Millinocket is a charming little place on the Appalachian Trail. This is small-town America at its best. Since we normally only do “chain business, just off the Interstate” America, this was a bit scary at first. We rode the whole length of the town looking for a motel but, five minutes later, on the third sweep of the main street, we realised there weren’t any, so settled on a B&B instead. True, the house reminded us slightly of the Bates residence. Still, at least it had a bright orange Honda Goldwing in the driveway, which was more than could be said for the B&B next door which looked well dead. The Young House was, perhaps, comparatively expensive, but the facilities were considerably nicer than your average Days Inn or Super 8. The owners were friendly and offered free wi-fi and an excellent cooked breakfast. We had home-cooked meatloaf for dinner at a mom-and-pop restaurant round the corner, and then wandered down the deserted street for a couple of beers at the Blue Ox Saloon.
There were a few regulars around the bar who, recognising that we were strangers in the area, took it upon themselves to recommend some local highlights. Top of the list seemed to be the Ripogenus Dam, a veritable “must see”, by all accounts. We asked if the forestry road was suitable for bikes. “No problems”, they said: an opinion shared by our B&B inn-keepers, and by the forestry service guy that John had emailed about possible trail-riding in the Appalachians.
So, the following morning we set off down the Golden Road, a rough haul road where, we were warned, timber trucks, up to 4 trailers long, stop for nothing. I suppose it was the fact that three separate sources (including a forestry employee) had recommended the Dam as a local attraction, and that each had said that we would be fine on bikes as long as we didn’t venture beyond, that blinded us to the apparently obvious signs prohibiting motorcycles and ATVs. Anyway, it didn’t cross our minds that we were doing anything wrong until, after 20 or 30 miles, we were pulled up by a park ranger just a few hundred yards short of 
the Dam. “I could issue you with a ticket just for being here”, he said, “You need to turn right around now.” We apologised of course, and explained about the exchange of emails with the forestry company, while neglecting to mention the conversation with the reprobates in the bar. The ranger was clearly unimpressed. Nevertheless, he conceded that we were nearly there
if we were to take the next right and follow the gravel road down the hill. And so, amazingly, he let us go.
In the event, I am not sure that the Dam was worth the trip. However, John and I did get to do a little genuine off-road trail riding to get there, and we got to see our first moose: a mummy moose, in fact, with her calf. Sadly, I didn’t have the right lens on my camera, and by the time I had got the camera out of its bag, the two of them had sauntered off to the side of the road.
Once back on the highway, we headed for the hills and the Canadian border, and civilisation