On the third day of our camping trip, I found myself alone in a deserted old trailer in Middle of Nowhere, Maine with a barefoot and shirtless man I had never met before.
We had left "the wilderness" for a few hours to explore the Rangely area and ended up back in the tiny town of Andover, Maine. While my husband got caught up with the local news at the country store, I decided to take my camera and photograph some of the deserted old buildings in town for my blog. Usually I can do this fairly undetected, creeping through the undergrowth for the perfect shot. But not in small town, Maine. Someone "from Away" walking down the main street with a camera did not go unnoticed for long.
I later found out that as I crept around the side of this house, its owner, who happened to be in the country store, commented on the big doins' in town while my husband was checking out our supplies. "Some reporter from away is out there with a camera", he commented to the clerk. At that, my husband, who thought I was waiting in the car, perked up his ears and thought to himself..."It can't be... Cheryl? Or can it?" He looked out the door just in time to see me creeping through the shrubbery that surrounded the barn next door, camera in hand. Trying to cover for me, he said something to the effect of, "Oh, that's just my wife. She likes to take pictures of old buildings...she's harmless." Knowing my passion for old houses, he continued to make small talk with the "guys" in the store...creating a perfect diversion for his wife, cub reporter, tireless blogger, and frequent creator of potentially embarrassing situations for him.
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As I emerged from the thicket next to the barn, I saw this old guest house across the street. It was also deserted and the sign was hanging lopsided by one or two links of rusty chain. Photo op! I decided to stealthily make my way along the weed-strewn driveway at the right side of the building to take shots from the rear. After all, there was no one around.
As I made my way to the end of the driveway, I discovered the mother-lode...a vintage 1964 Scotty trailer just begging to be photographed for my blog. I checked to be sure there was no one around and snapped the photo...just as a screen door slammed to my left. A man ran out, clad in only his shorts, and headed right for me as he yelled, "Can I help you?"
Oops, time to turn on the charm...fast. "Oh, Hi", I said. "I didn't think anyone was around (Duh!)." The words nervously tumbled out..."I'm a vintage trailer lover and I couldn't resist peeking at your Scotty. Mind if I take a picture of it?" (I already had.)
"Oh...OK", he answered. "Would you like to see the inside?"
"I'd love to...that would be so nice of you," I blurted out. It was only after he unlocked the door and we stepped into the tiny hot interior that thoughts of all of the Stephen King books I've read began to flood my brain..."I'm all alone in here. My husband doesn't know where I am. This guy is practically naked. What if he's a psycho who uses his cute little trailer to lure unsuspecting women "from away" into his camper to rape and murder them? " (As I said, I'd been reading way too many mysteries around the campfire.)
As I admired the perfect vintage interior of the Scotty, my eyes were frantically darting around in search of an emergency exit. The man was standing just inside the door...I was trapped. My mind continued to sort through possible diversions: "I'll ask him to show me how the yellow cots fold out and, when he does, I'll run to the door and escape... I'll ask him what that is under the dinette and, when he bends over to look, I'll grab my camera and make a run for it."
Turns out that none of that was necessary. My scantily clothed new man friend introduced himself with a firm handshake. "You may recognize me...I'm Kevin Scott...independent candidate for Governor last November? I put 44,000 miles on that old Oldsmobile out there during the campaign."
Kevin Scott proved to be a really nice guy who, with his wife, is actually restoring the old Scotty...as well as many of the deserted buildings on Main Street in Andover, Maine. After a long and interesting visit, and a tour of the town, I never did admit that I voted for one of his opponents. Maybe if I'd known he loved old Scotty's and old houses at the time, he might have had a chance to change my mind.
That's my new man friend at the podium in the middle at last year's gubernatorial debates.
Just another boring day in the wilderness for me...saw some old houses, toured a vintage Scotty, and met the potential governor in his underwear.
So...what did you do on your vacation?
