“That guy’s got Moxie!” was probably last written by Raymond Chandler, but this punchy now archaic characterization refers in two ways to our first day of travel as we now head west (well, north, and then west). First, Moxie, the canned soda, has a connection to Lisbon, ME, a few miles from home. The taste is carbonated cough medicine, so it is little wonder that its never large market share is now near zero. But a six-pack of the bright orange cans can still be had at a rickety store (and Moxie museum) on Main Street into which Andrew a few years ago walked and came back with an orange shirt with the Moxie logo above the pocket. Second, and most germane here, Moxie takes its name from Moxie Falls, 130 miles to the north along the Kennebec River corridor. We were heading to Quebec via Jackman, ME, and decided to make the side trip. The falls and gorge – one of the largest in New England – are but a .6-mile walk from a secondary road. Well worth a detour.

Although the hills and valleys are full of color in northern Maine and southern Quebec Province, the peak is actually past. Towns along the route are hunkering down; large woodpiles are in just about every yard. In Jackman, near the border, the tourists have stopped coming and they can’t wait for the first snow or two that will bring the snowmobilers and, then, later on, the ice fishermen. Despite meager snowfall elsewhere in the state, they get many feet and temperatures in the minus forties from time to time. A sign on a motel near where we stayed offered taxidermy services and game butchering in addition to free Wi Fi.