Many people dread long car rides. They can be uncomfortable, taxing and boring. I, too, have dreaded long drives in the past. That said, I’ll never get tired of the annual six-hour drive to Camp Wildwood in Bridgton, Maine. I first went to Bridgton as a nine-year-old in 2017. Then, I had too much on my mind to appreciate the drive; I was homesick, worried about my first time away from home for an extended period of time. Now, though, I look forward to the drive all year. It has come to signify the beginning of summer, the eight weeks at my second home with my closest friends.
New York
This year, I drove to camp on the morning of June 20 with another member of my senior group from 2023 and one of my counselors from 2017 to 2020. Even though I woke up hours earlier than I’d have liked to on a non-schoolday, I couldn’t have been more excited. With my navy blue duffel bag labeled “Schapiro” stuffed into the car’s trunk, summer had started. We began driving on the same route that would normally go to Fieldston, ironically, ready to leave the city for the next two months.
Connecticut
On the highway, once out of New York, the cheap, rusty metal railings to the left of the road became a nice, polished wood. Soon after, about a third of the way through Connecticut, we drove through a short tunnel that cut through the base of a mountain. I never noticed the railing change or the distinct tunnel when I took the large coach bus to Maine, but now, in my third summer taking a car, I saw these changes as an indication of my ditching the school-year for camp.
Massachusetts
The longest state on the drive, we likely drove through Massachusetts for approximately two hours. By now, the three of us had fully sprung into camp-mode. Conversations occurred continuously regarding which of us would be with which age-groups, who the best campers would be and what changes were expected at camp from last summer to this summer. Additionally, we engaged in countless phone calls with the camp director, a good friend of each of us, other counselors and past counselors, already jealous to be missing this summer.
New Hampshire
Although we only spent about half an hour in New Hampshire, this state brought us within two hours of camp. The sudden influx of roadside evergreen trees allowed us to smell our proximity to Wildwood. Then came the most memorable part of the drive —the drive across the Piscataqua River Bridge. For most, this bridge means absolutely nothing other than that it connects New Hampshire to Maine. For me, though, it means that I’m close to home. Even though I’ve only crossed the bridge into Maine nine times, its light green arches become more deeply ingrained in my mind each summer.
Maine (Part One)
The first part of the drive in Maine began after crossing the Piscataqua River Bridge and stopping at the Maine Welcome Center. From there, we passed through beach towns including Kittery, York, Kennebunkport, Scarborough and Old Orchard Beach. This year, traffic on the two-lane highway here remained heavy. Normally, the trip from Kittery to Portland, Maine’s biggest city, takes about an hour, but this year, it took us nearly ninety minutes, our ETA growing each time I observed it.
Maine (Part Two)
Eventually, we reached Portland and exited the highway for Route 302. We spent the rest of the drive on 302. We made the annual stop about halfway between Portland and Bridgton at the Walmart in Windham to buy fans and lawn chairs and anything else that couldn’t fit in the duffel bags. We spent the rest of the drive, about thirty minutes, pointing at our favorite landmarks, including Lake Region High School, where our Color War broke in 2023, Raymond’s Frozen Custard, where we’d frequented as CITs (counselors-in-training) the previous summer, the Naples area beside Long Lake, the picturesque view that I’ve been watching since 2017 and Bridgton Twin Drive-in, the unappealing drive-in movie theater that, despite its being five minutes from camp, none of us has ever gone to. A little further down 302, we turned left onto Sandy Creek Road before a sharp right turn onto South High Street. We passed by Shepard Farm, which remains open despite being empty whenever I’ve ever passed it, then turned left onto Swamp Road. Three minutes away from camp, the conversation shifted to what song to play when entering. After turning right onto Wildwood Road, the last turn of the entire drive, Darius Rucker’s Wagon Wheel cover blared through the speakers, windows down, and we drove into camp, ready to begin the best summer of our lives.
