The arrival here was epic. Unforgettable. Peter – silas’ dad had given me his address. Gonza put the address in the gps and found the shortest route there. Already 7 pm and little daylight to spear. What garmin fails to mention is that the shortest route is a single track, rocky, muddy up and downhill (fortunately mostly down!). It gets narrower and narrower. Excitement from the off road challenge quickly turns to panic. It was 745, close to pitch dark, and no turning back. Garmin seamed confident in it’s assessment and we could only surrender to technology. In garmin we trust. Finally roads get wider till we hit porterfield rd – what we’ve been looking for. We are received by two enlightened souls.
Peter and Marty met in the 70s. Peter returned from Vietnam, Marty was teaching near Boston. They feel a call to the land, buy a plot in porter Maine and raise their kids to be curious and to give back. Peter, today turning 60something, makes his own biodiesel to power a horse carriage used to pick hay, marty grows organic everything and anything. We are received with baked potatoes, eggplant, and salad all from the farm. The chicken is from the neighbor and I eat it gladly. Probably better than any transported tofu! Can’t get more local than this.
The very best part of the night is the yurt. Silas and parents put it together this season for si and guests. Dad had no idea and it’s the most peaceful place on earth. Top of the hill, no light in sight and morning yoga becomes a literal sun salutation with sun rising over the hills.
7am Peter brings breakfast up the hill and we sing happy birthday to him. We’ve known him for 2 hrs last night and he treats us like his closest friends. Go feed his horses and then join him and Silas at their Sunday sit. They have both done vipassana course (that’s how I know Silas). Dad does a bit of sitting still but his real meditation is on the bike.
We leave porter at 930am headed to portland and bar harbor.
2 respuestas a “Day 2 – Mile 433 – Porter ME”
Pilas..Garmin es una ayuda…no remplaza al GPS tradicional del tio Gonza…»su labia para preguntar…»o sera que lo tiene cohibido el inglis…
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No habia NADIE a quien preguntar… Estabamos metidos en medio de la nada en unas trochas que envidiarian todos los enduristas del mundo. Nos cogio la noche y las «calles» que aparecian en el GPS para llevarnos a nuestro destino eran trochas en pasto, cuando no barro y piedra. El susto empieza cuando uno hace unas «bajadas» que sabe perfectamente que despues no es capaz de subir !!
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