It never ceases to amaze me how days slip away in the late fall, a factor of later sunrises and earlier sunsets, mixed with being used to the pace of relaxed summer days.

Leaving the lighthouse north of Rimouski, the day was already into the afternoon. I was still committed to checking out something abandoned though, and I figured the two-hour drive to Edmundston must feature some abandoned houses.

The drive from Rimouski to Edmundston didn't feature any abandoned houses. At best, there was a tiny, weathered roadside store, but since it was just after Rimouski, I kept going and figured there had to be something better upcoming.

To add insult to injury, after we came to Edmundston to cross into Madawaska Maine, the border guard didn't buy that we drove all this way, just to simply cross into the States for a night. He was also skeptical because he hadn't heard of the motel where we were staying tonight in nearby Caribou, to which I wondered how that's my fault and not the fault of the border guard. There's only maybe ten motels within an hour of here, maybe he should try doing his homework?

Anyway, this meant we were told to take a seat while he slowly pored over our documents and asked questions one-by-one in that border guard style, where they're trying to show you that they're not buying what you're selling.

"And you two know each other how?"
(contemplative pause)
"And when was the last time you crossed into the States?"
(contemplative pause)
"And you have no ties to this area?"
(contemplative pause)

Eventually he concluded we were legitimate and granted us entry. I was then able to get back to being excited about the rugged twin mill cities of Edmundston and Madawaska.

There was still an hour before sunset and psyched about the chance to explore a new Maine town, I fished the dog out of the car and off we went.

Madawaska was cooler than I imagined, as it was home to some of the strange architecture and colours that you see in rural Quebec homes. Madawaska is 84.7% French and keeps close ties across the border, but I don't know, I just figure Mainers are going to settle into being Mainers with clapboard and shutters and elaborate porches, haha.

We walked past a furniture store with huge window panes, a tucked-in coffee shop, and an old school downtown hotel. If you were filming a movie, it wouldn't have taken much to set time back a few decades here.

(We also walked by a thrift store named Vinny's with the fantastic slogan: "What you want Vinny gets." LOL.)

It was balls cold though. And the combination of snow and ice wasn't being kind to Kingsley's paws. As much as I could have went for another hour of walking about, the dog shut down our fun and so, we grabbed some Tim Horton's for the road.

And that's right, Tim Horton's! Madawaska didn't even have a Dunks! What a strange cultural jumble of a place.

An hour away from Madawaska, we pulled into Caribou Maine and their local mom-n'-pop grocery store called Sleepers; before heading over to the place where you need to go if you want to hide from those keeping America's borders secure: Russell's Motel.

Russell's Motel seemed a bit quiet, but I think they do a lot of business during the peak of winter snowmobile season.

Going inside to get my room key, the proprietor started bonding with me about dogs as I had called ahead and she told me about their new policy banning dogs, then walked it back and asked what kind of dog we have, is he going to be clean, etc., before then giving me the okay.

I guess they had been having some problems with people bringing filthy dogs through and leaving the rooms a mess.

Dog people, pfft.

The next morning I was pretty excited to visit downtown Caribou, although it was again balls cold.

Undeterred, I found a strange downtown where there were classic Maine business blocks and homes around the perimeter of the core, plus the classic river cutting through town, but then the middle of Caribou had lengthy parking lots, barriers, and concrete walls; all around a central, one-story, outdoor mini-mall.

Isy wasn't that interested in exploring a desolate and frigid mini-mall, so leaving her and the dog in the car, I went for a bit of a stroll, finding strange corridors and a surprising level of occupancy by lawyers and community groups.

Officially this is Caribou's Downtown Mall, the result of plowing down a portion of their main street in order to build a plaza straight out of many of our suburban lives. Except here, you had the addition of passageways between them that felt like the back of plazas that non-BMX, non-skateboarding citizens rarely explore.

I didn't spend long in downtown Caribou even though I thought it was unique and interesting, because it also felt like I saw it very quickly.

On the way out of town, I couldn't help but stop and shoot the Caribou Stream as it slowly meandered behind some old buildings more typical of Maine.

For the next hour our road paralleled the border 5km to the east, flying through rolling hills of farmland and weathered towns like Mars Hill and Monticello.

We'd end up in Houlton, which to me has always only been where you start I-95 and there's a gas station and a couple motels. Except that Maine is one of the places where I like getting county seats, so today we were taking the time to actually drive into Houlton, and would you look at that, we found the handsome Aroostook County Courthouse.

I've always despised Houlton and viewed it as a checkpoint where you only have two or three hours left until actually exciting Maine towns. In fact, after discovering the US-9 highway and seeing it receive improvements, I was pretty happy that I didn't have to come up to Houlton anymore and could simply go through Calais, Calais being closer when coming from Newfoundland.

But now, after a pleasant walk about downtown, my mind was changed to the point that I'd happily spend the night in Houlton. Don't get me wrong, Bangor, Augusta, and Belfast are remain more rad, but Houlton would be fine enough.

Not seeing many abandoned buildings between Caribou and Houlton, I was pretty set on now stopping at whatever seeing as we were running out of American real estate.

This house just outside the village of Amity looked pretty run down but we had to explore something for my birthday weekend. It's one of the rules, like eating Taco Bell, bike riding, and visiting America.

Although after fighting through snow up to our calves, I decided against checking out the interior. Still though, this was a pretty fantastic old farmhouse.

The 2007 Google StreetView shows that it's been sitting like this for a while.

Only a few more minutes down the road, I couldn't help but pull over for this collapsing, gabled beauty. There were a few sheds and barns around, so it felt like maybe it was the old farmhouse of some nearby new home, so I moved quickly.

A missing garage door panel seemed like a good entry point, where I then found myself in a two-story, concrete-floored garage. In addition to the small shack out front and the little loop driveway, I wondered if this all added up to this place once being some type of garage. Then again, a lot of farmhouses would have a more useful garage than you see nowadays.

Taking a rickety five-set of steps up to the main floor, the first room I came into seemed like an extension of the garage. Maybe somewhere warm to tinker on those cold Maine nights.

The floors in here weren't great, and it wasn't helped by the snow coming through the windows to cover hazards, along with items strewn about also hiding the floor.

I still made it across the workshop, kitchen, living room and into the entryway though, observing that someone was salvaging doorways and banisters in here at some point in the past.

The stairs are usually the last thing to go in these old homes. Providing a safe space amongst rotting floors in the meantime, I wasn't too worried about at least climbing the stairs to assess the second floor.

I wasn't going anywhere up there though. Each direction showed yet another room with a sagging floor.

Finding these elaborate "O'Neill USA Trail Lites", I thought it was crazy that someone left behind mountaineering boots. Thankfully I didn't grab them though, as I got home and the internet has informed me they're actually just motorcycling boots, haha.

I could have spent a bit longer here - especially with a tripod - but the parking spot was terrible along the highway, so I got back and we skedaddled.

About an hour more and we would be across the border, ready for a couple exciting nights in New Brunswick.

Continue to Part 3...