Pape & Evergreen

The Portland Head Light – October 20th, 2022. I can still hear the waves crashing against the rocky coastline, and the sound of a park worker’s megaphone announcement that the park would be closing in less than five minutes.

Last week I had one of the luckiest and unluckiest experiences I've ever had on the road. I was at the tail end of an 11-day leaf-peeping loop through New England when my car ceased to start—and not in a dead-battery way. Nope, the sound it made when it couldn't muster up one last start was similar to the screech of a pterodactyl if you've ever heard it. My car had been having a tough time starting for the past week, but October 21, 2022, was the chosen date of a major failed start.

Sporadically since last fall, when I'd press my prized black chariot's magical start button in, my car sounded like it was stalling or hiccuping. It's a sound I was never able to recreate for friends, family, or my trusty team at Subaru. Since last fall, I have brought Black Bowser in for routine service and several checkups, and each time, my beloved passes with flying colors. So, I filed this shaky start feature away as one of my car's few quirks and never really worried about it.

Naturally, with several clean bills of health under our belt, I was unafraid to take my treasured driving companion on a "little" adventure. And since I was *only* driving from New York to Vermont, then over to Maine and back down to New York, my brain categorized this as a *local* road trip, which of course, to me, means no need for rental beasts.

Over the past decade, I have become a road-tripping and American tourism expert. And the number one piece of advice I give to everyone who picks my brain is: rent a car. Don't take big, grand adventures in your personal automobile. Unless you're a retiree with all the time in the world to spend in a little town someplace far from home while a mom-and-pop shop waits for a new Johnson rod to come in so they can fix your '89 LeBaron, you're gonna want the luxury of turning in any car that's got any issue at the nearest Enterprise in exchange for a perfectly working vehicle.

Trust me, I once did this twice in one trip and got the warning, "Ms. DeFazio, we do have to let you know that three cars is the limit for one rental agreement," from an Enterprise associate. That was when I drove from Fargo, North Dakota, down to Little Rock, Arkansas—my personal Tornado Alley expedition. I busted up a few rental beasts—got one stuck in the mud, and made a mess of its alignment—backed another into a rogue mile marker or the mouth of a tyrannosaurus rex—you decide which is true. But either way, Enterprise was always just a town away with a brand-spankin' new rental for me to wreck or ride.

As much as I am truly, madly, deeply in love with the vehicle I own, I typically don't take it on really big adventures, but again, since New York to Maine felt relatively, laughably local, off we went. In hindsight, I guess Maine is about as near New York as January is to July, or an eighth-grader is to their junior year of college, or Disney World is to Cuba. When all was said and done, I drove 1,869 miles—the most I've ever driven in my car. And that does not a local trip make.

On the first full day of my trip, the dreaded stalling sound that hadn't happened for months was back and sounding more severe than ever. Damn it. I tried not to let it stress me, but it was definitely causing some degree of anxiety. The perpetual hopefulness in me hoped that I was the problem and not the car. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm holding that start button down too long or not long enough, and that's why it's doing that. Every time I got in the car to start it, I did it gingerly, carefully, mindfully.

I even got superstitious about it and made sure to plug my phone in and put my seatbelt on before turning on the car. Why? I don't know. It pretty much became one of those deals you make with a higher power when your cell phone only charges when it's on its side propped up against two books, not one, with a light shining on it, but not too bright, and only on Thursdays. Oh please, oh please, if you charge my phone this one time, I'll [insert promise you don't intend to keep].

The deeper into the trip I got, the more often my car was stalling. Maybe frequent stopping and starting wasn't ideal for a struggling starter—but when there are lighthouses, and covered bridges and new vibrant, color-changing leaves to see at every turn, I tend to start and stop the car a lot.

On the day I was supposed to drive up Mt. Washington, visibility on the mountain was less than 1/16 of a mile, and my car was doing its stuttering thing like mad. Clearly, no elements were in support of me doing a cliff climb in my car. 

By the time I got up to Acadia National Park, I wasn't quite turning my car off at every scenic overlook—which I felt pretty bad about from an environmental standpoint. But I was just too afraid my car wouldn't turn back on again in a park with limited to no cell service, and then I'd be stuck in one of the most beautiful places in the Northeast with no way to explore it.

In retrospect, a national park wouldn't be the worst place to break down. Of course, some parks would be less ideal than others—the more spread out, the more vast, the longer you'd likely have to wait for a patrolling ranger to find you. But a packed park during peak season in Acadia would give you and your car pretty good odds of being found fast.

After Acadia, I drove northeast to the easternmost point in the contiguous U.S.: the West Quoddy Head Light of Lubec, Maine. I even drove a bit further onto Campobello Island in Canada. I made my way back down to Bar Harbor for another few days and got a bad cold. I started heading back down the coast to familiar favorites in and around Portland, Maine: The Portland Head Light, The Highroller Lobster Co., The Sock Shack, and others.

I spent the night downtown and woke up feeling the effects of my cold in full force the next morning. I tested negative with my last covid test and returned to the road. I had about 96 (translation nine) stops I was planning to make on my way down to Woburn, Massachusetts, to be in close proximity to Salem the next day. I got three stops in before my car couldn't bring itself to turn all the way on again at the twin lighthouses of Cape Elizabeth. 

I pressed that familiar start button again and again, and my car made the saddest, whiniest sound it's ever made. It was sicker than I was. Poor thing was hot to the touch outside—a palpable fever—and inside, the dashboard was lit up like hell's Christmas tree. Every light I've never seen glowed red or orange. The radio was on, and I could roll the windows up and down, but the car was not on on. I couldn't get it to turn off off, either, though. I was stuck in a sandy parking lot on the edge of craggy Casco Bay in a car that's battery would eventually die, too, if I couldn't get it to start or turn off soon. 

I tried repeatedly, then got scared I'd flood the engine, so I left my baby be. I remembered seeing a phone number on my driver's side window that I had never noticed just a few days earlier. It was the number for Subaru Roadside Assistance. Frazzled that my car wouldn't start and that I had one measly bar of service and a bad cold, I dialed the number on my car. Maybe they'll send an actual Subaru technician here and fix my car on the spot! Maybe I'll still be able to make it to Salem! Sometimes I get tangled up in my optimism and gullible nature.

After a long panicked call with Subaru Roadside Assistance, I had somehow agreed to have them tow my car to the nearest Subaru for $200 instead of calling AAA, which would have been free. My naivety convinced me that because I was calling Subaru, some special Subaru magic would be worked on my car. But alas, there was nothing special about the tow that arrived—other than the fact that it was the flatbed my car required, and the driver operating it turned out to be one hell of a creative problem solver.

Before help arrived, I called my Mom, I called my Dad, I texted with my friend Val who quickly FaceTimed me so I could commiserate with her. My car—brilliant beast that it is—eventually went into battery-saving mode and turned itself off completely. Hallelujah! That was one small win. But I was sick to my stomach thinking through the unknown events to come. It was a Friday afternoon—what if these Subaru service departments were as booked as mine back home has been lately? What if they didn't have the part my car needed, and I couldn't get home the next day? A stampede of stress-filled questions flooded my brain as I paced the dead-end street, impatiently waiting to flag my tow down.

After an hour or so, he finally showed. I was thrilled to see that big savior vehicle barreling in slow motion down Two Lights Road. I directed him to my car, which was parked in the least convenient spot deep in a crowded unpaved lot. Cars came and went while he tried to back in and get in position to haul my poor sick car. His truck beeped with that big-truck-backing-up beep I'm used to hearing all the time at home in the big city, but for the first time ever, that beeping was just for me. Somehow that made it a sweet beep.

My driver maneuvered into the best angle he could get, which left me standing there thinking, does this guy actually think he can get my car onboard parked like that? But Mike from Maine, originally from Canada, knew what he was doing.

He tried to start my car. We heard the screech of satan that was breaking my soul with every press of the sarcastic start button. He popped my hood and hooked my car's innards up to some futuristic machine—a mechanical thermometer, I presume. He concluded that my battery was fine, but my starter was shot. Yes! That registered as truth in my brain. It's been having a hard time starting for days, so a shoddy starter made perfect sense.

Mike let the hood fall and asked me for the keys. Now I'm thinking, what's this guy gonna do? We know the car won't start. What does he want with the keys? He went to start it again. Now I'm thinking, bro, we've been over this. The car won't start. What are you—that's when Mike positioned himself to be half in my car and half outside of my car. He moved the gear shift, presumably to neutral, and began walking my car back with the driver's door wide open and his hand steering the wheel. Then, he moved my car in the perfect position to get it up onto the flatbed.

Wow! I was so impressed! I looked around to see who else was watching this monumental feat—this absolute professional using every tool in his wheelhouse to do what needed to be done. A couple caught my eye. They were watching with concern in their brows and walking slowly toward the Lobster Shack just up the hill. They stopped and asked, "Are you ok? Do you need some help?" I was so moved by this kindness. I thanked them very much and told them I was ok. I knew me and my car would be ok eventually, I just hated the thought of all we'd have to do (and spend) to get to be ok.

Mike pulled my car up onto the flatbed, then fastened harnesses around the wheels. He asked me if I needed a ride and told me to hop in. With the speck of service I had, I Googled Subaru dealerships near me. I found two and asked Mike to drive me to Pape Subaru in South Portland. Why I picked Pape over Patriot, I really couldn't tell you. Actually, there might have been a slight preference for Pape because I assumed Patriot would be full of New England Patriots fans, which I am not. Plus, I thought of the Jeep Patriot—no relation to Subaru—and how it was an abomination—Jeep's worst car creation. It was a vehicle that was not pleasing to my eyes or feet when I test-drove it many years ago. So, I went with Pape. Like that logic?

Mike and I had a nice ride from Cape Elizabeth to South Portland. Minus me jamming my anti-motion sickness wristband deeper into my wrist because the motion of this big tow beast was making me sicker by the minute. I wore a mask to protect Mike from whatever itis I was carrying, and we talked about the states and the beautiful freedom of U.S. travel.

We talked about the value of road-tripping in rented cars vs. personal vehicles. We agreed there is no such thing as a flyover state. It was my kind of conversation. I thanked him a million times and asked if he had Venmo or Zelle because I only had $5 in cash to tip him, and after all the elbow grease he put into hauling my car, he deserved more than that. But modest Mike didn't have those pay apps and didn't seem offended by my lack of bills.

By the time we reached Pape, it was after 2:00 pm. Mike went to work unloading my car while I ventured into the service department. I was essentially dumping myself on them, completely unannounced and at their mercy. I hoped the emergency factor and the big honkin' tow truck carrying my car would amp up the urgency and direness of my situation.

A woman named Tania sat behind the counter. She wore a cold-weather beanie and a long brown braid that I wished I had. She asked how she could help me, and in my most together yet needy fashion, I explained, "Hey, how ya doin? I just had a flatbed tow my Crosstrek here—I'm not from here, I'm from New York, and I'm trying to get home this weekend. My car won't start, and the tow truck driver tested my car and thinks the starter is bad. Would you guys be able to help me?"

The entire time I was explaining myself, I could see a glimpse of "We're not going to be able to help you" in Tania's eyes. She very kindly, very calmly, and very thoughtfully replied, "Well, first of all, I'm so sorry that happened to you. I know what a nightmare that is, especially when you're traveling. First, let me ask, did you call us to make an appointment?" Damn it. Totally dropped the ball on the call. "No, I'm so sor—I didn't—I didn't really have service—like just enough to call a tow truck—"that excuse didn't really make sense when the truth was, I didn't really think to call you guys in advance.

Tania explained that their service department was booked solid for the next few weeks, but even if they weren't, and my car does need a starter, they don't have any in stock due to nationwide shortages. Just when my anxiety was spiking like my poor car's fever, Tania inspired a glimmer of hope, "But let me talk to my manager and see what we might be able to do. In the meantime, why don't you try calling Patriot Subaru to see if they might have the part. I'll have someone take a look at your car, too, while we do that." A solid plan presented by Tania. We all had our marching orders and went to work.

I paced the parking lot on the phone with Patriot. They asked me for my VIN so they could search in the system for the exact part my car would need. They told me that not only did they not have it in stock, but no other Subaru dealership in the country had it. This sounded like absolute nonsense to me, but the guy sounded sincere. I asked him for clarity, and he went on to explain about the supply chain shortages and back-ordered parts, and just as he was doing that, a nice young man from the service department came up to me and said, "Sorry to interrupt, but Tania is ready to talk to you about your car."

I told Patriot I'd call them back if I needed them, and I ran to Tania. She confirmed that the starter was indeed shot on my car and that they did not have a replacement in stock. She also explained that it could be weeks before they got one in. I felt my soul draining from my body. She presented an option that neither of us loved, "You can give Patriot Subaru another call to see if they have or would be willing to use an off-market part for the fix." An off-market part, I learned, is essentially just a part that's not made by Subaru. I wasn't even sure how I'd go about getting one of these if Patriot didn't have them, but that was my cue to call in the big guns. I thanked Tania for her thoughtfulness and for working with me on this, but I told her it was time to call my parents—my confidants and formulate our best plan.

At this point, I was contemplating leaving my car in Portland to be fixed in a few weeks or months, renting a car to drive home, then coming back to get my car eventually whenever it was ready—a less-than-ideal scenario. I called my Dad first, "Dad? I'm at Subaru—we've got options to weigh—hang on, I'm gonna call Mom." I flashed over and called my Mom, then merged the calls.

Me: "Mom?" 

Mom: "Yes." 

Me: "Dad?"

Dad: "Yup."

Me: "Hi. Ok. Glad you're both here. So here's the deal…"

They were locked & loaded, ready to go—they were made for this shit. Strategizing, improvising, ping-ponging ideas off of each other like the trifecta of brilliance we are. I explained everything I had learned so far, again pacing in the parking lot, and together we weighed options. The winning solution we came up with was having my car towed to my local Subaru dealership back home and me renting a car to drive home. The ladder part of that equation was to evade motion sickness for me. Dream team! I loved this solution and how we're all such quick, smart solvers! We could coordinate incredible things at a moment's notice, us three. 

So I moved into execution mode. I hung up with them and got AAA on the phone. They told me my plan only covers 100 miles of towing, and any additional tow distance needed costs $5 per mile. Ouch. It was steeper than the gas prices any rental car company will charge you if you don't bring their vehicles back with a full tank. 

Since I was almost 400 miles from home, I shuttered to ask what the grand total would be for the tow. Roughly $1000. My Mom had already offered to help me with the tow expense on our three-way call, but this was way more than I could've predicted the total being, so I asked Ms. AAA to hang tight while I flashed over and called my Mom to check. Thank you, technology. The fella who had been testing my car made a quick interjection, requesting that I come back inside once I was off the phone. Ok, wonder what that's about. But I set it aside. I was busy as hell and coughing like someone you wouldn't want to sit next to.

I told my Mom the grand total, and she said, "Fine. Book it." without pause, without a hint of attitude or a whiff of why did I have kids when I could be on the beach with cabana service. There was none of that. Just, "Book it. Yes, I'm sure. Book it." God, my Mom's impressive. She's had an "Everything is solvable" and an "It's only money" mentality my whole life which I've long admired. I thanked her profusely, then switched back over to Ms. AAA and booked it. 

I told Ms. AAA I'd be there to hand off the car, but I would not be there to retrieve the car. That's where Dad comes in. We all agreed there was no way I could get my car loaded onto a AAA truck, then Uber to a rental car place and be out of there and on my way home in time to arrive at the same time as my towed car. It was a solid six+ hour drive anyway, and it was after 3:00 pm at this point, and AAA gave me an estimated pickup time of 4:20 pm. So, our plan was that my wonderful father would be stationed at Subaru in the middle of the night waiting to retrieve my broke-down Crosstrek. Do you believe that? I don't know anyone whose parents would do what mine were willing to do for me. When I say we are the dream team, these are the goods that so clearly back it up. If only everyone were lucky enough to have parents like mine.

Just as I was jotting down my confirmation number for my long-distance tow, Tania came out to me with a piece of paper in hand. I remembered the young man who checked out my car earlier was waving me back into the garage, but I was too busy making extravagant transactions to break away. I told Tania, "I'm so sorry—I was just about to come in. I ended up booking a $1,000 tow truck to bring my car back to New York."

"Oof! Well, hold off on that because I might have some good news for you." Good news? For…me? I didn't know what to think! Spill, Tania, spill! "Our parts manager made some calls, and it turns out that Evergreen Subaru has the starter your car needs. They were able to pencil you in for an appointment tomorrow at 12:00 pm. Now, we were able to get your car to start, but as soon as you turn it off, it will not start again." I felt like Cinderella being given her stoke-of-midnight rules! I was almost peeing in the parking lot with glee.

"So what I would do right now if I were you is give Evergreen a call to confirm that appointment for tomorrow and tell them that you're bringing the car in tonight, and then you're gonna drive straight there. The only thing is, it's in Auburn, so it's an hour in the opposite direction of home for you."

I was stunned. I couldn't believe what Tania was telling me. I couldn't believe what they had arranged for me. How did this Subaru in Auburn just so happen to have the part I needed when no other Subaru in the nation had it?! How did they get my car to start? Couldn't I just drive it all the way home—no way, I'd definitely need gas and a bathroom, and who knows what else that would require me to turn off my car. Besides, its not like my car would be fixed anytime soon back home either with these nationwide part shortages. Dozens of questions streaked across my brain, but the only words I could speak were, "Tania, thank you! Thank you so much, Tania!" I was instantly indebted to her and her crew for life.

I called Evergreen to confirm that I was coming that night and solidified my appointment for the next day, and it was in the bag. They were open till 7:00 pm that night! What?! It was starting to feel like the stars were aligning for me to get my car fixed and get home safely.

Tania got my paperwork together, and I got in the mindset of driving my car an hour north. I was excited, I was relieved, I was nervous, I was hungry. But most of all, I was incredibly grateful for Tania and her team at Pape Subaru. I didn't know how to thank her enough. She had been so lovely, so thoughtful, so generous with her time and efforts—no words of gratitude felt big enough. I promised to write a Google review, which I most definitely did, but I just wanted to thank them forever. Tania was genuinely just happy they could help me in some way.

I canceled my $1,000 AAA tow and hopped in the driver's seat of my already-running car. Everything was just as I left it. My car's interior was stuffed like a violated Thanksgiving turkey. There were shoes and paper bags filled with candles, candies, and all kinds of loot I scooped along my route. There was a foody smell coming from a bag containing the remnants of the car breakfast I had eaten hours earlier. I was so afraid I'd accidentally turn my car off somehow and not make it up to Auburn, but that fear was useful in keeping me on my toes and fully aware of every move I made.

I pulled my car out of the lot with a feeling similar to when you first drive a brand-new car out of the dealership. I followed my GPS from interstate to scenic state highways into Auburn. I wished the drive was longer. It felt so good to be reunited with my Baby Bowser. And it felt even better knowing everything was in place for a hopefully quick fix the next day. All I really had left to do was get my car to Evergreen Subaru safely, find a hotel nearby for the night, cancel my hotel in Woburn and beg them not to charge me even though it was a few hours past check-in time and well past free cancelation time. Finding food was a lesser priority, and learning whether or not Auburn, Maine, was an Uber/Lyft town was high on my list.

I made a right turn on Subaru Drive, and the glass garage doors of a pristine Subaru center glistened in the late afternoon light. Finally, we had made it to the promised land. I parked in the closest spot I could find, which would still put my car, which could not be turned off, out of sight once I went into the service center. 

As I walked toward the building, I kept looking back at my still-on car, with headlights glaring and an engine purring. It was like it was watching me walk away, saying, "I'm ok right now, but you sure about this, Laur? Anybody could—you know—take me right now." I quickly ran back to my car and took both sets of keys out of it. Its auto-protest beep began the minute I shut the door, but that was the right move. Now no one could actually take it, even though it was sitting there on and ready to die again the moment it was turned off.

I walked into the garage, and an automatic door welcomed me to a row of desks and one available service advisor: Andrew. I introduced myself and explained my situation, and right away, Andrew knew exactly who I was, "Oh, you're the one! Yup, that was me on the phone earlier with Pape." I went on to thank him profusely for taking me in on such short notice and giving me the one spare starter left in—the whole country! 

"Not a problem at all," he said nonchalantly with a smile. I asked if he thought I'd have my car back the next day after the repair. "Oh, I'd think so, but let me just double-check." It almost seemed too good to be true, but I wasn't about to go doubting all of the good fortune that was quickly canceling out my unfortunate morning.

I also asked Andrew if Uber was a thing around Auburn. He said not really but mentioned the name of a taxi service I could use. I told him I wasn't really sure where I was going because I didn't have a hotel booked yet, and we both got on our devices to start looking. I couldn't believe they were hooking me up with this car part, this squeezed-in appointment, and now Andrew was going to try to help me find a place to stay. I couldn't let him do that. "Andrew, that is so nice of you to even look, but no worries at all, I've got this." The man had plenty of my paperwork to type up—I wasn't going to let him do my job too. Besides, I knew there was a Hilton or two in the area, so I already had my sights set on where I might be crashing for the night.

I quickly booked the Hilton Garden Inn just a few miles away and confirmed the name of the local taxi service with Andrew. "Actually…hold that thought for a second—I'll be right back." I thought maybe Andrew was going to check to make sure he had the name of the taxi company right, but he seemed too optimistic for such a small task. I didn't think much of it. Hopped on my phone and started searching dinner options near me. A short while later, Andrew returned with a smile, a piece of paper, and a key. "How does a loaner car for the night sound?"

 My eyes bugged out of my head, my jaw dropped, and all I could say was, "Andrew, are you serious?!" He told me he was totally serious. He didn't want to say anything until he was sure they had one, but once he was certain, that snow white Subaru Crosstrek loaner was mine till my car was fixed. Andrew also guaranteed me that my car would be ready the next day. "I just figured this would be easier than having to get rides all around tonight and back here tomorrow."

I was speechless. I was without speech. The totality of the events that were arranged in my favor far outweighed the stress and burden of having a broke-down car at the tail end of an epic adventure. And the loaner car was basically a second dessert. I never would've expected that. There are car and car part shortages across the nation, and here I was in Auburn, Maine, with my very own loaner and the part my car needed.

That night I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. I kept thinking about timing and fate. Had my starter gone at the start of my trip, it might have forced me to cancel the rest of the trip I had to postpone for the past two years. Had my starter gone just a few days earlier when I was up in the remote reaches of Lubec, Maine, I might not have had cell service to call for help—not to mention I was nowhere near a Subaru dealership. Had I been towed to Patriot Subaru instead of Pape, would I have ended up in the pink in Auburn? So many circumstances had to align so perfectly to bring me to Auburn and that gorgeous hunk or loaner car, plus the world's only Subaru starter to me.

The next day after I had overstayed my welcome at the Hilton Garden Inn, I drove over to Evergreen Subaru, partly to use their bathroom, partly because the anticipation of seeing my car all healthy and happy was just too great to bare. As my lucky timing would have it, my car's repairs were finished upon my arrival.

While Andrew was processing my checkout, I told him again how much I appreciated them accommodating me on such short notice with the part, the loaner car…everything. I also told him how I still couldn't believe they had the part I needed. "It's like I was destined to break down where I did. Even if I had been back home, I wouldn't have been able to have this fixed so quickly." Andrew was equally amazed.

I went on to ask him how, or why, in a nationwide shortage, they just so happened to have the part that I needed. He explained that they do their best to hang onto parts when they get wind of shortages on the horizon. And local Maine Subarus try to help each other out when somebody needs something. And that's really all there was to it. Timing! Had someone else come in the day before in need of that same starter, I wouldn't have been so lucky. But that starter was mine from the moment it was made. They were holding onto it all this time for me, and they didn't even know it.

I drove straight from Auburn, Maine, to New York, New York, that Saturday afternoon. I left at 2:00 pm, and by the time I finally found a spot on my block, it was after 9:00 pm. I made one stop for gas along the way—I almost never make just one stop—I much prefer to break up my drives with fun things along the way, but I was on a mission to get me and my car back where we belong as quickly as can be.

I'll never forget the chain of events that took place that day in Maine or the kindness and generosity Down Easters displayed toward me. I may never stop trying to find the deeper meaning in it all either—the: Why me? Why my car? I may never get further than: My car was destined to be fixed in Maine that day. There may even be a hint of home that became established on that trip. Maine's been a place I've imagined calling home someday, and maybe, just maybe, this event helped solidify that idea of home in my head.

Because home isn't just the place where good stuff happens, it's a place for the hard, the weary, the sick, the restless. Home is a place to house all things, experiences, and emotions. I may have broken down in Maine, but I got fixed up in Maine too. 

I'd return to Cape Elizabeth's twin lighthouses and park in that dusty lot again—have lunch overlooking it all from the Lobster Shack above it. I'd smile so big too. I can just picture myself sitting there with my family, telling the story they already know and laughing together. No superstition has been established. I wouldn't be worried I'd break down again up there or anything like that because Maine's got my back, and in return, I love Maine. I'd have a hard time deciding whether to buy a future Subaru from Pape or Evergreen, though.

Thanks, Maine—for being my home away.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for being my sounding boards and my twin lighthouses.

Thanks, Pape and Evergreen—this whole piece is really a long-winded thank you to you both.

And thanks to me for keeping my cool, for "figuring" it out, for getting to the bottom of it, and for mastermining another epic adventure for the books.