I have a friend who swears every good day trip from Portland starts at theCumberland Farms on Pine Street. I’m more of an egg-and-sausage-breakfast-sandwich-at-Fasulo’s kind of gal. I don’t know about anything else on the menu, but I do know you can hang out near the coffee machine or scan the cat food section with pride as you wait for the best no-frills, perfectly melted, under-three-dollar decision you’ll make all morning.
Plus, Fasulo’s (122 Washington Ave.) is near an I-295 interchange and the creepiest gas station in the neighborhood, 7-Eleven (27 Washington Ave.). Someone is always crying near the pumps or inside yelling about something. Today, while waiting in line, a child in camouflage tells me the Yankees, in fact, are the ones who rule, and are also cleaner than the Red Sox. The woman behind the counter takes my $25 for a half-tank of gas and yells, “Yeah fuckin’ right!”
There’s a commercial on some local television stations that features a screaming, rotund man with a beard doing funny things to get you to come to his store. There’s one where he’s standing on the Great Wall of China, yelling about all the crazy stuff he’s picked up to sell at his place. “Maine’s only free gift bar!” he exhorts.
This is Big Al.
Some days in Maine feel like junk-store days. I haven’t had one in a while, so I steer the car onto 295 and head north with a companion to Big Al’s (Route 1, Wiscasset). In less than an hour, we pull into the parking lot. Two little girls wave illegible posters at the cars whizzing by: Girl Scout cookies for sale. My companion buys a box.
Inside, Big Al’s is a brightly lit warehouse full of crap. I pick up two legal-sized notebooks with blue paper for a dollar, and help myself to the free coffee in the back. The Styrofoam cups are stacked above the dog bowls. I sip and name items aloud as we pass them. “A wooden puzzle map of the United States. Remember these from school?” “This doll head and limb package is creepy.”
Before paying for our finds, my friend and I select our free gifts from the table up front: a package of black hair barrettes and a self-inking stamp pen in the shape of a hand. Score. Big Al wasn’t there, but there were large posters of him waving to us as we left the store.
From here, we take Route 27 to Boothbay Harbor. The entire town is closed save for a yarn store and a used bookstore on Oak Street associated with theMemorial Library nearby. Among the books stacked in the small farmhouse-style shop we find a complete collection of the Life Nature Library. I buy the one on insects, and eavesdrop on a man asking the little old lady behind the counter if she has any books on Reiki. She seems confused by this question, and leads him to the medicine stacks. The customer’s female companion later hisses, “It’s not like you’re going to find a storybook with pictures or anything. You’re actually going to have to think.”
Back in the car, we decide to take Route 96 east to Ocean Point. During the 10 minute drive, my companion eats his entire box of Girl Scout cookies. He tells me I have been warned, and shouts in a sugar-high pitch for more coffee. (I suggest you bring a thermos full of your own for this trip, because a decent cup of coffee is scarce in these parts.)
Ocean Point is aptly named. We’re lucky enough to be the only ones on Ocean Point Walk, which leads to a craggy panoramic view of the coastline and smells like Christmas, thanks to the freshly chipped fir walking path. The only thing we can find for sale is a gray house with a great front porch that’s both scary and appealing. The road does a lazy loop among all the summer houses and connects back with 27, providing plenty of time to ogle what the rich got and you don’t.
Heading for home, we stop off in the center of Wiscasset and find Treats (80 Main St.) for that coveted good cup of coffee. Beyond the crusty breads and preserve jars is another whole room filled with wines and cheeses. We buy a blueberry muffin the size of a small animal’s head for $2.50, but should have gone for the rhubarb pie.
Back on Washington Avenue, the sugar’s worn off and the sun is setting behind Fasulo’s. We call it a day and head home to get ready for work the next morning. It’s comforting to know there’s a Coffee By Design within walking distance, but the call of Big Al is still strong – “… free gift bar” – and try as I might, I can’t get that rhubarb pie crust out of my head.
Total Miles: 145
Total Gas: +/- 8 gallons
