In 1960, John Steinbeck set out on a road trip across the country. He drove a truck with a camper-shell and brought along his wife's dog. His goal was to rediscover America. The resulting travelogue became the book Travels with Charley: In search of America.
Steinbeck and Charley started their journey in Maine. He wrote "I wanted to go to the rooftree of Maine to start my trip before turning west. It seemed to give the journey design, and everything in the world must have design or the human mind rejects it."
When I went to Maine I was a human without a design. It was late August 2023 and I had just dropped off my youngest at college at Montclair State University. I was feeling every inch of being a widow and an empty nester. Every road was deconstructed, every traffic light was red, every highway had a toll. Figuratively, but also literally. (Did I mention MSU is in New Jersey?)
Since it wasn't safe to car camp, I checked into a La Quinta, which turned out to be an unfortunate choice. Thinnest of thin walls - and next door was a family that kept the TV blaring with whatever children's show plays the Baby Shark song over and over and over again. That was the soundtrack to the start of my northeast sojourn.
Reading back through my journal from around that time is like reading an encyclopedia entry about negative emotions. I was desolate. I was lonely. I was distant. I was indecisive. I was impatient. I was questioning all my recent life choices, including car camping in this unfamiliar part of the country. My head knew that I would soon find comfort in nature and travel, but my heart and soul wanted to drive home to Wisconsin and crawl under the covers.
You know that mindset when you can feel your own moodiness and, like a petulant child, you choose to wallow in it? I was weary of being a solo traveller, but I wasn't contacting friends in the area. I was driving through notoriously beautiful states like Vermont and New Hampshire, but I wasn't stopping to hike or fish - I just drove on past. I kept flicking through radio stations, picking up and putting down books, and avoiding family.
But even through that pointless, self-imposed darkness Maine was calling. I'd never been to Maine. Mike had wanted to go to Maine. I had heard wonderful things about Maine. Steinbeck chose Maine. The idea of Maine kept me going. Maine was my journey's design.
Acadia National Park became my goal and what I plugged into Google Maps. But I didn't rush. I didn't want to be there with all the other late summer/Labor Day tourists. So I drove on back roads in small towns, and I inched my way toward Maine. I stopped for a bit in New Hampshire, which I'll write about later. But always I was making my way toward Maine. And each day battling loneliness and the urge to go home.
Then a funny thing happened when I got close to Acadia - I took a sharp left. I zigged instead of zagged. In a weird combination of fate and instinct, I called an audible. I saw a brown sign for Lamoine State Park, and followed it.
Had I heard of this state park? No.
Did I know anything about it? No.
Had I been singularly focused on getting to Acadia and then swerved east at the last minute for no apparent reason? Yes.
Moments like this happen all the time in my travels. I take an unexpected path and then I get a little signal that it's the right or wrong path pretty quickly. When it's right, I'll get a subtle affirmation like a street named Mountain Road, or some heart-shaped moss on a rock. But this time it was a beautiful, gorgeous picture-perfect campsite that somehow, miraculously, was waiting for me.
I drove down a tree-lined lane at 23 State Park Rd, Lamoine, Maine at 4:40 p.m. on August 27, 2023. I parked and asked if they had any campsites available for the night. A nice attendant told me that they had a few non-reservable sites left and I was welcome to walk in and see if one of them would work. Folks - this is what I found:
Site number 59 was a gift from above. Suddenly my poop colored glasses came off. I could see how tremendous the weather was...how peaceful the world can be...how blessed I was to be pulling into a campground in Maine on a Sunday night instead of driving to a Monday desk job.
The site was a car camper's dream. Great location by the water, level, near the bathroom/shower house (but not too near.) The dappled light, the lapping waves, the quiet, friendly, retirement-age neighbors who greeting me with polite "hello's". One photo can't do it justice...so here's a video. (Please use sound, and enjoy the 1978 soft rock classic "I Just Wanna Stop" by Gina Vannelli, piped in from a hand-held radio by the gentleman in a lawn chair by the bay.)
I was in love with the world again. In an instant.
So I happily set up camp and stayed a few days - walking up to the small shed at the entrance to re-register for my $22 non-reservable campsite each day. I read, I cooked, I swam, I ran, I explored. The showers were clean and hot. I met lovely fellow campers each night at dusk, when folks would come down to the water to watch the sunset. To a person they were kind and experienced travelers whose suggestions informed my future sojourns. (Hi Patty! Hi Norman!)
Eventually I moved on and explored Acadia. But after Acadia I returned to Lamoine State Park and stayed another two days. Aside from the soft rock and pleasant fellow campers, here are a few of my favorite things about this gem of a place.
I woke up early September 1st to catch the sunrise on Lamoine Beach, which is located about a mile down the road from the park. Though I didn't realize it at the time, I was at the halfway point of my adult gap year. I greeted the sun with gratitude and awe and then drove west into the second half of my year. In the rooftree of Maine, at Lamoine State Park, I had found my design. Sojourn on!
For more pictures from Lamoine State Park, click here.
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