Wildlife?

It's called the Maine Wildlife Park, but if everyone is behind bars and fences, is it really "wild?" Well, that's as political as I get, but I can't help but feeling sad about seeing birds and animals kept from roaming the forests of Maine as they please.

At the entrance of the Park, where Mike and I got a generous discount for having lived longer than the trees, the various areas of interest are pointed out with exceedingly cute signs.

Mike poses like a real Mainer. He patiently walked slowly as we trudged dozens of yards through the park. One of the benefits of using a cane - no one expects you to hurry along.

Let's start with my favorite stop on the tour - the peacock cage. With dozens of visitors waiting, the egotistical bird strutted around until the crowd grew to a size he deemed worthy of his efforts. 

"Not yet - gather 'round, people - this will be worth the wait."

"Was I right? Ain't I just the best looking thing in the whole wide world?"

"And that's not even my good side - check this out!" If this fancy pheasant started to put down its cage-mates, I'd have to believe he was running for political office.

Not as gaudy, but still impressive, is this White Peacock, which is not albino, but just a different color of the Indian Blue Peacock. (I love the Internet - it can make me seem so well informed and intelligent.)

This mountain lion and the bear below were carved out of dead trees, and rather amazingly so, I must say.

From beauties to the beast. The turkey vulture just doesn't promote cuddling.

Awww - what a cute big kitty cat. It's a lynx, and it's four times the size of my cute little kitty cat, Teddy Ballgame, posing proudly below.

This is sad. What a majestic bird, but it simply doesn't seem right - unless he's injured - to keep him in a cage. Why, not even people can enjoy life in a cage, can they?

There was a second fence keeping visitors from the green inner fence, suggesting perhaps that the Maine Moose isn't as sweet as gentle old Bullwinkle!

Our final stop was the bear cage. As we looked on, a family of four stopped to see the bears. The mother read the sign for her kids: "It says that these are Maine Black Bears."

The little girl, maybe four, pointed out the obvious, proclaiming in a loud voice: "But that one is BROWN!" The weary father led his brood away, no doubt to avoid having the bears question their identity.

Nature

One of the very cool things about Maine is that you don't have to ride for hours to get close to nature. This National Wildlife Refuge is hard by the highway, a dozen miles from home.

Extending out into the water is a quite sturdy porch, complete with benches, binoculars, and camera rests. 

Since the binocular cases were empty ...

...I got all artsy.

Enough artsy. 

This gull enjoys a fresh Maine seafood dinner

While he doesn't have to pay our high tourist prices, he does have to protect his dinner table.

First, a loud warning...

...then prepare for incoming dive-bombing swallows

Nonchalantly turning his head, the gull ignores the birds, who are a mere annoyance, not a real threat

Order is restored to nature, and I ride off to a Sea Dogs baseball game, where I'll eat hot dogs. Oddly, I can't stand seafood. (My mother often lamented that she must have done something wrong in raising me: "How can a child raised in Maine not eat fish?"

My Summer Job

With only six or seven hours open for "playing" each day, I've had to curtail my riding to concentrate on my summer job - if watching the Portland Sea Dogs (Boston's Double A minor league team) play can in any way be considered work. I supply photos and stories for the publisher of six weekly newspapers.

This is the press box at Hadlock Field in Portland, Maine. Official Scorer Thom Hinton, left, has been a friend for many years, and he is a constant source of knowledge and wisdom about everything about baseball.

Before going to the "office," I must get Teddy Ballgame off my Vespa. He is usually reluctant to surrender the seat to me, even though explain that it is mine. I even showed him the bill of sale once, pointing out that my name was on it- not his! But the possessive pussycat is always hard to pry loose.

Every Monday is "Military Monday" at the ballpark, and many veterans ride bikes to the game. I'm over on the left, the spot reserved for bicycles, scooters, and other smaller vehicles.



The view from above shows an impressive array of big bikes.

The Sea Dogs have been the temporary team of most the current Boston Red Sox since the teams became affiliated in 2003 - just in time to help the Sox win World Series titles in 2004 and 2007.

One player getting ready quickly for the major leagues is Bryce Brentz, Boston's number two prospect. He's caught stealing here - stealing bases is about the only thing he doesn't do well (1 for 3).

When a Sea Dog hits a home run...

...the exploding lighthouse rises from center field.

Well, I think I'm getting better. Maybe
I'll be able to ride and "work" at the "office" soon. A word of wisdom from an old man who now knows better: Take care of yourself before it's too late, and you must have other people take care of you. It's not too late, even for me.

Lost in my own backyard -again

This is my first post since Mike and I got lost on our way to a lake three weeks ago. It's been a miserable month so far - my body feels sorry for itself and refuses to move. I'd been out for a couple of brief rides, nothing longer than a dozen miles. So when Mike suggested a ride down the coast, I told my body that I was going out - with or without it.

After meeting in for coffee at a newly opened coffee shop called "The Speckled Axe," we checked Mike's map for the best route to Gooch's Beach in Kennebunkport and roared out of town. This is my part of Maine. I know my way around the coast.

Mike is pointing at his map and wondering why we aren't at the beach. (Does this photo like familiar? Check out my May 1 post, "Just three inches off.")

But - Hallelujah! - just a few hours later, Mike is pointing to the sea on the map - with said sea in the background!

This is something one can't do along the coast after Memorial Day. The traffic is slow but very heavy, and the middle of the road just isn't safe. It's really not safe now, but remember, Mike's from New York City ...

We talked with this gentleman, who rode a Vespa L50. Note that the dog basket isn't secured to the scooter.

And check out the footwear! Well, at least the dog seemed quite pleased to be out and about.

This dog, on the other hand, was expressing his disgust loudly. "Throw the damn stick, one of you -why else did you drag me here?"

So, the damn stick was thrown, retrieved, returned, and the process was repeated endlessly

This young lady caught our eye. She seemed to be dancing in the surf 

and enjoying herself immensely

For a moment, she rested as the sea gulls gathered around her. When she returned to her car, we walked down to speak with her; she'd parked quite close to us. (Alright, maybe not close, but within my walking range - barely.)

"Are you a dancer," I asked. "No," she replied. "Well, we watched you in the surf. You looked like a dancer." She smiled very nicely (why didn't my "charm" work 45 years ago?) and explained the reason for her activity.

"I was just trying to keep my music out of the water," she said, as she demonstrated her dance steps.

We stopped at the "Rock and Roll Cafe" in Scarborough for lunch. I am reflected in the mirror in the upper left-hand corner, snapping the photo.. Mike's a tad glum here, as he pondered why he needed my help in ordering a drink.

He asked the waitress for a "malted." She asked, "A malted what? "A malted," Mike repeated.

The young lady looked completely baffled. "He wants a milkshake," I told her. "Oh. O.K. - a milkshake," perhaps relieved that this was going to be a short conversation after all.

I've saved the most unpleasant photo for the end. Mike has a cell phone with GPS, which recorded our little ride to the beach. It should have been a nearly straight line from Portland to Gooch's Beach. It wasn't.

Just Three Inches Off

What happens when an old scooterer from New York City who can read a map and an old scooterer from Maine who can spell map plan a ride through the back roads of Maine?

They get lost, of course!

When Mike( http://scooterthefun.blogspot.com/)  and I recently rode around southern Maine, with Mike's map safely ensconced in plastic, I confidently and cluelessly rode about 20 miles off course.

As Mike indicates with his forefinger where we should be and puts his thumb where we actually were, I pointed out that it wasn't so bad - we were only three inches off.

We stopped for a rest in beautiful downtown Ross's Corner.

Another view of Ross's Corner

A few miles west, or east - well, some distance from Ross's Corner, we came upon the new-fangled way of collecting maple sap: rather than buckets hung under taps on hundreds of maples, tubes run from tree to tree right into the sap house. Certainly easier, but not at all Mainely.

I can imagine some old Maine farmer selling this property to a foolish buyer from away: "Yessah, got plenty of maples he'ah, but the best ones - the ones that'll give ya the most syrup - are those pretty little furry maples, like that one I got tapped right out they'ah."