Never on Sundays

I've established pretty well that I live and work at a ski resort in the winters. And, in the winter, I have one rule--well, it's more of a guideline, really--and that is, never ski on weekends during peak season. It's so busy on the hill and most of the people are weekend warriors trying to get as much as they can out of their two days of freedom. As such, they ski too hard; they push too hard; they drink too hard. And there are waaaaay too many of them. It's akin to going out for a casual drink on St. Patrick's Day or New Year's Eve.

sshhhh...don't tell anyone

My friend T and I tried to "grab a quick bite" in the South End after crashing a Richard Nash talk at the Park Plaza a few months ago. On this particular night, it was Cinco de Mayo; the Kentucky Derby; and it was the Saturday before the full moon. We never even had a chance. Skiing on the weekends is a lot like that.

the secret is out

So, I don't know why it surprised me to see so much traffic on the Sunday of July 4th weekend at one of the most beautiful spots along the midcoast (yea, I'm happy to debate that with you). When I arrived at the "super secret" Bates-Morse Mountain trail that takes you to the most spectacular beach ever, there was traffic leading up to the parking lot and the parking lot was full. Duh.

I'll admit, when I saw the parking attendant talking to the people in the red pickup truck, I said out loud, alone in my car, "Sorry folks. Park's closed. The moose out front shoulda told ya."

Not to be deterred, I forged ahead with a Plan B.

I drove over to the Spirit Pond Preserve for a walk into a nice little quiet area. I made the right call. I didn't see a single soul.

It was so quiet, in fact, I started to worry when I noticed my phone had no reception. Then I started imagining what the voice-over for the dramatic reenactment might be when they aired my disappearance during the Missing Persons segment of America's Most Wanted. They'd interview the parking attendant at the Morse lot. ("I guess I saw her around noon? The lot was full and she said she would just come back later. She seemed pleasant enough. In fact, she really sticks out in my mind because she seemed so interesting to me.")

(Shut up. It's my fantasy.)

They'd show grainy footage of some actress, most likely someone who looks like Kirstie Alley but with worse hair, getting out of a nondescript car at the Spirit Pond Preserve. The camera would shoot her from behind as she walked into the dark woods, never to be seen or heard from again. As old photos of me looking drunk, awkward, and clumsy scroll across the screen, the narrator would speculate: drowning, head injury from a falling limb, or a simple case of getting lost. But the most likely scenario? Kidnapping. Back to the reenactment as the producers show grainy footage of a large boot disturbing the water in a deep muddy puddle. Who is that? What happened to her? If you have any information, please call.... [Wow this paragraph needs an edit.]

left

Then I really did get lost. I came to a fork in the road, so I took it. (Heh. Thanks Yogi Berra.) Nah, I'm kidding. I went left. My sister always used to say, "When in doubt go left." She was talking politics, but it's fine advice anyway. My grandmother, on the other hand, always refused to turn left in her car. She said it was because her steering wheel was broken, but I think it's more likely she didn't want to cross oncoming traffic.

It occurred to me, as I turned left again, that I might have to emulate my grandmother and start veering a bit to the right if I wanted to get to my final destination, a sweet little dam on a little pond. This got me musing about politics and how, sometimes you have to veer slightly in the opposite direction to get to your final destination or you might just end up walking in circles. In my case in politics and now in real life, it meant walking a little to my right while mentally reviewing the "what to do when you get lost in the woods" list. Find shelter, stay where you are, build a fire, turn on MSNBC...wait. Is that right? 

I just found a cool reference for Spirit Pond related to a rune stone, discovered in 1971 and allegedly to be from the 14th century. Hoax or not, I love that there's a slight chance we have evidence in Phippsburg--the site of the first English settlement in 1607, albeit for only one year so the town gets no credit--saw Norse settlements or even campsites before Columbus got here. Even more interesting, it looks like this guy Walter Elliott found what might be a handheld map of stone. Or, for my young readers, like the beta version of a GPS in your iPhone.

All of this weird history would explain why I got the willies while I was hiking around shouting "JOSH!" (That might be too esoteric a reference, so I linked to what happens to be a perfect YouTube clip. I saw this movie with my sister Libby who punched my arm and cursed me the entire time. And, while lost in the Poconos with some friends several years ago, we yelled Josh! Josh! Still makes me laugh to think about it.)

I'm getting away from myself. Clearly, I made it out of Spirit Pond alive.

I was gone a whopping 30 minutes.

I needed more.

I forged ahead with a Plan C.

warning! too many people!

I decided I would drive to Fort Popham, walk the short beach, grab a fried dough at Percy's for me and for Groom who has been sitting under a pile of work all day, and mow the lawn.

But, after the terror of Spirit Pond (I haven't even mentioned the bugs), I had forgotten the entire Popham peninsula is currently overrun with newbies and tourists, like it's amateur hour at the Bijou, as my dad used to say.

this is the view from Percy's

Couldn't find a place to park at the fort, parked in the Percy's store lot instead, which meant I had to forgo my walk. Stood in line while the cashier very professionally practiced his patience with a customer who didn't quite understand the mechanics of ordering a sandwich. Finally got to the front of the line and was informed they were out of fried dough. Hopped back in the car, drove home, and Groom was mowing the lawn.

I plan to try this all again tomorrow. And, for the record, today's adventure never would have happened if I weren't holding myself accountable by writing this blog. Before getting outside today, I was perfectly content to lie on my belly in the upstairs hallway reading R. Crumb's graphic depiction of the Book of Genesis, which is exactly what I was doing. Because. I. Am. A. Big. Dork.