So the next morning we drove to Bar Harbor. It was bright and sunny and lovely. Though the town was quite touristy, it was at its summery best. Parking the car was a challenge, but a lot manager waved us into a full lot since RJH owns a small car (buying criterion: large enough for one hockey bag). We wandered around town, took more ironic photos with large, stuffed moose and wooden lobster, and young Japanese tourists taking photos with serious cameras wearing moose-shaped hats, and bought some lunch. We had pricey but tasty lobster rolls and local blueberry soda on the grass overlooking the harbour.
Then, we went to the nearby Acadia National Park, which RJH knew from childhood. We visited the Sandy Beach and drove up Cadillac Mountain. RJH said it reminded him of Cape Breton in miniature. With ten times the tourists, I added. It was lovely despite the crowds. They say on a clear day you can see Nova Scotia, but I am unsure whether this is believable.
We left Bar Harbor and hit traffic. It seemed we would never get off the island. We had plenty of time to inspect the hardcore quaintness of the local architecture. Eventually, we made it back to the highway and headed north to New Brunswick, stopping for an unduly complex attempt to buy ice cream near Bangor. The highway to the north is a bit monotonous: just trees, with the odd risk of more turkey or deer or moose. There was one lookout with a view of Mount Katahdin, so we stopped.
After that, it was just trees, until suddenly there was a sign for the border. We had dinner with his parents, though it was late for them. I was caught off-guard having never previously entered a new time zone by travelling north. We had an uneventful drive a further 40 minutes to their cottage where we were staying.