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SPRING 2019 ISSUE 01 / VOL . 04
One of the many logging trucks that ply Maine ' s byways and tote roads .
the 850-pound BMW into no-man ’ s land , I backtracked to locate camping .
I happened upon Two Rivers Lunch , a rustic diner full of game heads mounted to every available wall space , and large maple tables supported by tree trunk legs . “ Dinner till sixish ,” I was told by the proprietress . It was close enough , so I took her up on the offer . I was directed to a nearby lodge for camping . I pulled up to a well-kept clapboard house , and there on the porch contentedly swinging away was an elderly lady who introduced herself as 89-year-old Evelyn . Her daughter helps to run the adjacent lodge , she informed me .
“ I was born right up the road ,” the still spry Miss Evelyn intoned . “ My husband ran the ferry across the Allagash for 36 years until the bridge was put in . He built this house for us in ’ 47 . You want to camp down along the river you ’ ll need my permission ,” she stated firmly . After sweet-talking Miss Evelyn , I got her OK .
The rising sun lured me back to Fort Kent where I picked up the start of U . S . Route 1 , a highway that follows the Eastern seaboard all the way to Key West . Now there ’ s a tour idea ! But I would be content to make Madawaska , not knowing what to expect . Wouldn ’ t you know it , a billboard appeared on the outskirts proclaiming Madawaska the most