Fin.

Yes, in fact, we are out of the woods yet.

London, ON – Home: the end of another successful excursion to the coast.

Vitals:

• Time: Nine hours
• Distance: 790.2 kms
• Weather: Clear, getting hot as we headed west
• States/Province: Massachusetts, New York, Ontario
• Wildlife: None

Ketchup and Lick Her.

The blog's longest-running gag: I've still yet to see a moose.

Lee, MA – "Do flavours cost extra?" I asked the kid behind the counter as I ordered an iced coffee at McDonald's in Haverhill, Massachusetts.

He cast his eyes downward, turned his head and proceeded to lick his arm as would an iguana. He ignored the question.

The evening ended better, however, with a small bar tucked away in Lee, Massachusetts, called Moe's Tavern, which, amazingly, had the ever-elusive Kentucky Breakfast Stout by Founders. On tap.

With an excellent burrito (and some magnificent salsa) at Baja Charlie's, our little stop at the gateway to the Berkshires set us up nicely for the last leg home.

Vitals:

• Time: Nine hours
• Distance: 652.3 kms
• Weather: Smell of spring rain in Portland, ME, with some cloud breaking late in the day
• States: Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts
• Wildlife: None

Interlude.

north bubble, acadia national park
To become so alone
to hear the trees
breathe
and feel air expand
in your lungs,
which heave
in exhaustion
and marvel.

The ocean waves goodbye.

sand beach, acadia national park
Oh, the places I have written:
words on the sea,
on rocks with massive history;
on planes, soaring
with my thoughts,
and dreams;
In lands, primitive
and historic;
all, such beauty.

Oh, the places my pen has seen,
leaving behind
some of my own history.

Getting Hives.

Quite the view. Just not down.

Bar Harbor, ME – I clung to the gnarled iron bar, admiring the sheet of rock that rose above me. No way was I going to look down.

A misshapen tree only bearing needles on the side facing the sun jutted out from the cliff. I twisted myself from the wall just as awkwardly.

Small chips of slate tumbled from my feet as I tried to melt farther into the rock, probing for narrow stone steps built into the mountain's smooth rock at the turn of the century. While I tried to limit how much I diverted my gaze, I kept a nervous eye peeled for the small blue flashes of paint struck on the rock. Without them, there was no path.

I missed several before finding myself on the edge of a precipitous drop.

I began to question my decision to hike the Beehive in Acadia National Park, one of the park's most popular and most challenging peaks. While it only took 20 minutes to scale the 520-foot summit, it's known for cliffs that fall out onto the tops of pine trees, and iron bars that make hoisting yourself up possible. And the trail opens with a sign warning of deaths on the mountain.

My breath deepened. My legs quaked. I looked down. I suppressed the urge to vomit.

But when I finally widened my view, it was well worth it.

From atop the summit, the greens melted into the blues and the browns: the sea into the rocks, into the forest.

And a gentler way back down.

(For a particularly vomit-inducing account of climbing the Beehive, check out the GoPro footage below.)

In Good Stead.

Worth the Climb.

Bar Harbor, ME – Gravel crunched like overcooked granola under our tires as we wound over pitted roads past farms with parted-out tractors.

A horse grazed within feet of us, tied to the front railing of its owner's trailer.

A sports car, flying at us, slammed on its brakes, drifting sideways, almost into the trees. It was incongruous given the otherwise quiet morning off the beaten path in Vermont.

Except, of course, this path is actually disproportionately used compared to others nearby. Located in Greensboro, Vermont, Hill Farmstead Brewery, last year's top-rated craft brewery, is seemingly tucked into a middle of nowhere framed by white fences and disinterested cows that pay little mind to the incessant pilgrimage of beer aficionados.

Thankfully, the beers were much, much smoother than the roads. And appropriately, the brewery provided samples of a couple beers called 'Excursions.'

Vitals:

• Time: 8.5 hours
• Distance: 571.3 kms
• Weather: Sunny, with some cloud
• States: Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine
• Wildlife: None

A Swing at the Piñata.

The roads, people, they are steeple.

Burlington, VT – Like the mystery itself, the day began shrouded in fog, but ended clear, the skies ripped open by Vermont's peaks.


Hoping to craft a smile the size of the sun currently blooming over Burlington, I have spent the past week plotting. She didn't know: would the impromptu, surprise vacation call upon the services of a plane or a car? A train or a boat?

Like a piñata, she knew there was something full of colour before her, but giddy eyes still inquired as to the goodies contained within. Despite many cracks at guessing.

That is, of course, until Highway 401 forked east. The jig was up.

Stitching a seam along the Seaway Trail that flanks the St. Lawrence River, the light turned, causing  towering pines to shift in their greens. Light shimmered as clouds closed over blankets of needles, many of which had yet to shake off the rust of winter.

We jumped from puddle to puddle of blue around Lake Champlain before a mile-long steel bridge zippered shut our time in New York, pointing us into Vermont. It was a shorter driving day than normal as we seeped into the fresh and local ethos that seems so prevalent in the small American state.

A craft beer that's hard to top.

We were keen to dine at the Farmhouse Tap and Grill, which featured local cheeses, the Vermont Heritage Grazers Pork burger and a world-class beer list headlined by Heady Topper – last year's highest-rated craft beer. Glasses were soon filled with other highly rated brews: Sip of Sunshine, Pannepot Reserva (2010) and Bourbon County Brand Stout (2014). Truly an epic, epic evening.

The piñata had begun to reveal its spoils.

Vitals:

• Time: 8.5 hours
• Distance: 644.3 kms
• Weather: Cloud, burning off to sun and blue sky
• States/Province: Ontario, New York, Vermont
• Wildlife: None