What to do when a pandemic has squashed all your international travel plans? (goodbye New Zealand, goodbye Turkey, goodbye Patagonia!) Travel domestically, of course! The month-long furnished rental market has exploded since April, and I've joined the craze, swapping out my place in Boulder for your place in Anywhere Else, America. Come with me (virtually, of course) across the country as I experience all the rural roads, small towns, coastal regions, scrub-filled deserts, and damp, dark forests I might never have visited if not for the altered dynamic of global travel.
Maine is a state of contradiction from the very first mile on the highway signs that tell you the distance to the next exit in both miles and kilometers, which is quite nice. Inexplicably, the signs drop the kilometers not far into the state, and they don't come back even several hours later as you barrel down on the Canadian border. I've now driven almost the entirety of I-95, so unless the kilometers show back up in the last 40 miles, I'm perplexed. Why show kilometers when exiting New Hampshire and then never again? Kilometers are, however, the preferred measurement for the distances of the Penobscot River Trail system. It made me feel I was travelling great distances on my trail runs there. Next up, the general store. Every small town in Maine has one and I love them. They all appear to be privately owned, and what they carry varies wildly. Some have only a few snack food items scattered across bare shelves but others have knick-knacks and or local crafts and every hou