L and N have bi-coastal grandparents, which does not make for easy large-scale family reunions. Bottom line: someone somewhere has to travel. A lot. Mimi and Grampy seem to take the lion's share of the burden, generally coming out to sunny So Cal once a year or so, while we have been averaging a trip back to Maine about every other. One of the undisputed benefits of taking the logistical plunge and making the East Coast trek (by opening your wallet, turning it upside down, and shaking vigorously), is that you truly do get a pretty great vacation out of the deal. After all, Maine's informal state motto, as testified to by highway signs and license plates, is "Vacationland!"
Previous Maine homecomings in 2007 and 2009 had established the battle rhythm requiring a 2011 run. We had originally hoped to make the trip back in June to celebrate Grampy's 70th birthday, but the work/life balance wasn't, and I couldn't really break away until mid-August. Fortunately, rumors I'd heard at work about cancelling the month of August entirely and moving straight into September proved to be unfounded and on Wednesday, August 10 we made the fateful drive to LAX.
Flights into Maine are iffy and pricy. Ideally we'd fly into Bangor and then drive to my folks place in Patten about 90 miles to the north. But insisting on Destination Bangor, the lone outpost in the wilderness that it is, tends to double your plane ticket price over flying into marginally more cosmopolitan Portland four hours to the south. Cheapness being a celebrated family trait, I cobbled together a flight plan that got us into Portland at 1:00 in the morning, where we'd pick up a car and do the northern haul in the wee hours. Surely a five hour car trip after ten hours of air time would be no big deal, right? And actually it didn't turn out to be. The only hiccup ended up being in our favor. When we got into Portland and I went to pick up the car they were all out of the "standard" size I'd reserved. Hertz: "Is it OK if we put you in a fully loaded Cadillac for no extra charge?" Me: "Ummm... OK!" I'm sure we all looked particularly stylish and impressive cruising I-95 through those moose-infested Maine woods at 4:00am in our white Caddy with the sun roof and heated leather seats. Maine gangstahs, a-yuh.
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| The Wheels of Fortune |
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| More traditional Maine transportation. |
Mimi, Grampy and Grammy Betty were still in bed when we pulled up at their farmhouse at 5:00am. We parked the wonder wheels, tossed the suitcases on the porch and staggered upstairs to find the first available horizontal surfaces to collapse upon. OK, so we spent the first day of the vacation flying and the second day sleeping off the excesses of the first day, but hey, you pretty much go to Maine for two things: lobsters and sleep, so no one was complaining.
L and N have bi-coastal grandparents, which does not make for easy large-scale family reunions. Bottom line: someone somewhere has to travel. A lot. Mimi and Grampy seem to take the lion's share of the burden, generally coming out to sunny So Cal once a year or so, while we have been averaging a trip back to Maine about every other. One of the undisputed benefits of taking the logistical plunge and making the East Coast trek (by opening your wallet, turning it upside down, and shaking vigorously), is that you truly do get a pretty great vacation out of the deal. After all, Maine's informal state motto, as testified to by highway signs and license plates, is "Vacationland!"
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