From Loveland, Ohio, my girlfriend, Laine, and I traveled by car, and mostly backroads, up the northeastern arm of America to Acadia National Park in Maine while stopping to see family, friends, and anything else that we felt needed to be seen on the way.
Our time together on the road passed by with doo-wops and la la's, friendly folk and loving family, rain storms and long shadows, seemingly familiar state routes and train tracks, greenish-blue ponds and lakes, and many rolling mountains or hills — depending on what you like to call them.
Once in Acadia, I still remember sitting atop Champlain Mountain, looking down on Mount Desert Island as it held hands with the Atlantic — the mountain wind blew airs that felt free. We sat above the shadows and along the clouds, holding onto that oceanic mountain air for as long as we could.