A Living Magazine - Grounded in Maine - Day 11 - Freeport to Brunswick

I woke up in my Freeport McDonald's driveway hideaway. And, when I say "hideaway," I was hardly hidden. The Modern Nomad understands the properties of how light works for urban camping.

At night there was a large metal halide light right on the parking lot side of the woods which not only shone in drivers' eyes as they approached my entrance, but also lit up only the outside edge of the trees, making the sleep spot seem comparatively very dark. Cars 20 feet away stopped right where I was all night and didn't have a clue, then looked both ways and continued out onto the road. Even the rather large gaps in the trees plainly exposing the lighter shades of the tent and my clothing - even the glow of the laptop, as I had an Xfinity signal from the nearby Masonic Temple - were all utterly invisible.

In the evening hours before the sun was down the angle at which it struck the outer edge of the road side trees of the sleep spot similarly allowed no view into the woods. Though I was technically in plain sight were the sun and other light sources not an issue, I was in reality perfectly hidden. It was a good spot also because of all the soft pine needles. Insects don't prefer them and they are a more insulating pad under the tent than would be leaves. They are clean and don't rot like leaves. Water, when it rains, readily soaks through them into the ground. And in this case, there were so many tiers of layered needles that if it had rained, which it didn't, these layers would have acted as a sieve. 

Pine tree areas are always the most preferable. Pine trees also keep their needles all year (being evergreens), so the areas where they grow can be relied upon in any season. Especially when the trees are small and tightly packed together, they are simply ideal. Thankfully, I was in the Pine Tree State.

I wanted to take some parting shots of the area but my camera batteries suddenly died. This was not a good time for this to happen, because I was about to walk to Brunswick and wanted to take shots along the way. Big bummer. I had used all the batteries I'd bought, then mixed and matched the dead ones to try to squeak out every last drop of power. Now there was no denying it. I needed to bite the bullet and buy some new ones. The needed-supply list was growing... Shoes, underwear, socks, batteries. These are the natural consequences of starting a journey with no money.

I bought a coffee from my host (McDonald's) guzzled it down without going online and then set off north up Route 1. Should have gone online, as a generous contribution awaited Ha! 

Nevertheless, it was a very nice morning, and the old sights I'd forgotten about from so long ago driving around this area came slowly back to me one footstep at a time. There was the special entrance to the Interstate, the Maine Idyll Motor Court (a place I'd assumed had wasted away by now) was still going strong, the C&R Trading Post gun shop was still there and modernized, lots of apple trees which I borrowed a few apples from, and my Nomadic eye couldn't help but notice all the dark pine woods that would be perfect for camping. 

It was a comparatively long road at just under six miles. And then there it was, Brunswick's Pleasant Street, with it's fast food places and gas stations. It led directly to Main Street where were the Main Street Mall Park and Federal Historic District. 

Things hadn't changed much there since the last time I had been through Brunswick. Thirty years or so ago Brunswick had done a major revamp of this area. The changes improved it dramatically. They were all still in place with no degradation visible. My favorite thing back in the day was to visit the antiques shops located at Cabot Mills Antiques (16,000 square feet of multiple dealers selling some fairly high quality stuff at reasonable prices) in the old mill, just before crossing the bridge into Topsham. The mother of my girlfriend at the time used to have a small table there. My favorite items, when I used to have a place to put them, were old science books, unique cocktail glasses of every kind, small fancy wood boxes in which to put little items, and then the little items themselves--old coins, stamps, bits of costume jewelry, etc.

But those days were long past. I still would have enjoyed a good walk through, but I had work to do. By the time I'd gotten to Brunswick my shoes had holes all the way through the soles and treads. My middle toes were sore from compensating for having no cushion under my feet. Things were not in good for my feet. It was slowing me down and distracting me from moving forward.

I was hungry and down to my last $8. It was time to eat and find Wi-Fi. I headed in the opposite direction of the mill, east along Main Street until I got to Hannaford's. I would do my sandwich supply purchase; ham or turkey, a third-pound of swiss cheese and cheap fresh sliced bread or a baguette, no condiments needed. These things fit well into the tiny bit of space of the second pocket of the pack, after the first helping has been subtracted. Total meals it would supply? About three.

I bought these items and they added up to just over $7. This is a cheap and healthy way to get by on very little. I scrounged through my change and came up with enough for a pair of AA batteries...

I took these pictures of the ham container, because I wanted to give an example of overpackaging.

However, I realize that the container itself would make a great thing for households to use after

consuming the ham. And, it would be useful to me as well to keep both

the ham and the cheese in one place. Unfortunately, I would just be throwing it out eventually.

But, it wasn't made for backpackers anyway.

Seeing that were no cheap places at this end of town with internet or AC outlets, I headed back to the Pleasant Street area. The rose hips were becoming ripe. The rose plant - as I've expounded upon to the point of exhaustion here - is such a giving thing. The petals, leaves and pods are all edible and nutritious. I picked a handful of hips and added them to the apples to eat later at the sleep spot...

Settling in at Dunkin Donuts in the late afternoon, I found a table with an outlet and worked a bit on the Freeport posts. Also I noticed that sizable donation from a repeat local donor who always seemed to send funds at just the right moment. This would mean I could resupply completely the next day and still have about three days worth of food money. I was beyond thrilled and feeling much better.

I then looked around on Google Earth for green spots to camp. There were not many seen online, but I had discovered that, particularly in Maine, most of my spots had been discovered by simply walking down the road. It was an old school method but here it worked exceptionally well, eventually.

The first place I looked was beside the cemetery...

So this is where old Christmas wreaths go when they have outlasted their usefulness.

In some sense, the area was good, piney and well sheltered. But this was actually its problem as well. From the number of other abandoned sites and trash around them, it became obvious that it had been used by homeless folks for years. Of course it had. This is true of any relatively big and somewhat economically depressed town. Brunswick is no Yarmouth or Freeport. I'd already encountered five or six guys with big packs and that hollow look in their eyes, one that had been wrought from passing beyond frustration and eventually through disappointment, and finally leading to the destitute and brown fields where only the loss of hope existed. 

A few years ago, I had to psychologically turn my eyes and sympathy for these folks aside, or become paralyzed by wanting to help them and not being able, by wanting to befriend them but realizing that isn't what they needed. They need something...more... 

The low hanging fruit of natural areas had been picked over in that typical way that homeless and ignorant people have done for a hundred years. Despite the fact that many of them are folks who spend their days, weeks, months, years and decades steadily coming closer to the edge of becoming non-human, they are still human. But in their resignation and hatred for the society that has abandoned them, they are now - as a class - lazy, messy, and unconcerned about their impact on the places they use to sleep or camp. That is the difference between them and the Modern Nomads to come. 

The Nomad leaves his area spotless, if not better than it was before, so that others might be directed to enjoy a stay there. If the Nomads who someday follow my trail around the country and stay in the places that I have left hundreds of maps for, they will find them clean and ready for camping. If they go to a place with old bed mattresses, garbage and trash strewn about, they can rest assured that I was not there. And, if these future travelers respect the code that we are developing, they will similarly leave no trace...

A small algae infested pond on the way back up to the cemetery.

Poor pup.

Poor kitty.

The second and third sleep spot alternatives were located south along Church Road. I wasn't looking forward to the three mile hike into these much more isolated and areas. They were more wild and woodsy. That didn't bother me. But, I was likely to be here several days and the prospect of walking an hour into town and an hour out each day was far from appealing. I would take anything closer to town should the opportunity arise. Not only were my shoes falling apart, but my socks too had holes right where the holes in the shoe treads were, meaning my bare feet were in direct contact with the pavement. In a word, it sucked to be walking now.

And sure enough, less than a half mile down Church, I saw the train tracks of the Downeaster and a dark woods running parallel to them down what turned out to be a mostly unused road. I took it. About midway down was a building waiting for a new business to lease it. Further down was another unused building. 

There was a trail into the woods and I vetted places off of it for good spots. It was piney, but lower than the road level and swampy. At this time of night the mosquitoes were taking off in squadrons and running sorties for warm blooded, carbon dioxide exhaling animals such as myself. Among the ferns and short growing bushes there was a slightly elevated spot about 36 square feet. 

I wasn't sure about it all. Having a path so close by leading between densely packed neighborhoods meant there was the likelihood of foot traffic or joggers. But the sun was now below the horizon and a decision had to be made. There was also the threat of rain showers, so I'd have to do at least the tent and rainfly assembly just incase, keeping the green tarp in reserves in case of a heavy downpour.  It was better to be safe than sorry, and I had been sorry on enough occasions to learn the value of being safe when it came to rain...

I set it all up while being ravaged more and more frequently by whining buzzing mosquitoes. They were going for my elbows, behind my knees, around the edges of my socks, and the top of my head. It was warm and humid which made the situation even more uncomfortable. Sweating, sore and tired, I climbed into the tent and lay upon the floor with no sleeping bag. I figured that drying off before pulling it out of the pack was the higher path to eventually getting a good night's sleep. The Downeaster rushed back by my location from its Brunswick terminus, toward Portland. I fell asleep quickly, waking up at about 10:00 pm dry and ready for the sleeping bag, thence pulled it out, and made a pillow out of the tarp bag, falling right back asleep again.