Written June 4th--

In two days, I’ve pedaled nearly 55 miles up and down the Maine coast. Yesterday morning’s weather solicited the unanticipated purchase of cycling tights and a rain slicker- the Atlantic Ocean, weaving indecisively along the shore like a scraggly line of kindergarteners- speckled my body with mist and raindrops as I tried to convince myself that the cold and the wet were worth it. They were, for even though I couldn’t quite make out the water from Route 1 (both the fog and the condensation on my glasses kept me from seeing much beyond my front wheel) the smell of pine and salt water made me feel at home. Even as my fingers chilled and my sneakers soaked through, I kept my chin up passing through Freeport, thinking: “Hey! Freeport! I’ll be at Mark’s in an hour!” As it turned out, I didn’t need to wait that long to see him- I heard my name called out about 4 miles away from Brunswick, and who but Mark should drive up and pull over?