Hungry by the time I reach Norway for breakfast. Accents! My waitress speaks softly, but with a strong accent. I guess it’s a Maine accent, I’ll see. I eat a sandwich for lunch on the Androscoggin River. There are signs warning not to eat a particular fish. Hunters and fishermen run around. It’s a sunny, cool, blustery fall day.

The roads in Maine are terrible and people drive kind of crazy. I talk to a cyclist who’s been hit four times by “cahs”.

In Richmond I have ice cream and listen to a guy complain about pollution, socialized healthcare, gun control, and Clinton. I don’t talk politics with people, I just listen and inquire about their sources. I was disgusted by Clinton & Reno the other day though, presenting their argument against tobacco companies that sounds like fantasyland to me. The companies should pay for smoking related illnesses because they tricked people into smoking – I don’t buy it, not in my lifetime.

Then a nice ride over some hills to Newcastle and Damariscotta, where a Subway lured me in for dinner. Then I started scouting for a place to sleep. At the top of a hill near Waldsboro, I feel suddenly sick. I need to make a dash for the trees. There on the other side of the road a nicely concealed track disappears into trees – paydirt. I dash in , take care of business, and feel better. It’s the perfect place to sleep, so I move up the track a ways and settle in with my book.