100 miles

Today is my birthday. (And yes, it really did end up being a perfect century ride today.)

I evacuated the RV park as quickly as possible this morning. I located a cafe in the nearby town, and decided I wanted blueberry pancakes for breakfast. To my dismay I was told they were out of fresh fruit, but I was not going to be deterred, so I drank my coffee and took some plain pancakes to go. I brought my stack to the nearest Hannaford’s, where I paid $2 for a pint of fresh blueberries, and sat on a bench in front of the store to eat while I waited for my tent to dry.

While I sat, I spotted a man walking out of the store holding a cloud of birthday balloons, so I asked him if the balloons were for me, in my best deadpan, and told him it was actually my birthday. The serendipity of the moment inspired me, so after we chatted I went back into the store and picked a shiny balloon, with pictures of balloons on it. It felt epically silly in exactly the right way—I tied it to the back of my bike and rode with it all day, bobbing around behind me in the wind. The drag it created was intense, but so was the visibility. I felt like a clown that everyone could see, which feels like a weird kind of safety on narrow rural highways like these.

I reached the Maine border where a modest sign declared “Maine: Welcome Home” which felt very appropriate. The ride was nice. I decided to go all the way to Portland, inspired by my balloon to treat myself to a century ride for my birthday. I rode to Portland Head Light, looked at the ocean, dipped my tire, asked a stranger to take my picture, and then headed back to meet Andre and Daphne at the High Roller Lobster Company in the Old Port. 

The Old Port is an extremely touristy area, and it was bustling with clean, well-dressed shoppers who probably all took hot showers this morning.