Small budget leads to big adventure

I was 19 years old with $1,000, a beaten up Honda Accord, and an independent spirit. It turns out this was all I needed to have the most unforgettable trip of my life. I packed my bag, filled up my gas tank, and headed north on Interstate 85.

Leaving my small town of Lawrenceville, Georgia to go out on my own was not something that was encouraged. People there tend to stay close to home and get married young. But spending yet another summer in that sleepy town was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to see more.

Once on the open highway, I felt invincible. The windows were rolled down and the country music was turned up. For the first time in my life, I had the power to control where I ended up. I passed the first state line. I kept driving. I entered North Carolina. Virginia. Maryland. Delaware. I drove over the George Washington Bridge and looked down onto the bright lights of New York City for the first time.

I found a hotel just outside Hartford, Connecticut. The next day brought one of the heaviest rain storms I had ever seen. My windshield wipers were working overtime and my tiny car tried to hydroplane more than once. Thankfully, the further north I drove, the less rain I encountered. I reached Maine that day. Finally, I was where I wanted to be.

I checked into a home that advertised itself as a hostel but was actually a beautiful Victorian home. After knocking on the door several times and receiving no answer, I opened the door to find a Yellow Lab. He led me to his owner. Layla was ironing some curtains in her underwear. Very surprised to see me, she quickly retreated to another room and returned fully clothed. She confessed that she hadn’t checked the online booking system, and was therefore unaware of my arrival. She led me to a beautiful room with a canopy bed which she called the yellow room. I felt immediately at home.

Three days in the yellow room left me yearning for more, but it was time to move on. I had dreamed of seeing the sun rise at Acadia National Park for many years and it was finally going to happen.

The hostel owner in Bar Harbor greeted me in a tie-dye shirt. He was bald on top, yet his gray hair reached all the way to his lower back. He introduced me to my room. My “bed” was a simple yoga mat placed on the floor. I was told to help myself to any of the many cushions and blankets in the “serenity room.”

After a surprisingly good night’s sleep on my yoga mat, I woke up to a vegetarian breakfast which consisted of organic ingredients from the hostel owner’s farm. Just the perfect amount of fuel to get me through the next three weeks of my big adventure.