Day 95

Update August 2020:
An email arrived from Nick Scott:
I read an old blog here that you once visited Ernie Fiske, and saw the pipe organ he was building. Ernie has since passed and I rescued that organ from being dumped. Do you happen to have any old pictures of that organ? Thanks
Unfortunately I did not take a picture of the organ, but Nick sent one of it in its new home:
I knew asking for a random, 20 year old photo, pre digital, was a long shot!
The organ itself was actually built in 1908, and has a long history.  I feel obligated to record as much as I can because once it’s lost, it’s lost forever.
Be safe, attached is a photo of the Ernie fiske organ partially installed in my garage.
Orrs Island, ME to York Beach, ME
$24 :: BF, snacks, dinner
98.90 mi :: 7.43 hr :: 35.0 mph :: 12.8 mph :: 6373 mi

A little tense riding back up 24 and 123 to Brunswick, but the rest of the day the roads treat me well. I know I’ll have to push to make York Beach, I decide to eat a good breakfast and then push hard. In plush Freeport I try a chain called Friendly’s, which turns out to have great, cheap food. For $8 I get coffee, 4 eggs, 4 french toasts, 4 links, and a mountain of homefries.

Then I get serious, riding sunny, pretty roads, taking just short brakes, riding hard. One break I meet a 72-year old man who is at the tail end of a 100-mile day at noon. The secret? He starts at 2 am, and does this 3 days a week year round.

Sebago Lake

I have a powerbar at crystal clear Sebago Lake. More beauty. Ice cream bar tastes fantastic. A few miles later I come upon attractive Dorothy Hall, nicely dressed, wrestling with a broken tailpipe. I tie it down for her, meet her two kids. She’s a gifted and talented teacher, and asks if I could possibly speak to one of her classes. We get out her map and she shows me where they are – the opposite direction from mine. It just looks too far, and I feel committed to getting to York Beach, so I say no and we part ways.

Ernie & Lorraine Fiske

The rest of the ride is tough – daylight short, and Kennebunk, Wells, and Olgerneout offer a million things to eat and see. I pass them all, reach York Beach, look up Ernest Fiske and call him in the middle of dinner. Not wanting to further interrupt, I have a mediocre pizza and then make my way to their house. Friendly folks greet me on their large, shorefront porch. Ernie shows me his full pipe organ he’s building in the garage, Lorraine welcomes me. To their surprise I choose to sleep in my tent in the lawn. It’s dark when I go for a late walk and climb in my familiar tent.

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