An overland-style adventure en route to the easternmost point in the United States in Maine

A few years back, a motley crew of strangers gathered in western Maine for an off-road trip across the state. But even with a valiant effort, we were unable to make it to the final destination. With vehicle breakdowns, unreliable route information, locked gates, and fading sunlight, it just wasn’t in the cards. In 2015, as the leaves began to fall again in the Northeast, that same crew, no longer strangers, began to plan for the third annual D.R.A.M, or Dirt Roads Across Maine. Again, our plan was to traverse the state of Maine, from west to east, using only dirt roads, two-tracks, and trails, i.e. as little pavement as possible.

Spencer, the official route planner and guide, was hard at work in late summer to create a viable route to the Quoddy Head Lighthouse in Lubec, the easternmost point in the United States. This year we had a few newcomers: Nick in his JKU Rubicon, Steve and Jonathan in Steve’s 80 series Land Cruiser, and Ralph, my copilot from last year, in his TJ. Early on, we had some trepidation about making our goal this year. I know I had some serious doubts. In 2014, I had a rear differential failure, and we encountered adverse weather and numerous gates and impassable trails. It would be a great accomplishment if we succeeded.

Talking with the group, it was apparent that I was not the only one who began vehicle inspection and prep early. Spencer put the most work into his vehicle by far, having to fabricate new upper and lower shock mounts and install new shocks. After replacing my entire suspension, wheels, tires, and alternator over the summer, all I had left to change was my transfer case. An easy six-hour swap, but I waited until the last second to pack everything else. Fortunately, because of an article I read in a certain magazine, I learned to always have my gear clean, packed, and ready to go.

After a work shift that seemed to last an eternity, I was home and ready to get a few hours’ sleep before Ralph and I set off. Right on time, Ralph arrived at my home in western Massachusetts. I loaded the last few items in my Xterra, and Ralph and I did a triple-check to ensure we had everything necessary. Then we set off for the rally point in Errol, Maine. About two and a half hours in, Ralph felt the need to remind me over the CB that the weather was mimicking a trip we had taken in 2014. Instantly, I had flashbacks of my tent collapsing on me and being cold, wet, and slightly irritated. When Ralph and I pulled our adventuremobiles into the rally point, Steve, Jonathan, and Nick were already there, set up and celebrating the success of the travel day. After Ralph and I set up and began cooking, the beverages flowed freely. It was clear I would get along well with the newcomers.

Shortly after introductions, Boomer arrived with Spencer behind the wheel. Spencer, ever the optimist, pointed out the obvious: The weather gods were smiling upon us and blessing us with a cleansing, ice cold rain, which somehow we had failed to notice during our spirited conversations. Bellies full and whistles sufficiently wet, we retired for the evening. As I got into my tent, I was thankful that after last year’s trip I was able to upgrade to an Oztent RV-4. If the rain turned to snow again, I wouldn’t have to worry about getting wet or my shelter collapsing. Later that night, Ashwin and his girlfriend Elise, in the 4Runner, arrived along with Ryan and his girlfriend Restrepo, in a Porsche Cayenne. Let me tell you, I could not wait for first light to check out that Porsche.

Morning arrived quickly and in rather cruel fashion, as we were raw from the overnight rain and cold temps. But within a few minutes we were up and brewing that dark liquid that is the nectar of life. After a quick breakfast of oatmeal with some homemade bacon bits dropped in, we packed up, checked comms, and were off. It didn’t take long to settle in and start racking up the miles. Even with the rain and mud, everyone was in a spectacular mood, for it was snowing. While snow creates a picturesque landscape, it does slow us down and can make for long days. And with expected daily mileage goals to be 200-plus, we needed all the help we could get.

Stopping for lunch, an incredible mountain view greeted us, one we had been unable to see the year before. After refueling our rigs, we were off, or so we thought. It came to light that Ashwin had accidentally pumped seven gallons of kerosene into his 4Runner. A frantic Google search and a phone call to “Mr Wizard,” and we learned that at worst Ashwin could experience a loss of power, check engine light, and some foul smelling exhaust. I gotta hand it to Ashwin, he didn’t even break a sweat. As a precaution he added some octane boost and away we went. But this wouldn’t be the hardest part of our day.

Not long after the kerosene issue, Ryan’s Porsche developed some mechanical issues which forced him to drop out. About 20 miles down the trail, we turned onto some logging roads. We were still making great time, but going became rough and muddy, progress slowed by active logging operations. But that was not the worst of it. The 60 or so miles of brutally rough washboard roads were very trying. To everyone’s relief we pulled into camp with our sanity and fillings intact, and some daylight left to boot. Everyone was able to rapidly set up and jump into cooking dinner. I made a point to let the others know how great it was that it wasn’t windy and cold like it was last year at this camp site. That remark would come back to bite me.

Saturday morning we awoke to bitter cold and wind, making it difficult to pack up. The wind was so strong it broke one of the supports on my truck-mounted awning. I guess that’s what I get for opening my mouth, like last year when I said, “I hope it snows,” and my tent collapsed on me from the weight of the snow. Breakfast was rushed and we filled our coffee mugs to drink on the trail. With a long day ahead, we set off to do some distance. It wasn’t long until we were stopped. About a mile from camp the road was flooded due to a beaver dam. We made the decision to just go for it and were rewarded with shallow water and a nice hard bottom. Pressing on, we headed into the town of Rockwood for a fuel/provision stop. Apparently, the gas station in Rockwood missed the memo that fuel prices had come down. I have heard news can travel slowly, but fuel prices were about $1.25 higher than the rest of the world . . . a little excessive.

Leaving the gas station, we had great views of Mt. Kineo in the center of Moosehead Lake. We dropped off pavement and headed toward Pittston Farms, the unofficial gateway to the North Maine Woods. Pro Tip: Stop and get a slice of pie at Pittston Farms. You will not regret it. We crossed a bridge over the frigid waters of the South Branch of the Penobscot River which we would later learn was deemed “too unsafe to pass.” Paying our fees at the gate house, we entered the North Maine Woods, a place that is, for me, heaven on earth; 3.5 million acres of mostly unspoiled paradise. I say “mostly” because the land is privately owned and there are active timber harvesting operations in the area, which have recently been embroiled in controversy regarding a proposed National Park. From the Twenty Mile checkpoint we headed down the famed Golden Road. The weather had turned yet again, and a light rain was creating muddy conditions. Reaching Kakadjo, the rain had stopped but the temperature had dropped, and we could see in the distance that the mountain pass that gave us so much trouble last year had a fresh coating of snow. We quickly put together a contingency plan, in case we got to the top of the mountain and experienced a repeat of last year.

After a long and picturesque climb we made it to the top of the mountain. Once there we were happily surprised to see only a dusting of snow. We figured this would greatly reduce the time required to traverse this section. As a precaution we decided to walk ahead and investigate the trail, and a sound decision that was. Last year there were about six inches of snow on the trail. Now with just a dusting, we saw a long stretch of trail straight across a rock garden. I liked it better when the six inches of snow left us oblivious to what was underneath. It was now about two o’clock in the afternoon, only a few hours of daylight remained. We didn’t want to shy away from a great challenge, but needed to consider the extra time required. More importantly, we needed to preserve our vehicles, since we didn’t know what would lie ahead the next day. After scouring maps we found a new route to our camp at Endless Lake in Cedar Lakes Township. There, we set up camp with great anticipation. All of the next day would be new to most of the group. There was no guarantee we would make it to Lubec, but we were able to forget about our concerns thanks to Jonathan’s culinary skills.

Sunday started slowly but with great excitement. The feeling around camp was that we WOULD make it to Lubec and we set off early. The morning was uneventful until we hit our second beaver dam. It was much larger than the last, and holding back an entire pond — obviously several years in the making. Once across this deep crossing and ensuring no one had any leaks, we set off. The theme of the day would be proper time management. Luckily for us the morning was mostly smooth, well-traveled dirt roads. Around lunch time that abruptly ended. We came to some of the tightest trails of the day, and were transported to a post-apocalyptic wasteland complete with random gunshots in the distance. It was eerie passing a dilapidated house in the middle of the woods, with a fresh quart of milk and half eaten sandwich sitting at the base of a tree, as if someone had abandoned it in a hurry. Without wasting time we kept going and eventually made it to the Stud Mill Road, which starts just outside Milford, and was a welcome break from tight technical trails. This 40-mile stretch of dirt — an absolute blast to drive — cuts across a glacial plain with vast and scenic vistas, and you can take it nearly to Calais. But soon it was over. The last section from the Crawford Township area to Lubec would be the hardest of the trip — very technical, single- and two-track trail, full of washouts, small bridges, and short but technical rock gardens. How Spence navigated Boomer through without any breakage is beyond me. We experienced our first turnaround of the trip; all of our paper and cached maps showed it connecting, when in reality it did not. With night rapidly approaching, we needed a connector to our planned route in short order. The closer we got to Lubec, the more we began to joke and banter on the radios. And that’s when we saw it.

The welcome sign to Lubec, we had made it. Well, we made it to town anyway. We still had to cover some pavement, our nemesis. The last few miles to the Quoddy Head Light House were paved. At first it was disappointing, as the whole point of the trip was to avoid the black top, but once we turned onto South Lubec Road that feeling vanished. We saw the lights in the distance, across the Lubec Channel, and it hit us. That’s Canada! We had done it! I felt an overwhelming sense of euphoria. Three days and over 500 miles ago, we had set off with this being the end goal. Excruciating washboard roads, mud, adverse weather conditions, and challenging trails did not stop us. Then it got better. When we rolled up filthy, tired, and hungry to the Quoddy Head Light, we were back on dirt. We started on dirt, and finished on it. We gathered around to take it all in and preserve the memory with pictures, then decided we needed to find a bite to eat and share some celebratory beverages. We were unable to find that meal, but did stumble upon the recently opened Lubec Brewery. The owner and staff were more than hospitable as we shared highlights of our journey over several glasses of their fine beer.

From the brewery, most of the group decided to head home, but Nick and I had a different idea. We wanted to see the sunrise at West Quoddy Head, to be the first people in the United States to see the sun peek over the horizon. So we headed back to the lighthouse and set up camp in the parking lot. That night we listened to the waves crash on the shores of the easternmost point in the U.S., and were lulled to sleep by the faint ring of a bell on an offshore buoy.

At 4:45 a.m. my alarm pierced the calm, rousing us from sleep. There was no way we were going to miss this incredible sunrise. And incredible it was. By far the most spectacular sunrise I have ever had the privilege to witness. And right there, I realized why we do this — for experiences that cannot be bought or fabricated, and memories that will take an entire lifetime to forget.

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