Hill Slug Chronicles: Maine 2025 7: Rain and Carriage Roads, No Aurora

Another Rainy Morning

19 June 2025

June 1 started with more rain.

At breakfast, someone I knew from the township committee I'm on walked up to us. It was one of those situations where my brain couldn't pull up his name, so we ended up talking for a good five mintues before I was clever enough to say, "So you're missing the Wednesday meeting too," and loaded the agenda from my email because I knew his name would be on the recipient list. He was going to drive up to the top of Cadillac Mountain for the sunrise tomorrow, then leave the island on Tuesday. He'd been hiking in the park, and was on the Ocean Path, when he saw me bike past. "I saw the Free Wheeler jersey and I knew it had to be you." That's why I wear PFW jerseys when I aim for Cadillac Mountain.

I had planned to ride on the carriage roads after breakfast. This was the parking lot as we left the breakfast room:

I sent the picture to Heddy. "Janice would like a word," I explained.

The rain was supposed to end mid-day. Meanwhile, I took another wet walk along the Shore Path to look at the waves crashing against Bald Porcupine Island.

The gaggle of eider ducks was floating along the shore again.

It was mid-afternoon by the time I put Janice in the car and drove to the Eagle Lake parking lot. I had to park along the road and coast down to the carriage road entrance.

Because it was so late, I chose a short route, 18 miles, which, on the gravel of the carriage roads, is enough. Janice's gravel wheels are heavier than her road wheels. I could feel the extra effort, especially on the long climb from Aunt Betty Pond along the Aunt Betty Connector to the Around Mountain carriage road.

Somewhere between the intersection and Jordan Pond, I stopped for a waterfall.

If I knew what I was doing, I'd have been able to get one of those silky, long-exposure waterfall photos.

I opted for a video with my phone instead.

I like to stop at the scree on the Around Mountain carriage road, along the west side of Jordan Pond.

Janice at Jordan Pond:

Jordan Pond with the Bubbles in the distance. Everybody who comes to Jordan Pond takes this picture.

I continued south to the Day Mountain carriage road. The surface had been redone since I'd last been here. It was no longer bumpy with bald patches. That made the slog to the top a little easier.

Near the top, there's a break in the trees. Route 3 is visible in the distance.

Janice at the Day Mountain summit:

Day Mountain isn't high, not even 600 feet above sea level. Another cyclist sat on a rock, taking in the view. I wanted to document how windy it was.

The carriage road leading to the Day Mountain ascent is a big loop. I continued along the loop, knowing that the next turn would be from the left, the same little bridge over Park Loop Road that I'd taken to get to the mountain.

Somewhere along the loop, my GPS goofed, telling me to make a left. I turned, and it didn't look right. "Off course," my GPS said. I turned around and continued the way I had been going. "Off course," my GPS said.

Once, just once, I would like to be on a solo carriage road ride and not get myself turned around.

I pulled out my paper map and figured that turning at this intersection would get me back to Jordan Pond anyway. That's what the wooden sign also said.

I told my GPS to reroute me back to the start, and went down the turn. The next instruction from my GPS was to get on the road that was overhead on a stone bridge, with no path to it. Stupid GPS. I continued on to the next intersection. The signpost there pointed toward Jordan Pond. I turned.

"No bikes."

Shit. I was at that part of the park that wasn't part of the park, where bicycles were not allowed. So I turned my stupid ass around, retraced my path back to the intersection, saw that the sign there also pointed to Jordan Pond, and continued along until I found the little bridge I'd been aiming for.

I reset my GPS to the original route, but at this point I knew where I was and didn't need it. Still, I'd lost time, and now I had to hammer, which is a task on a gravel path.

When Eagle Lake appeared on my left, I relaxed. At the northern end, I stopped for pictures. The wind was making little waves on the lake.

Including the ride from the parking lot up the road to my car, I'd turned 18 miles into 20. Somehow, I still got back to the hotel in time to clean up before dinner at McKay's.

We finished before sunset, which was now around 8:20. The tide was going out ("the water, she is low"), so we walked to the sand bar.

The high surf had deposited chunks of kelp, something I'd never seen here before.

The moon was up, so I zoomed in for a freehand shot.

A couple from Sarasota, Florida, approached as we were standing at the edge of the closest low point. They were astounded by the speed and range of the tide. Jack and I had fun sounding like old-timers, explaining what happens when people get caught (ahem) on the incoming tide.

We were minutes away from being able to walk across.

There were too many low clouds for a showy sunset.

Meanwhile, the online world was abuzz about a potential aurora borealis. The only time I've seen the northern lights was in 1982, on Hardwood Island, in July. Hardwood Island is a handful of miles off the west coast of Mount Desert Island. If I could see the aurora again, here, well.

Jack had never seen the northern lights. If they were to appear, it would be after sunset. We sat in Agamont Park with our ice cream, facing north, but there was still too much daylight. We went back to the hotel. At that point, the aurora forecast had changed, dropping our chances to near zero.

Still, I went out on the balcony at 8:54 and again at 9:13, setting my phone for a 10-second exposure. Nothing. Too many clouds in any case.