You are currently browsing the daily archive for July 5th, 2009.
Just suck it up and deal, people, because I’m not stopping until I’ve related every single boring detail of this trip. If you’re VERY good to me I might condense things a bit, or just post more pics and fewer words. But only if I’m feeling especially magnanimous. So you better hope I got some last night.
Monday, June 29, 2009:
We left Bar Harbor, Maine in hopes of finding some moose activity. Bar Harbor is an excellent location from which to view rich people in their natural surroundings, but it lacks moose, so you wouldn’t want to hang around there for any length of time.
We headed north to a tiny little town called Greenville, Maine. It’s on the shore of Moosehead Lake, and the yokel concierge at the hotel told us that the town is so isolated that it’s seventy miles from the nearest dentist. I saw his tooth teeth tooth and I believed him. He also told us that moose outnumber people three to one. What a town!
We knew we were getting close to moosey areas because there were warning signs with flashing lights everywhere. “Use extreme caution!!!!! High rates of moose collisions next 6 miles” read the signs. I became seriously vigilant, desperate to see a moose. Or desperate to collide with said moose – either way.
As we headed into Greenville, we saw a few cars parked by the side of the road. Sure enough, when we stopped to see what was drawing a crowd, we saw that there was a moose!!! I was fairly giddy - an actual moose!!! It was of the girl variety, I believe, as I did not see any antlers. Or any moose cock.
We photographed that moose, but the pictures were less than fantastic given the foggy conditions and the distance.
You’re just gonna have to trust me on this. I SWEAR it’s a moose.
We decided to come back later for additional moose viewing. We knew that moose are most active at dawn and at dusk, so we checked into our hovel hotel hovel and kept busy ’til dusk. Mr. Moose and D. kept busy by scoring an out-of-state fishing license and menacing some perch in a pond down the road. I kept busy by babbling in absolute terror over the scariest photograph EVER. OH MY GOD!!! What on earth possessed someone to photograph this psychotic fox-beast? And then to frame it and hang it??!! That fucker was staring at me all night long. I didn’t sleep a wink.
AHHHH!!!! I’m ascared outta my mind here!!
Mr. Moose and I sexiled D. in the afternoon, leaving him fishing in the village while we made the moose with two backs. But that stupid fucking fox just kept on looking smugly down on us. I tried all my bestest tricks to speed things along because I swear that fox was gonna lunge right out of that resin frame and gnaw off Mr. Moose’s man taters. Scare-y.
Later, Mr. Moose rejoined D., likely with a smug look of his own. There was NO way that I was staying alone with the fox, though, with nothing but some love juice and stray pubes to protect me, so I went for a run.
My intestines were NOT amused. Remember that restaurant back in Conway, New Hampshire? The Muddy Moose? Well, that was nearly me. My guts were audibly churning, and I knew there was no WAY I’d make it back to the hotel. And so I did something I’ve never done before. And I’m vaguely disgusted but also a tad bit pleased with myself. Yup – I’ve now shat in the woods. I had to go SO, SO, SO badly that I wasn’t even afraid of moose or bear or fox attacks. I wiped with a wet, yellowish leaf, maybe an elm, and finished up my run. Back at the hotel, I showered most vigorously and discovered a small twig in my ass crack. Interesting…
At dusk we went back out for some moose viewing. It was raining, as always, but we did not let that deter us. We also did not let this sign deter us. Screw you, Mainers! We view where we want!!
So stop being lazy and just turn your head, already. You KNOW I have little to no computer skills, right?
Alright, you lazy bastards – I’ll translate for you. It says,” Teh Loose Moose rocks. Mail her cash gifts. And also motor vehicles.”
Mr. Moose blatantly breaking the no-moose-watching law. Or maybe this is Crocodile Dundee. I couldn’t say for sure.
We waited for about an hour and a half in the rain to see some moose, but it was not to be. D. was with us, and he looked SO bored. He’s Canadian, after all, and therefore moose not not interest him. Before coming to the US and A, the greatest god fearing country in the land, D.’s whole Canadian childhood was just littered with moose. His kindergarten teacher was a moose, as was his mail carrier and his first girlfriend. His family dog was part moose, too. So he thought we were fairly nuts to be sitting in the rain for a moose glimpse. I’m fairly certain that the only reason he stayed with us so long was because he was too afeared to go back to that fox riddled hotel room. Can’t say as I blame the poor guy.
Tune in next time when our diligent moose viewing pays off…and I nearly capsize a canoe.
Yeah, that’s right – I’m still yammering on (and on and on) about our trip. Just be thankful you don’t live nearby, ’cause I’d surely show up at your front door with a big ol’ pile of boring, fuzzy photographs. And the only way you’d get free of me is to feign death…or to shart really, really nastily. And I mean REALLY nastily, with corn-loaded fecal rivers pouring out the leg holes of your shorts. That might drive me away, but only if it was one of those oddly percussive sharts that sprays all over. I hate that kind.
Sunday, June 28, 2009:
We stayed at the Bar Harbor Best Western for two nights, and they are way better than those suckholes back in New Hampshire, because at least they gave us a continental breakfast. We lingered over said breakfast for a LONG time, hoping the weather would clear up. The Weather Channel, however, reported that there was nothing but rain, rain and more rain for the next several days. Resigned to our fate, we donned our very attractive rain gear, and hit the road for Acadia National Park.
I’m the one in black…with the antlers.
Once at Acadia, the weather cleared for a bit. We went to Sand Beach, which, as the name indicates, is a beach comprised of – you guessed it – SAND!! To us non-Mainers, “Sand Beach” is a dumb ass name. It’s like naming a forest “Tree Forest”. But sand is an anomaly on most Maine beaches, as Maine beaches are primarily comprised of rocks, boulders, and the frozen corpses of children too dumb to get outta their swim suits and into their parkas. Sand Beach was cool. We walked the beach, and I saved a crab from dismemberment by a voracious seagull. Am I not a Great American Hero? (I chased that seagull up the beach, waving my arms at him. It was all bravado, though, as I find seagulls to be rather terrifying. If he’d come at me, I’d have given up that crab in a heartbeat.)
Good Christ!! Where have our antlers gone?!?!? And why are our heads magneted together? Mr. Moose – methinks you are a noodleneck!!!
We got back on the bikes and headed up to Thunder Hole. (And I KNOW I’m taking an awful risk here, using the word “hole” with Glaven out there. But it can’t be helped – it was a hole!) Thunder Hole is this amazing cave carved into the rocks. When waves pour in, it sprays like crazy and makes this thunderous clap. Kinda like the aforementioned shart, but with ocean water instead of corn-loaded fecal material.
Thunder Hole. Don’t talk shit about it.
After Thunder Hole, we hiked up a mountain to see Bubbletop. It was pouring on us, and we climbed in our rain gear, sliding up the muddy mountain side. Once at the top, we saw Bubbletop, this enormous boulder, which just seems to hang precariously in space. We, of course, attempted to push it off the side of the mountain. Because we’re all mature, responsible grownups, that’s why. And also because we foolishly left our spray paint back in the saddle bags. Bubbletop would NOT budge, though. Next time I’m bringing a lever. And fifty-seven cans of spray paint.
D. is far too Canadian to really try to crush people with this here Bubbletop. American Man up, D! Find your man taters and crush some people already!! Rape! Pillage! Destroy!
While descending Bubbletop (Pay attention, now, as this is the one and only running reference I’m giving you today) we saw a group of people beginning their ascent. One of the hikers was wearing a Boston Marathon jacket!! I immediately fell in big lust with her, or maybe it was with her jacket, but I somehow exercised a bit of self control and did not start humping her leg.
We got back on the bikes and headed towards Cadillac Mountain. My original plan had been to leave Mr. Moose and D. fishing somewhere while I ran up Cadillac. I completely wussed out, though, due to ZERO visibility. The higher the bike climbed, the worse the weather became. It was HORRIBLE. We were inside a cloud. Seriously – completely enveloped within a cloud. And while this seems like a cool thing when you’re four years old, it’s actually not that awesome. Because clouds are NOT bouncy and spongy inside. And they do NOT taste like warm mashed potatoes or sweet soft marshmallows. Instead, they are windy and wet and gray, gray, gray. I figured if I ran up that mountain, I’d either run right off the edge and plummet to my death OR I’d get creamed by a car. Neither option seemed like fun, so I stayed on the back of the bike like cargo.
At the top of Cadillac, we met two other biker couples. One was from Connecticut and the other was from England. Their presence there made me feel slightly less intrepid.
AHHH!! A biker gang! Lock up your daughters! Sew shut your dogs’ sphincters!!
Tune in next time when we see our very favorite mammal and then sexile D. (But not so that we can have sex with our very favorite mammal – ’cause that would just be gross.)
