Maine to Moosilauke

It's hard for me to keep the days straight while on this road trip.  Is today Wednesday?  Thursday? 

No, it's Friday -- a fact that I had forgotten until I checked FaceBook this morning and saw numerous status updates praising the day dedicated to Frijjō, the ancient Germanic goddess of love.  But TGIF only has meaning if you're stuck in the Monday through Friday work-death-spiral.  When you're on an extended vacation, it's really just another day. 

Let's rewind to a couple of days ago.  I think it was Wednesday morning.  Team Grigsby left Portland for New Hampshire on U.S. 302.  But not without first stopping at Reny's in Bridgton.  Reny's is a Maine institution, where one can buy pretty much anything one could ever need.  So I bought a pair of Carhartt pants, in anticipation of my new life in Seattle.

From Reny's, we headed towards the White Mountains of New Hampshire, via the Kancamagus Highway, or "the Kank," for short.  The Kank is gorgeous 30-mile scenic highway that winds up one side of the WhiteMmountains and down the other, with beautiful vistas along the way. 

We had taken the top off of Grigsby for the day, and it was a balmy 85-degrees outside.  So on the way up the Kank, we decided to cool off by taking a plunge in the lower falls of the Swift River.

Duly refreshed, we continued our climb.  Once we actually reached the pass, His Grace, Grigsby, was treated to a spectacular view.

But note the ominous looking clouds heading towards us.  We hadn't made it completely down the other side when the heavens let loose with a torrential downpour.  And remember, Grigsby is topless at this point.  So we basically got soaked.  While we were eventually able to pull over and put the overhead panels back into place, the damage was already done.  Everything in the front half of Grigsby was drenched.  Well, OK . . . . there wasn't any actual damage.  Jeeps are made to get rained in.  So while everything was sopping wet, there was no harm, no foul.  And as my friend Michael pointed out, having made it through his first open-air deluge, Grigsby is now a man. 

We arrived in Warren, New Hampshire, at about 6:00 pm -- unseasonably late for cocktail hour.  Our hosts Joe and Wendy expressed their concern that something awful had befallen us.  How could Richard ever miss a cocktail hour, they wondered?   They feared the worst.

We quickly remedied the situation, though, by breaking into a keg of Magic Hat #9.  Joe let me have the honor of tapping the keg.  But then I managed to screw it up:

Laika thinks I think I should stick to hard liquors.

The keg eventually settled down, though, and we were able enjoy some cold brewskis with our dinner of grilled chicken kebabs.

The next morning, Joe, Jenny, and I decided to go for a hike up to the top of Mt. Moosilauke, the highest peak of the western White Mountains that overlooks Warren.  It was a perfect day for a hike.  Blue skies with puffy white clouds floating by, not too hot, not too cold.  Accompanied by Laika (Joe and Wendy's trusty canine companion) we trekked up the mountain, enjoying the transitions from moss covered deciduous forests near the trail head, up through higher alpine forests, all the way to the craggy, bare, exposed summit, at 4,802 feet above sea level:

Laika took this photo.

The trails were rocky, uneven, and steep.  But the views along the way and from the top made the 3.6 miles up and 3.6 miles down more than worth the effort. 

As we made our way down, though, we all complained about our aching body parts:  knees, hips, feet, take your pick.  But what kept us going was the knowledge that Wendy had stayed home with our friends Casey and Sandee to prepare a fabulous dinner to celebrate the birthday of Sandee and another friend Joann, who were both born on the same day in the same hospital in Plymouth, New Hampshire. 

And the chefs did not disappoint: 

A glorious hike up in the mountains followed by surf and turf, good beer, and amazing company.  I am really going to miss New England.