houses and manicured lawns.

We stayed until after dark then headed back to the campground to make spaghetti for dinner. 

Well, that is all to report except that yesterday was cold and today is warm and humid. And to tell the truth, I would like to take a break from all this journalling. Even Heather Cox Richardson, decides to take a break from writing and kick back and relax.

Day 41: Bar Harbor Maine to Franklin New Hampshire

Day 41 – Lost at Sea!

Bar Harbor, Maine, to Franklin, New Hampshire

After two extraordinary days in Bar Harbor, it was time to weigh anchor and set sail for New Hampshire. Our destination was Winding River Campground in Exeter, about four hours away. At least that was the plan!

The weather forecast called for heavy rain throughout the day, so we weren't in any great hurry to get underway.

I had an 8:30 AM phone call scheduled with Julie to discuss a few remaining details for our Oregon Naturalist Field Experience program. It was only 5:30 AM in Oregon, but Julie had scheduled the call! We arranged to have a Zoom meeting on Thursday to finish up a couple of things, so I wanted to find a campground with a reliable internet connection.

Winding River Campground appeared to have plenty of availability. Rather than make a reservation, I decided we would check the cell signal when we arrived and then book a site. A perfectly reasonable plan, I thought. Little did I know!

While Janice did a load of laundry and worked on her blog, Tad and I headed out for one last adventure in Maine before the storm arrived.

Taddy had been such a trooper during our recent adventures, especially his unfortunate encounter with a porcupine. I wanted to spend a little more time hiking with my faithful companion in this incredibly beautiful state.

We discovered a rugged trail that appeared to lead down toward the harbor, which I estimated was about 100 feet below the campground. The terrain was steep, and the thick forest made it difficult to see where we were headed.

Naturally, that made it all the more intriguing!

We scrambled down through the trees, weaving our way around obstacles, until we finally reached a paved road. Unfortunately, houses on the opposite side prevented us from reaching the shoreline.

Undeterred, we followed the road, hoping it would eventually wind its way back uphill toward the campground. Instead, it meandered along the coastline, taking us farther from home.

Along the way, we encountered a fellow walking his gray Labradoodle, Stanley. We both restrained our enthusiastic canine companions long enough for them to exchange greetings.

I introduced myself, and the gentleman, Dex, shifted his doggy bag to his other hand so we could shake hands.

Dex and his wife operate a bed-and-breakfast just down the road. In one of those delightful coincidences that seem to happen so frequently on our travels, his wife is from Bend, Oregon, and he is originally from Washington!

Small world!

Unfortunately, a car approached, interrupting our conversation, and we parted ways. I would have enjoyed learning more about their story, but our 11 AM checkout time was rapidly approaching.

Tad and I climbed back up the steep hillside to the campground, where Janice had everything ready to go. I disconnected the water and electricity, secured everything aboard our trusty Chariot of the Dogs, and we cast off just as the first raindrops began falling.

Farewell, Maine!

We were thoroughly impressed with Bar Harbor and Maine in general. As has happened so often on this Grand Adventure, we found ourselves wishing we had more time to explore.

But there were new horizons ahead, and we were excited to be on the road again.

Surprisingly, driving through the rain was quite pleasant. The heavy clouds softened the light, making the brilliant autumn foliage appear even more vibrant. Raindrops streamed across the windshield, blurring the reds, oranges, yellows, and greens into a constantly changing watercolor painting.

It was mesmerizing.

We settled into our familiar traveling routine. My phone was mounted in its holder on the dashboard, Google Maps announcing upcoming turns. My daily Coca-Cola was nestled in its cozy, and Tad was eagerly awaiting his share of our traditional traveling treats.

Road cigars!

These are the beef and chicken meat sticks we enjoy only while driving. Taddy has become quite the connoisseur, and I suspect he considers them one of the major benefits of traveling in a motorhome.

As we cruised through the Maine countryside, Janice read aloud about the fascinating history of Acadia National Park.

The story of Acadia is particularly interesting because its creation is so closely connected to the extraordinary wealth accumulated during America's Gilded Age.

During the late 1800s and early 1900s, Bar Harbor became a summer playground for some of America's wealthiest families. Industrialists, financiers, and other members of the economic elite built enormous summer estates, escaping the heat and congestion of America's growing cities.

Among them were members of the Rockefeller family.

Fortunately, some of these wealthy summer residents recognized the importance of preserving the spectacular landscape around them.

George B. Dorr, Charles W. Eliot, John D. Rockefeller Jr., and other conservation-minded citizens helped acquire and protect thousands of acres of mountains, forests, lakes, and coastline.

In 1916, President Woodrow Wilson established Sieur de Monts National Monument. It became Lafayette National Park in 1919 and was renamed Acadia National Park in 1929, honoring the region's French colonial history.

Rockefeller also financed and helped design the beautiful carriage roads that wind through the park today.

What an extraordinary legacy!

Yet the story raises some interesting questions about wealth, privilege, and the common good.

Just the other morning, at 3:30 AM, I had a fascinating conversation with my digital traveling companion, Sage, about the growing concentration of wealth in America.

A friend had posted an observation about how productivity and corporate profits have increased dramatically over the past four decades while the wages of ordinary workers have grown much more slowly.

Much of the financial reward has flowed to those who already own substantial assets, creating a system in which wealth generates even more wealth.

The contrast with Bar Harbor's Gilded Age was striking.

Here we were, enjoying one of America's most magnificent national parks, made possible in large part through the generosity of people who possessed extraordinary fortunes.

There is a wonderful irony in that.

Wealth that once helped separate the privileged few from ordinary Americans was used to preserve a landscape that millions of people from all walks of life can now enjoy.

Of course, the story is more complicated. The history of conservation also includes the displacement of Indigenous peoples, and the lives of the working families who supported these wealthy summer communities were very different from those of their affluent neighbors.

Still, Acadia demonstrates something important about the choices we make as a society.

Wealth can be accumulated for personal benefit, or it can be used to create opportunities and preserve treasures for generations yet unborn.

The generosity of Acadia's benefactors deserves recognition. But so does the larger question of how we create an economy in which prosperity is shared more broadly, rather than depending upon the philanthropy of a fortunate few.

I am profoundly grateful that Acadia belongs to all of us.

Our historical journey continued with the colorful story of Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac, the French adventurer for whom Cadillac Mountain is named.

Cadillac was quite a character!

Born Antoine Laumet in France in 1658, he reinvented himself with an aristocratic-sounding name and a rather embellished personal history. He arrived in French colonial Acadia during the 1680s and eventually acquired land that included portions of Mount Desert Island.

He and his wife, Marie-Thérèse Guyon, lived for a time near present-day Otter Creek.

But Cadillac had much grander ambitions.

He later established the French settlement that became Detroit in 1701 and eventually served as governor of French Louisiana.

His career was filled with political intrigue, controversy, and accusations of corruption. He even spent time imprisoned in the Bastille before eventually returning to favor in France!

His connection to Louisiana led us into another fascinating chapter of North American history.

The French-speaking Acadians of eastern Canada were forcibly expelled from their homeland by the British beginning in 1755, decades after Cadillac's time. Many eventually settled in Louisiana, where their descendants helped develop the distinctive Cajun culture we know today.

Cadillac himself didn't create Cajun culture, but his travels and the later Acadian migration are threads in the larger story of French influence across North America.

Imagine that! From the rocky shores of Maine to Detroit and the bayous of Louisiana, history connects places in ways we rarely appreciate.

And somewhere along the way, Cadillac's invented noble identity became the name of one of America's most famous automobile brands.

Not bad for a fellow who apparently had a rather flexible relationship with the truth!

As the miles slipped by, we listened to local classic rock stations and Maine Public Broadcasting.

I enjoy listening to local radio when we travel. It gives us a sense of the communities we're passing through, their music, their concerns, their culture, and their personalities.

Listening to Maine Public reminded me how much I hope that someday Oregon Public Broadcasting programming will be available through our growing KQUA Community Radio network across the Umpqua Valley.

Community radio can be such a wonderful bridge between people, ideas, and places.

By about 3 PM, our stomachs were beginning to complain, and I realized that we were rapidly running out of Maine without having accomplished one very important mission.

Eating a fresh Maine lobster!

We decided to stop in Wells Maine  where we discovered a small local restaurant called Fisherman's Catch, nestled beside a coastal marsh.

The rain continued to fall as we climbed out of the motorhome, feeling like sailors disembarking from a ship that had finally found safe harbor.

We were greeted by a cheerful young waitress named Astra.

Naturally, I struck up a conversation.

Astra grew up in the area and has lived there her entire life. I told her how impressed we had been with Maine and how much we were enjoying our travels.

Janice rolled her eyes and suggested that I needed an intervention from Dr. Rick, the character in the Progressive Insurance commercials who coaches people on how not to become their parents.

Astra burst out laughing.

Apparently, her father is just like me!

She joked that her family accuses him of practically giving out his Social Security number at restaurants because he shares so much information with strangers.

I felt an immediate kinship with the man.

Somewhere, Dr. Rick was shaking his head.

Meanwhile, we enjoyed listening to a group of men at a nearby table bantering in their wonderful New England accents. One particularly animated fellow was holding court, sharing his political opinions and recommendations for Netflix programs.

It was delightful.

I love these little glimpses into everyday life in the communities we visit. The accents, humor, conversations, and personalities are every bit as interesting as the scenery

Then my lobster arrived!

Janice had ordered shrimp tacos, but my attention was entirely focused on the magnificent crustacean sitting before me.

There was just one problem.

How in the world was I supposed to eat it?

Janice looked up instructions on her phone, and I began what can only be described as an awkward surgical procedure involving cracking, twisting, extracting, and occasionally wondering whether I was doing more harm than good.

Only after completing the operation did we discover that the paper placemats beneath our plates contained illustrated instructions on how to dismantle a lobster!

Naturally.

Despite the challenges, the lobster was absolutely delicious, and I could finally check another important item off my Maine bucket list.

We thanked Astra profusely. I heroically resisted the temptation to offer her unsolicited advice about living happily ever after.

Dr. Rick would have been proud.

We climbed back aboard our cruise ship, pulled up anchor, and resumed our voyage toward Winding River Campground in Exeter, New Hampshire.

We arrived shortly after 5 PM.

Unfortunately, the campground office was closed, and the entrance gate was lowered.

Hmm.

I tried calling the office, which was apparently hidden somewhere beyond the gate.

A woman pulled up in a car and asked which campsite we were staying in.

I explained that we hadn't made a reservation yet.

She rather abruptly informed us that they didn't accept same-day reservations.

Well, that was a fine how-do-you-do!

All those empty campsites, and we couldn't get into a single one.

We made a U-turn and headed back toward Exeter, hoping to find better cell reception so we could search for another place to spend the night.

The rain was coming down harder, darkness was approaching, and our options were rapidly disappearing.

We couldn't find any nearby campgrounds or Harvest Hosts willing to accommodate a same-day arrival.

Our peaceful cruise through New England had suddenly become a maritime emergency.

We were lost at sea!

Janice calmly suggested that perhaps we could spend the night in a Walmart parking lot.

WALMART?!

I scoffed at the suggestion.

Surely we weren't so desperate that we would dock our beautiful Chariot of the Dogs on some remote island inhabited by cannibals!

There had to be another option.

I continued searching and finally discovered a Harvest Hosts location near Webster Lake in Franklin, New Hampshire, about an hour away.

I submitted a request, and within minutes we received approval!

Hallelujah!

We plotted a new course, secured the hatches, and headed north into the storm.

By now, it was very dark. Rain pounded the windshield, and the glare of headlights and taillights reflected off the wet pavement, making driving increasingly challenging.

We eventually reached Interstate 93, where we encountered a tollbooth attended by a young woman whose demeanor suggested she had absolutely no interest in participating in our nautical adventure.

She collected our toll with all the enthusiasm of a disinterested troll guarding a bridge.

We paid our tribute and continued onward.

One thing that amazed me was the number of drivers traveling through the heavy rain without their headlights on.

By my highly scientific calculations, approximately 5.38% of the vehicles we encountered were navigating these treacherous waters in stealth mode.

I couldn't help thinking about Marge, our delightfully crusty bus driver in Acadia National Park.

I could practically hear her commentary.

"Look at that genius! It's pouring rain, you can't see fifty feet, and he's driving around without his lights on! What does he think this is, a submarine?"

Or perhaps:

"Hey, buddy! Your headlights aren't just so YOU can see! They're so the rest of us can see YOU! What'd ya do, leave your brains back at the tollbooth?"

I smiled, imagining Marge providing a running commentary as we navigated the storm.

Eventually, we stopped for gas near our destination.

As I stepped out of the motorhome, I noticed a young woman with bright green hair filling her car at the adjacent pump.

She smiled at me.

"We're HERE!" I proclaimed triumphantly.

She laughed.

"Oh my God! I almost ran out of gas!" she exclaimed.

"This is New York, right?" I asked.

"No! You're in NEW HAMPSHIRE!" she replied with extraordinary enthusiasm.

I assured her that I was kidding.

She seemed a little amped up, but her cheerful energy was infectious after our long, wet voyage.

Naturally, I explained that we were from Oregon and traveling across the country.

As I pumped 38 gallons of gasoline into the motorhome, I could almost see an imaginary Dr. Rick emerging from behind the Chariot, frantically making throat-slashing gestures with his hand.

STOP TALKING!

I obediently shut up.

At last, we arrived safely at our Harvest Hosts destination near Webster Lake.

Our host, Carol, greeted us from her porch, provided the Wi-Fi password, and mentioned that she would be leaving at 5:30 the following morning.

We thanked her and quickly settled into our temporary harbor.

Janice bundled up and took Tad outside in the rain to attend to his evening business while I searched for our next destination.

And there it was!

A campground near Narragansett, Rhode Island, right along the Atlantic coast.

Even better, the forecast called for sunshine and temperatures around 75 degrees!

After a day of rain, darkness, detours, and navigational challenges, the prospect of warm sunshine and sandy beaches sounded positively heavenly.

We had traveled much farther than planned, but we were safe, dry, warm, and together.

Tad was curled up comfortably, Janice was nearby, and our faithful Chariot of the Dogs had once again carried us safely through another unexpected adventure.

Sometimes the best stories aren't the ones we plan.

They're the ones that unfold when the road takes an unexpected turn, the campground gate is locked, and the weather reminds us that we aren't always in control.

What matters is how we respond, how we treat the people we meet along the way, and whether we can still find reasons to laugh when things don't go according to plan.

Tomorrow, we set sail for Rhode Island.

Sunny skies, warm breezes, and new adventures await!

Day 40: October 13, 2026: Old Friends and New Adventures

Our day started with the routines and anticipation. Our friend from Oregon, Angela Jensen, was coming the 2 hours from her current place of residence, just north of Augusta, to meet us at our campground in Bar Harbor to spend the day with us.

Angela and Kasey were in an online Vermont Law School Master of Environmental Law and Policy Program in 2014-16. Afterwards, Angela and her husband Peter travelled to Royalton Vermont where she spent 3 years getting her law degree. After graduating she clerked in Sitka Alaska and then moved to Maine to start her law practice. While she was on the east coast, she worked part time as Umpqua Watersheds legal advisor and Conservation Chair. This was all remote work since it was during covid. We are so proud of her and her accomplishments. She has been working in criminal justice law for nearly 5 years and finds it rewarding. We have not seen her in person since 2015 when she went to Law School. Her husband, Peter, passed away just over 2 years ago. Our trip brought us close enough to find a way to meet up and Bar Harbor seemed to be the perfect place.

Mount Desert Island is the largest island of Maine, the sixth-largest island in the contiguous United States, and the second-largest island on the Eastern Seaboard, behind Long Island and ahead of Martha's Vineyard. The island is home to Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park.There is something truly magical about Mount Desert Island. Between the crashing Atlantic surf, dense pine canopy, and granite peaks, Acadia National Park has a way of stealing your heart within minutes. 

Cadillac Mountain is the park's highest peak and is the highest peak on the eastern seaboard at 1530 feet. It is where you can experience sunrise 

We planned to spend the day exploring the park by land and sea with our friend Angela, and our four-legged adventurer, Tad!

We kicked off our day by hopping on the Island Explorer toward the park visitor center bus, leaving Angela's vehicle at our campsite. 

At the visitor center, we caught the Loop Road route out near the east coast of the island. Acadia is wildly dog-friendly! Tad was welcomed right aboard the bus alongside us, taking in the sites through the head height windows in the bus as we wound through the park. Bus riders were overwhelmingly welcoming to the the 4 footed passenger by our side bringing smiles and engaging conversation. I think we should get business cards for him: "Hi, I'm Tad. I am an Irish Setter and I was born in 2020. I normally live in Oregon. I am travelling around the country with my parents."

We hopped off near the coastal cliffs to stretch our legs at a scenic stop around Thunder Hole. Walking along the granite ledges with the sound of incoming ocean swell booming against the rocks was breathtaking.

Angela shared a fun fact: If you draw a straight line from top to bottom, Maine's general coastline measures just 228 miles long, yet if you trace all of its jagged granite inlets, bays, coves, tidal rivers, and over 3,100 offshore islands, Maine’s total tidal shoreline stretches for an incredible 3,478 miles!

That means Maine has more tidal coastline than California (3,427 miles), despite California being nearly five times larger in land area.

The trip in the bus went through hardwood forests in various stages of leaf drop while transitioning the landscape from summer to winter.

Exploring Acadia brings out some genuinely fascinating history and trivia: Established as Sieur de Monts National Monument in 1916, it became Lafayette National Park in 1919 before being renamed Acadia National Park in 1929.

Unlike vast Western parks carved out of federal territories, Acadia was assembled almost entirely through land donations from private citizens led by George B. Dorr and John D. Rockefeller Jr. Rockefeller didn't just donate land; he funded and designed 45 miles of rustic Carriage Roads, complete with 16 hand-crafted stone bridges, ensuring people could enjoy the interior park without automobiles.

After taking in the salt spray, we caught the Sand Beach route back into Bar Harbor’s Village Green to catch the bus to our afternoon water voyage.

 Tad seemed to tire of standing and sacked out on the floor for a few minutes. Not wanting to miss a thing, he was back at the window in no time.

From Village Green, we took the short Eden Street shuttle down to the docks to board the Eden Star for a two-hour eco-cruising tour. Once again, Tad proved to be the ultimate sea dog, happily fixated on the sites as we glided across the open water.

Our boat trip was packed with incredible sights and stories:

We spotted bald eagles soaring over the shoreline tree canopy, common loons, and flocks of surf scoters bobbing on the waves. The highlight for all of us (especially Angela!) was catching sight of three distinct species of seals basking on the exposed rocks and playing in the coastal currents.

The guide talked about the old growth white spruce on the islands. Maybe has very little olg growth forest except for on some of these inaccessible islands. Forces of nature can't be stopped and this island will be 2 sometime in the next few thousand years as a split is forming in the rocks.

Our guide shared fascinating tales of Mount Desert Island’s past, from its original Indigenous Wabanaki roots to European contact, the Gilded Age wealthy "cottagers," and the early maritime history of the local lighthouses keeping vessels safe off the rocky Maine coast.

The sunset became obscured by the incoming stoem.and we ended our voyage just before dark. 

Being close to the shoreline, we made sure to touch the Atlantic.

We had to navigate several different bus routes to make our journey end where we started. We weren't always efficient at our choices and spent quite a bit of time waiting for buses after finding that we had just missed our connecting bus. Riding the free Island Explorer bus wasn't just convenient, it gave us a front-row seat to the delicate balancing act that park managers face today.

Acadia is one of the smallest national parks in total acreage, yet it frequently ranks among the top 10 most visited in the United States, welcoming over 4 million visitors annually. Managing that huge influx creates complex challenges:

Narrow coastal roads can quickly become gridlocked during peak months. Heavy foot traffic risks eroding alpine vegetation on Cadillac Mountain and delicate coastal soils along popular trails.The zero-emission/propane Island Explorer shuttle system, heavily funded by generous grants from L.L. Bean, was designed specifically to take thousands of cars off the roads each day, reducing emissions and preserving the quiet charm of the island.

This was the last day for the season that the buses would be running and some of the drivers exhibited their jubulence of the prospect of extended time off.

Sharing coastal views with Angela, watching marine life from the deck of the Eden Star, and having Tad right by our side for the whole adventure made it a trip we’ll be talking about for a long time!

After arriving late to our campsite, we hopped into her truck and managed to find a restaurant open late enough for us to grab a bite to eat and a pint.

After a quick meal, she brought us back to our campsite. We said our goodbyes to her with the knowledge that it is truly not the last time and so "We will see you again, friend." We are dog tired.

A note: one of the biggest challenges was selecting from the hundreds of pictures that both Kasey and I took during the day. Telling the story with pictures is essential. I must admit, that cute picture of the seal is not one we took, but it is important for the story.