I knew that Maine’s population was a little over a million. I knew that many times that many people showed up in
the summer tourist season. I knew Maine wasn’t just a place anyone could show up on impulse without a reservation.
I did it anyway.
Just drove in from Lincoln to Portland, over the Kancamagus Highway on Friday night with no plans for the evening beyond dinner.
I was finishing up on the conference call, so I found a waterside diner. (I was subsequently horrified to find out I’d forgotten to mute the call, but everyone was understanding. They’d been there.) While enjoying a drink and listening to ruminations about the MESA national program, I looked for places to stay.
There weren’t any 24 hour stops, either nearby or on the way to Bar Harbor, my ultimate destination. And all the KOAs were booked solid.
I arrived in Portland at dinner time, so I decided to search for other campgrounds the next morning. I gave serious thought to spending the night in the $30/day parking space I’d already paid for, but signs everywhere said it closed at 2am and I wasn’t sure what that meant.
So ok, I decided, I’d just book a motel. Pay a bit more but it was late, and I was tired and Expedia beckoned.
Days Inn was $269. It went up from there.
Huh.
OK. So I ordered dinner and finished up on the conference call, putting off any decisions until I’d finished people
watching around Portland–well, at least around the blocks near my parking spot. Whatever decision I made was not going to involve paying $269 for a Days Inn, so any in-depth inspection of Portland was going to wait for another day.
I toyed with the idea of taking a ferry to see the Casco Bay Islands and walked to the offices to check out the schedule.But it was an all day event and federal laws require masks on all public transportation. Sounded kind of dismal way to see some gorgeous scenery.
This section of Portland was all brick. Unlike almost everywhere else on my trip, the city seemed worried about covid19. 
Lots of outside seating. But I found a nice little bar that didn’t seem to care much and had some bourbon while I looked for nearby truckstops.
Then I saw that Kennebunk had a travel plaza. Granted, it was 30 miles south, but the story value was fun. I could noodle around Kennebunkport, summer home of the Bush family, for breakfast and beach pictures, before I headed north.
I’d save Portland and this part of Maine for some other time.It was probably for the best. I wanted to be back in Cape Code for Aunt Joan’s 90th on July 2nd, probably a few days before. So five days in Maine was probably best spent in one place, and Gerry had persuaded me that Arcadia National Park was a good anchor spot. 
But mostly, I was amused at myself for not realizing just exactly how booked they meant when they said Maine was booked. Even in my part of the world, Days Inns don’t go for more than $80-100.
I spent some time looking for camping sites in Bar Harbor but all the KOAs were booked. I wasn’t yet sure how to find good camping sites that weren’t KOAs. Hotels were even more expensive. No truck stops to speak of. Camping still seemed like my best bet, but I’d have to check them out first. Best hit the road early the next day, get the four hour drive done early, and see what I could find.
Kennebunk was just a bit south, so I enjoyed a nice hike along the water for a bit, found a Walmarts to pick up some food bars, and then hit my first truck stop since Des Moines.
The next morning after yet another stupendous breakfast sandwich, I scoped out Kennebunkport, a whole different town from Kennebunk. One wonders why two were needed. I took the scenic route, of course.
I kept my primary objective in mind. Long tours into Kennebunkport history, a search for the Bush compound, 
chats with the locals, they’d have to wait another day. I wanted to get a glimpse, check out the coast, take some pictures, and keep moving north.
I did enjoy the irony of stumbling across the Democratic HQ in the heart of old Bush country, but it turns out that the town has been voting Dem since at least Bush 43. Makes sense. Liberals love themselves a sea town. One the way out of town, I came across the stone chapel at St. Anne’s by the Sea, a popular wedding spot and Episcopalian church for the past 130 years. Like much of southern Maine at that time in early June, it was closed. For the most part, though, I just stopped and enjoyed the views. I have an unholy love of overcast beach shores, probably from years of living in desert lands.
But it wasn’t just all sightseeing. I was googling “camping in Arcadia” and coming up with plenty of possibilities, all booked solid. I wasn’t quite ready to risk the remote “free camping sites” that had primitive toilets and “pack in, pack out” requirements. I wanted flushing and trash cans, dammit. What I needed was a place that didn’t take reserv….wait. 
That’s a thought.
“Camping Arcadia first come first served” and right there, first on the list: Bar Harbor Campground
Holy cow. A beautiful place, with a website saying sternly that no reservations could be made in advance. I tried calling, but the phone was busy. Busy with people who couldn’t make reservations!
Meanwhile, it was just 8:30 am and under 4 hours to Bar Harbor. Maybe everyone shows up at 9, but it was worth a try. I could call on the road.
I waved goodbye to Kennebunkport and started north.
Hypersensitive 