Finding a Camp

Its a hot afternoon, we'd stayed on at a camping ground near Leeds in Maine, a bus camper on the next site, had offered us the use of his Canadian Canoe, and we found this too tempting to let slide.

It was near midday when we left the camp.
Not very interesting country, a late stop at a Supermarket and no offers for a place to put our tent, we got on the road and were put straight into a decent hill, climbing up from a river valley.

I was keeping an eye out for country dwellers out in their gardens, no one in sight, then a few kilometres along I saw a mailbox with something like a stuffed poo bear sticking its head out of a box, two women sitting on a balcony 100 m off the road,

“What about them” I called back to Val, she surprised me by saying

“They look a bit too alternative” - just the reason I thought they were worth a try, by this time we were well past and tooling along nicely, even though the heat was still in the air. Another shorp hill, the road taking a curving right hand bend, two minor roads running off to the left

“What about the forest down the side road” Val called,

I was looking at a horsey establishment on our side of the road and continued on. Val had got off the bike and was pushing it the last bit of the hill,there was a man shoving his snow plow into his garage on the other side of the road. Looking back I waved my arm thinking Val would see me, and rode up Mr Snow Ploughs drive.

“Hullo, we are from New Zealand on a cycle tour and are looking for a small pathc of grass to put our small tent for the night”.

“Uh, we don't really have much room here”he said, trying to ignore the one or two acres of mowed grass either side of the house, "maybe the horse place on the other side of the road would be a better ask. There's your wife just going past now”.

Just as well he spoke, Val had obviously not seen my hand signal and was just about at top pace chasing me, when I called to her. Just as she arrived on the drive, Mrs Snow Plough came out the front door, maybe she would be more forthcoming.

“These folk are from New Zealand honey; looking for a place to camp, I just suggested the horse farm over the road, they have more space than us”.

“New Zealand?” she exclaimed, “”Where all the sheep come from. I know that because I am a Spinner”,
Val pricked up her ears, and looked for an opportunity to claim a point of interest. (There's a subtle phychology to begging for shelter) We were then deflated by
“ No we have not got a lot of room here really”. I swear I heard the ride-on mower in the shed give a sigh of disbelief!

Just then a ute drove into the Horse Farm and we decided to head that way. Twenty minutes later we had the billy on and the tent up, with tea underway, tucked in behind the horse stables and alongside the post and rail corral, we were “home”for the night.



Camping at Carol's Horse Stud, somewhere north of Portland, Maine , with 45 pawing and kicking companions alongside us for the night.