Maine Holiday: The Drive

What to do, what to do? In times of Covid, travel restrictions and our own uneasiness have made David and I less willing to travel. Normally we might go to Europe, or try some other far-away place, but the state of the world being as it is, in late summer we opted to drive to Maine.

Last October, I went to the Mount Desert Island area for the first time, to take a four-day kayak instruction course. The course was great, but also the venue was eye opening. While I’ve been to Maine regularly over the past several years, it’s always to the same coastal area nestled between the Kennebec and Sheepscot rivers.

In particular, the area has some great kayaking, and we organized our trip around two days of “rough water”. I put that in quotes because the ocean was, in fact, quite tame while we were there, but we did get some good experience on a reversing falls known as Sullivan Falls.

I’ll write about that separately. Here is what to know about our travel on the way up.


We got off to a later start than we would have liked; partly this was because I had to run into Manhattan early to meet a contractor, to get the final stages of my apartment done. Then I raced back to the house to find that things still needed to be packed and boats placed on the car (the Prius, or as I call it the Prubaru, the Prius we treat like a Subaru).

We were on the road by . . .11 AM? We had already changed plans to meet a friend of David’s near Boston and possibly overnight, but that friend was busy with packing and preparing for his own vacation, so we wouldn’t come in until the evening. Boston is only a four hour drive, typically, so what might we find to kill some time along the way?

That’s right, the submarine museum in Groton, Connecticut. I’ve driven past signs for it so many times, and David and I are both technically-minded people familiar with various submarine lore. The Nautilus is parked there for touring; the world’s first nuclear submarine, named for Jules Verne’s famous vessel captained by Nemo.

We’d get there just in time to catch the last hours of the museum.

Museum Entrance
Entrance.
Sub Museum. August 2021
The Turtle.
On the Nautilus
On the Nautilus.
Sub Museum. August 2021
Model Sub.

One thing to keep in mind is that this is a military museum. On the one hand, the military has funded a lot of submarine research; the dive tables most scuba divers use today were worked out by Navy researchers. Many of the most dramatic, and also tragic, stories of submariners are of military vessels. Even the ship commonly credited as the first American submarine, the Turtle, was essentially a foot-pedaled barrel intended to attach an explosive to British warships during the American Revolution.

Sub Museum. August 2021
Polaris, Disassmbled.

On the other hand, after a while, it was clear that a significant portion of the museum was devoted to the Silent Service, submarines deployed during World War Two. In the back of one wing are the stages of a Polaris missile, the first submarine-launched ballistic missile developed by the United States. A small hall of heroes details stories of bravery by submariners in the service, and the final wing glides through various develops during the Cold War.

The one cool thing we found was that in a hands-on area apparently intended for children, the periscopes were real, and we could look out on the parking lot – to check on our kayaks, of course! We could even point the periscopes at each other, and wiggle for a friendly little wave.

Sub Museum
Periscope.
Sub Museum. August 2021
I Spy.

The Nautilus, of course, was the centerpiece, and the first thing we visited. If you’ve toured other decommissioned ships, the experience is much the same: the halls have been widened for better touring, dioramas with near-lifesize mannequins have been set in a scene, and much of the old machinery and electronics are still in place, with placards describing their history and purpose.

The SSN Nautilus
The SSN Nautilus.
Sub Museum. August 2021
Mechanicals.
Officer Mess
Officers’ Mess.
Officer Quarters
Officer Quarters.
Sub Museum. August 2021
Enlisted Bunks.
Sub Museum. August 2021
Makeshift Chapel.
Sub Museum. August 2021
Repairing Gear.
Sub Museum. August 2021
Helm.

The ship is quite a throwback for our era of location services in our phones and easy communications of all means. How would a submarine know it was at the North Pole? How would a message be sent from the depths of the sea? Just how tight was the bunking? Pretty, tight, it turns out.

We stopped in Mystic afterwards, studiously avoiding the famous Mystic Pizza in favor of a themed pub. Thence, we continued our drive to Woburn, MA, to meet the friend, have a chat, and sleep.

The next morning we lingered over coffee and admired the backyard from a raised porch; the yard slopes steeply away, and an impressive bird feeder dangles high from a tree, at a far enough distance that the birds could eat peacefully while we watched them.


We set out to complete our journey to Maine the next day. After following the interstate up to Bath, we took the scenic route, the old Route 1, more or less as we normally might for our usual destination, but continuing past that through a string of coastal towns. We stopped for a recommended hike along the way, at Mount Magunticook.

Peeping
Peeping.
Hedgehog
Hedgehog.
The View
View of the Valley.
Bay View
View of the Sea.
The Summit
The Summit.
David at the Summit
David at the Summit.
Julie and David
The Summit of Magunticook.

It was a very pleasant hike. After that, we drove on in to Ellesworth, checking into our hotel with no direct interaction with a human being: the guest policy and lock code for our room was texted to us, we parked and unloaded, and then had dinner. The room would be our home for the next few days.

The Ida Drive

We were on our way back from holiday in Maine; David and I had two sea kayaks strapped to the roof of the Prius, and we’d left Ellesworth with four fresh lobsters sealed in a box, a semi-surprise dinner for relatives we’d see near Boston. We knew the weather forecast, prominently featuring rain, and our goal was to leave Boston early in the evening and “beat the rain” on the way home.

As things turned out, we didn’t leave the Boston area until eight that night. Even in the best conditions, we’d be rolling into home by midnight, and these were far from the best conditions.


For the most part, we were just driving through a lot of rain. It was a lot of rain. I can’t emphasize this enough. The rain was constant, and high in volume, relentless. That said, we’ve driven through heavy rain before, so this was in a sense simply a long-term application of existing skills.

Our first real choice was whether to take I-95 or the Merritt Parkway. The Merritt has no trucks, but more ups and downs, and thus potentially low areas of flooding. We were perplexed because most of the time we checked for routes using Google Maps, I-95 was not offered at all, not even as an alternate or slower route; when it was, it was ten minutes longer. We decided to take our chances on the Merritt.

Most of the way, it was not terrible. We drove under the speed limit, and watched other cars pass us; we also passed cars that had given up earlier. The following was about two hours after leaving Boston, not long after we were on the Merritt, a bit north of Bridgeport, CT.

As we continued, signs of trouble increased. I looked at a weather radar map and saw we had driven squarely into the darkest swatch of the rain. We were getting hammered, and we slowed down, watching diligently for pooling water and vehicles in distress.

We started seeing problems regularly near New Canaan.

As we proceeded, we emerged from the heavy rain, but began seeing more signs of wind damage. These were all from a bit past Greenwich, CT.

By this point, our goal was to get on I-287, which would take us over the Tappan Zee Bridge. However, we weren’t sure what the best exit would be, and it was apparent that the situation would be constantly changing. We’d come across a scene like the following, and watch workers clear drainage. What was once a flooded road would quickly drain.

Alternately, we would come across a scene like the following, where official-looking vehicles were kinda blocking a road, but no one was present. To be fair, I expect the authorities had a lot to respond to that night, and at this point it was approaching midnight.

We did eventually get on the highway after cutting around the Westchester airport. The following is pretty long, the entire crossing of the bridge. The lighting and the architecture made me feel like we were in some surreal tunnel through time and space.

Once over the Hudson River, we turned to get onto 9W, and were immediately confronted with this challenge, whereupon David put the Prius into a sort of Jeep move.

That road runs along a ridge back to our township. There were a lot of trees, including a set I got out of the car for to ensure we had clearance to pass under. A car behind us honked at our diligence, and it and one other barreled past us once we were through.

We spotted this bit of water rushing out of a driveway.

That was pretty much all there was. The roads had gotten progressively worse, but the rain better, and in short order we were parking in the driveway and collecting the bare minimum of items from the car: perishable goods and clothes we would need.

We were very fortunate to have no flooding or problems with power. We both went to bed nearly immediately, viscerally aware of the strength of the storm and a bit, through reading, of the toll it was beginning to take.

In the days since, the full toll of Ida across the region and its long march have become clear. In particular for New York, City, several people died after finding themselves trapped in flooded basement apartments; others barely escaped with their lives. There will be plenty of furrowed-brow discussions and political blame-making, and announcements of new measures to mitigate such damage in the future, but only time will tell if anything good is to come.