I’ve talked so much about food. I’m getting bored. Let’s talk about activity. As you know, I can’t do much with this ruptured disc. I suppose I could go to the Y and get on a bike machine and sit straight up on it. Actually, that’s a good idea. Next time.

maybe he can smell the history

Yesterday, though. Yesterday was a great outside day. If you live in New England, then you probably enjoyed the weather that makes autumn here so fabulous. Temps in the 60s, bright sun, dry air, a slight breeze. I grabbed our dog Helen Keller and walked him around Bath near the Maine Maritime Museum. He didn’t care so much about the history, but if you ever have a free afternoon and find yourself in the Bath area, you should pop into the museum and wander the grounds. There’s a lot to see–the schooner Sherman Zwicker (an old sardine carrier that you can board; the smell alone is worth it, that old wooden boat salty water smell…mmmm), a functioning and educational wooden boat shop, artifacts from when Percy & Small was an active shipbuilding facility, tours of Bath Iron Works, art galleries, a pirate ship…aw hell. Just check it out. I’m making it sound really dry.

Wyoming Zwicker in background

I just got distracted when I clicked over to Bath Iron Works. It looks like the christening scheduled for yesterday for the USS Zumwalt has been postponed due to the government shutdown. Been watching this thing getting final build out all summer and was super pleased to discover the name of the captain of this first-of-its-kind, land-attack, anti-aircraft, guided missile destroyer from the DDX class is James Kirk. I’m not even kidding.

So, Mr. Magoo and I wandered about a bit, but as I said, he wasn’t all that interested in the history. I took him home and cruised over to Morse Mountain, a short hike/walk over a small hill that opens to the spectacular Seawall Beach, with views of Casco Bay and Seguin Light.

At my pace, the two-mile trail to the beach took about an hour but for the yoga-pants crowd, it’s probably more like 45 minutes. And, for the trail runners, it’s probably some embarrassingly short amount of time that I won’t even venture a guess. If you head to Morse, expect your walking time to about about 90 minutes to two hours overall, more if you include beach walking, which I did.

Pro tip: Late fall means plenty of parking and no bugs. Peak summer means no parking and a prohibitive amount of bugs and tourists. Just keep that in mind if you’re planning to visit next summer. And, no dogs allowed. Ever. EVER.

Typically I bring some earbuds to listen to an audiobook or some music, but yesterday I thought it might be nice to hear the birds and ocean and whatnot. Big mistake. Big. Huge.

I heard very few birds, no crashing water, maybe a few rustling trees. What I did hear was a lot of this: “And did you know he’s drinking again? He’s ruining his life and I’m not going to help him. Well, my husband just got a new assistant. Did I mention we’re going to Hawaii? It’s for my husband’s birthday. MOM! I don’t wanna walk anymore! Stop it! STOP IT!”

I pulled to the side of the trail and let some yoga-pant ladies (“We’re hoping to move there by June but there’s so much to do and I need a new car”) who were behind me pass and I noted when I glanced at them that they did not acknowledge me or say hello. Hm. As I walked the trail, I noted that nobody passing from the opposite direction seemed to say hello or nod as they passed.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m normally walking with my head down ignoring my fellow travelers as well, so I’m being a total hypocrite, but I got curious. I started saying hello to every single person I passed. Every single one. Here’s the
tally:

No crowd:

• Yoga-pant ladies
• Blaze orange because he’s in Maine and it’s hunting season but he’s on a private nature preserve so the orange is pointless guy
• Super athletic couple in hipster sunglasses
• Wife of the guy who looks like this guy. She looks like the kind of
  woman who says no because she can.
• Skinny ladies in expensive sneakers–I got eye contact, but it was brief and the lady looked down after I said hello
• Group of young campers
• Older ladies for whom I moved out of the way as I approached the narrow path to the beach
• Woman hiking alone with oversized walking stick
• Twenty-something girl in aviator sunglasses texting on her phone
• Super cutie couple in retro grunge wear, probably taking a walk after brunch at Mae’s. 
• Older gentleman in his vacation plaid with taut shiny skin resulting from too many days on the sailboat without sunscreen
• Teenaged girls holding hands and working through their drama

Yes crowd:

• Big girl in gray sweatshirt and tight jeans rolled up past her knees because it was way hotter on the trail than anyone expected
• Old duffer with big belly and bad limp 
• Chick carrying her surfboard back from the beach
• Guy who looks like this guy. In fact, I got a double “hello hello!”
• Older couple holding hands 
  
• Super heavyset guy with awkwardly buckled backpack and two small girls
• Woman in yoga pants walking with her family (I did not expect her to say hello)
• Big swarthy guy who looked like a linebacker
• Woman with really big hips and bad hair in polyester culottes 
• Two fat sweaty guys talking loudly in a thick Rhode Island accent about the Sox
• Camp counselors
• Family with shrieking toddler, but that’s because I gave a sympathetic look and made a crack about how long their walk would be. We had a laugh.

Kids don’t say hello–no big surprise. The hipster doofus gangs don’t say hello, okay, I get that and am guilty of that too. But, the older retiree crowd with money? Nothing? No love for the middle-aged fat girl in a Two Salty Dogs baseball cap and a gray t-shirt she won’t discover reveals her muffin top in a truly unfortunate manner until she gets back to her car?

Oh. I see it now. I belong in that yes crowd. The bad hair, awkward clothing, take the kids for a hike to get them out of the house for christ sake crowd. I’m not a hipster doofus. I’m just a doofus. And the other doofuses recognized me and said hello. The hipster doofuses and the wealthy retirees couldn’t even see me because I’m the kid who wears brown corduroy pants to school, joins the SCUBA club to get out of having to do a sport, and plays the flute in the school band.

Whatever. I bet our crowd has way better pie.