Miss Piggy at the summit of Cadillac Mountain, Acadia National Park
15 September 2020
Today's weather calls for clear skies and no wind. It's the only day this week without wind. I'm going up the mountain.
My favorite entrance is at Sieur de Monts off of Route 3. It's a downhill jughandle that swoops around the (now closed) Abbe Museum entrance and ducks under Route 3 before a hello-legs climb onto Park Loop Road.
Halfway up the hill I realize I've left the park pass in the hotel. I'll stop at the and find it on my phone.
As I'm digging through my email, a woman behind me asks, "Do you want a picture of you with your bike?"
"Nope. Thanks. I'm trying to find my park pass." I find the pdf, take a screenshot, pocket the phone, and pull out the camera.
Clear skies? Not so much. It's gray-silver out there, other-wordly.
Otter Creek is full of glare too.
I coast down to the causeway.
I can barely make out the cell phone tower on the top of Cadillac Mountain.
Park Loop Road follows the coast for a couple more miles. I stop for one last glimpse of the ocean.
As I'm getting started again, two cyclists, a man and a woman, pass me. They're wearing identical red jackets and black leggings. I figure that's the last I'll see of them.
Between here and Jordan pond, Park Loop Road is under trees, rolling up and down, mostly up, for four miles.
I see the matched couple climbing ahead of me. I'm keeping a steady pace, in my middle ring, saving my energy for the mountain. And I'm gaining on them. How is that even possible?
I catch them near the top and greet them. The woman, behind the man, offers that she doesn't climb well. "Neither do I," I tell her. "I have mountain bike gearing on this thing."
"Beats running," she says. We're at the top. They pull away, pedaling down the hill. That's the last I'll see of them, I'm sure. I don't want to catch them. I want to go at my own pace, no pressure.
But catch them I do, at the top of the next hill. And again they pull away from me as soon as the descent begins.
The third time this happens I greet them with "Hello again!" I ask if they're going up the mountain. "I don't thing so," the woman says.
I notice they have aero bars, and that the man doesn't seem to like it when I get ahead of him. I can see his face in my mirror. He's not scowling or anything, but I can tell. I see my fair share of this back in New Jersey. No worries; they pass me at the descent.
There's always a little more traffic near Jordan Pond. There's a restaurant there, and a path around the pond. There's also a spaghetti network of carriage roads south of the pond, roads I'll stay away from until there's a vaccine. North of Jordan Pond is a trailhead parking lot for the Bubbles.
Then the road curves to the right and plummets. The aerobar duo is ahead of me. A truck pulls out of a parking space and I hit the brakes until it's well ahead of me. I'm sure I've seen the last of those two now that I'm so far behind. There's one more rise, and then I'll stop at the Eagle Lake Overlook for a snack before climbing the mountain.
On the rise I catch the couple again. "Last time, I promise!" The overlook isn't far from here. My legs feel tired. I need a snack.
Now the seaside glare has given way to a clear inland sky.
Through the zoom lens I can see a clearing across the lake, and reddish reeds along the shore. The reeds look like the ones I was taking pictures of on the carriage road yesterday.
I bet that's where I was.
Okay. There's the Cadillac Summit Road entrance. Are we doing this thing? We're doing this thing. Shift into the granny. Spin.
The first section is in the woods and is relatively steep compared to the rest of the climb. It levels off as the trees thin out, where I ride next to the rocky face of the mountain. The climb is three miles. The first two don't make me dizzy. There are trees and shrubs along the outside curves. I can't see the edge at all.
Then the first switchback happens. This is where, my first time up, the rider who was my guide warned me, "This is where it gets hard."
"Steep?"
"No. The wind."
Every time I pass this rock face -- last year there were waterfalls -- I remember the conversation.
This year there are no watefalls and there is no wind. Around I go. Now the mountain is on the far side of the road.
One mile to go. Don't look over the edge. Keep your eyes on the double yellow line. Remember, the end of this straightaway is not the end of the mile. Eyes down.
I have to check my mirror out of habit, in case there's a driver behind me. Urk. Eyes on the yellow line.
Now the curve and the final straightaway. Where's the rock I sat on last night? Can I look for the rock? There's the rock. That's my rock. I got this.
Around the final curve the road flattens out and there are trees to block the edge again. I shift back into the middle ring. There's a slight downhill, then a flat grade around the parking lot.
I rest Miss Piggy against the wall, take a picture, and climb up onto the path around the not-quite-summit. The true summit is back a ways, up a gravel path. There's no view because it's surrounded by trees.
Someone asks me if I want a picture of myself with my bike. "Nope. Thanks!"
Only a bit of the sand bar is exposed right now. At high tide it's 12 feet under water.
The Margaret Todd and Bailey Louise Todd are still anchored in the bay. There are more high winds forecast for tomorrow.
In the foreground is Bald Porcupine Island with the never-completed breakwater. Behind it is Burn Porcupine Island.
There's a little shop near the summit where one can buy souvenirs and water. I wasn't planning to go in, but what the hell. It suits my mood.
I have to wait a few minutes outside; only four people are allowed in the shop at one time. I clunk around inside in my cleats. I leave with a pair of moose socks and a way-tacky keychain. Miss Piggy gets the keychain. Now my bike has Acadia bling at both ends.
The descent is never fun. This is my fifth time down. I think I'm doing better than last year. I'm not thinking "I'm never doing this again" this time. Still, I stick to the middle of the road.
There's a very patient pickup truck behind me as I approach the end of the most frightening switchback, where the road curves to the outside and there's oblivion beyond it that I can't not see. "He's on vacation too," I think. "He can wait."
When I finally get to the no-waterfalls outcrop, I move back to the side of the road and give the driver a thumbs-up.
I'm going towards the Hulls Cove entrance instead of back around to Sieur de Monts. The road offers a closer look at the harbor.
I haven't had to pedal much yet. I pass an exit for Route 233, and see another labeled simply "Bar Harbor." Thinking I'm near enough to Hulls Cove to call it a day (I'm not, actually), I take the right turn.
I find myself on a pleasant descent that ends across the street from the edge of town. Well, that's convenient. Plain Jim would have to sing us across this one though.
Before going back to the hotel, I make a loop through the harbor parking lot.
There's the rust bucket maintenance boat. Seems to have a name. Zoom in.
"Tubby." Tubby the Rust Bucket.
The ticket office for the Todds looks so forlorn out there with no ramp to the boats.
I pedal back up the little hill to the hotel driveway and pack Miss Piggy away. Maybe I'll do another carriage road loop tomorrow. Depends on how my legs feel. Right now I could go for one of those giant soft pretzels over at Bar Harbor Beerworks.
