Driving west on Maine’s State Route 17, I was in a sweet mood. Paul and I had spent the week on the coast kayaking, cycling and swimming. Now, bikes on the rack, sun on my face and Maine public radio in my ears, I was in no hurry. I still felt the roll of the sea in my body.
Then a car pulled around and passed me — a sedan pitted by salt and age. Maine plates. An arm emerged from the window, a fist and an extended third finger.
Yup, I thought, everybody hates the tourists.... Read more
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