My Last Road Trip

Two years ago in August, my best friend and I decided to take a road trip to Maine.

Our first stop was Buffalo, where Expedia had found us a charming boutique hotel called “The Henry.” To reach the hotel from the interstate, Siri led us on a winding industrial route far from the center of town. Suddenly we faced a sprawling, red brick institution. It turned out that The Henry was fashioned out of an abandoned insane asylum. Once inside, it was fresh, bright and cozy, with dazzling art on the walls and charming architectural details. Sadly, the desk attendant found no reservation for us and the hotel was full. Further research showed that my friend had accidentally booked us for the same date in the prior month. We had been listed as “no shows.” We hung out as long as possible in the dining room but eventually had to skulk off to some very ordinary digs in downtown Buffalo.

To cheer us up on Day Two, we made a surprise stop in Honeoye, New York, to visit my sister. Her home is in the Finger Lakes area, nestled among pristine waters, farms and woodlands. After a restorative visit, she sent us on our way with a delicious berry cobbler.

Night Two was Castleton, New Hampshire—our first glimpse of the ocean. A a few miles up the road, on Day Three, we found Portland, Maine, home of the Press Hotel. This turned out to be our favorite lodging of the whole trip. The hotel occupied a former newspaper plant. A companionable buzz and the aroma of roasted coffee filled the air. Old typewriters were affixed to the walls at jaunty angles, reminding us it is never too late to write the great American novel. Next time we will allow more time to read and write.

Our final destination was Northeast Harbor, on Mount Desert Island. Online, it was perfect – light gray shingles with a wrap-around porch—but on check-in we were led to a newer outbuilding shaped like a Quonset hut with permanently smudged windows and a musty smell throughout. Before tempers flared, we managed to be moved to a room in the main building. From then on, Mount Desert (or “Mount Dessert”, as we learned to pronounce it) proved all we had hoped for. We hiked in Acadia National Forest and took a boat tour of the harbor, sighting seals, ospreys, herons and bald eagles. Halfway through the trip, we docked at a small island
and had the most delectable hot dog ever. Did I say I was a vegetarian?

Homeward bound we headed to a B&B next to a waterfall outside Northampton MA. Online, it promised an idyllic way to end the trip. In reality, sleep was impossible. The din of rushing water was inescapable and it felt like we were spending an endless night inside the rinse cycle
of a washing machine. Bleary-eyed the next morning, we grabbed a muffin and left the romantic B&B in the dust, resolving never to be lured by online magic again.