It’s getting to be the time of year out here when sharing the road means 90 percent me and Tom, 10 percent the squirrels. (For those who might not know, “out here” is eleven miles from blacktop–where sharing can be with logging trucks, ATVs, moose, deer, the occasional excavator or cement truck and, during the summer, more passenger vehicles whipping around than the fast lane through the Hampton toll on a Friday afternoon.)

Not too long ago, I would’ve loved to whip through that same toll. Back before I left the land of highways, traffic lights, and hairy commutes you still had to slow crawl past a booth—or, heaven forbid, stop and hand over some real money to a real person—not maintain velocity like you’re running the Daytona 500.

Since my Big Move to Rangeley, with those memories fading and my relativity recalibrating, “traffic” has a whole new meaning. And these days, hairy commutes actually might have hair. . .on whatever I hopefully avoid as it runs in front of me. No more constant wondering about how far the turnpike is backed up or how hard I’m gonna hafta gun it to make my work meeting on time. I still do have plenty of questions, though, just different ones. Like “Jeeeezum, where are all these people coming from?” and “Where the heck do they think they need to get to so fast?” Plus lots of hypothesizing about why most folks can’t be bothered to wave, nod, honk, or otherwise acknowledge there are other humans out and about with them anymore.

By far, though, the year-round guessing game that literally overshadows the rest when taking to the roads out here is: “Do you think they’re haulin’ logs today?” Because you never really know till the answer pops right up on you, but it sure helps to try to be clued in.

“LOOOOOOGGING TRUUUUUUCK!” Tom and I holler to each other when we see one coming, hopefully in time to yield the right of way as instructed on the shared use road signs. Before I started coming upta camp, the only thing comparable to being passed by a loaded logging truck was “doin’ a train” back in college. (No, it wasn’t one of those wild Seventies streaking things. But, yes, it did involve drinking and risky decisions.) Doin’ a train meant getting all liquored up and and sitting on an embankment right over the tracks till the midnight train rolled through Durham, NH. It’s probably fenced off now but, back then, there wasn’t anything quite like the wind-sucking, eyelid-flapping, heart-fluttering sensation of having a locomotive whiz by your face at 75 miles per hour. Until the back roads around Rangeley.

I got a kick out of the recent “Driving in the North Woods” email from Maine Fish and Game. “Always give the right of way to logging trucks,” it said. “Remember, they’re working. You’re going fishing.” (Or pretty much going wherever whenever because we’re retired.)

“Thanks, but no need for reminders,” I say as I hop on my vehicle of choice. No need for Ginkgo biloba, a Luminosity app, or whatever the latest trend is for keeping wits sharp and reflexes nimble, either. Because on hauling days I’ve typically got less than a minute to steer way clear with my vehicle of choice—the bicycle equivalent of a go-cart six inches off the dirt. A recumbent TerraTrike Rambler with electric assist for the “swamp hump” and other gravel-grinding ascents requiring a little extra oomph, it’s been called everything from a buggy, to a contraption, a rockin’ rig, a three-wheelah, and that thang. On hauling days, I call it a good way to maintain my muscle mass and mental acuity.

But no matter how you roll out here, road reciprocity is a win-win situation. If not for the logging companies plowing, grading, and otherwise repairing our surfaces, travel as we know it would turn to bushwhacking real quick. So, even when I’m yielding to Big Blue Pete, I’m grateful. Named by my truck savvy neighbor for his brand new blue Peterbilt 567, Pete’s the rolling backwoods version of the T. rex in Jurassic Park. I can feel him coming before I see him in my rear view mirror, at which point I detour off-road as far and as fast as possible, hunker down, and start singing. Something like “Daddy shark doo doo doo doo doo doo, daddy shark doo doo doo doo doo doo…” to drown him out before dusting myself off and returning to the Country Roads/Low Rider/Beautiful Day tunes that otherwise round out my mental pedaling playlist. After a few such encounters, I figured Big Blue Pete deserved his very own song, sung to the tune of the Monkees theme song:

Here he comes

Roarin’ down the street

You better back away from

The truck named Big Blue Pete!

Hey, hey he’s a logger

And people say he should slow down

But he’s too busy haulin’

To not keep the pedal down

Just thunders right past you

Flying toward a cutting crew

Better keep your wits in high gear

When Pete’s comin’ through

Hey, hey he’s a logger

And people say he should slow down

But he’s too busy haulin’

To not keep the pedal down

No time to be friendly

So quick jump out of the way

‘Cause Pete’s gettin’ three more loads out

Before the end of the day

Any time, or anywhere,

Just look over your shoulder

And say a silent prayer

Hey, hey he’s a logger

You never know where he’ll be found

So you’d better be ready

To beat feet when he’s around!

Haven’t seen Big Blue Pete in a long while. Luckily there seems to be a more “sharing is caring” crew of drivers who don’t mind slowing down a bit. They’ve got me singing a different tune—my version of an Eagles classic—while giving me new perspective, their perspective, as they bob and weave around an orange-flagged, laid back e-triker and all the other critters they might encounter.

Well I’m running down the road with a real heavy load

Got a world of trouble on my mind

Four moose wanna ram me, two folks wanna damn me

One bike of the strangest kind!

Take it easy, take it easy

Don’t let the sight of those weird wheels drive you crazy

C’mon lady, I hope maybe

You gotta know that slowin’ down ain’t gonna pay me!

I think Big Green Pete, the new guy in town, sensed my empathetic vibe. And it probably didn’t hurt that I gave two thumbs up in the general direction of the truck cab versus cowering and covering my face with my bike cap. He waved at me! No blast on the horn, thank you very much, but an actual palm all the way off the steering wheel as he throttled down past me. And it could have been a road dust mirage, but I’m pretty sure I saw Pete 2.0 crack a smile, too. (Or maybe it was a smirk because I looked like the bicycle circus came to Rangeley and left behind one of its clowns.)

Either way, it’s nice to get a “road wave.” Out here that’s code for “Hey there, g’day, nice to see you,” an acknowledgment that just because we choose to live off the beaten path we don’t choose to do so totally alone. It was one of the first rules of Rangeley road etiquette I learned back when I was a part-timer, before I earned my year-round, dun-colored car exterior (AKA a Rangeley paint job) and the crusty-calved travel pants that come with it. Thirteen years later, I’ve pretty much mastered the “seasoned local” driving salute: Two to four fingers up while your thumb stays hooked over the steering wheel. (Never just one finger up, though. That’s not neighborly.) Most warmish days when the sun is at least partially shining, I trade driving for a jaunt around my e-trike loop, doing a full-on, five-fingered howdy-do. I’m like Queen Consort of the Puckerbrush, wavin’ my fool bike-gloved hand off, hoping any spectators wave back. Sadly, though, this road salutation business seems to be a dying art. Except for some of us old fashioned types, folks just ain’t reciprocating as much. Or nodding. Or even looking. “That’s okay,” I remind myself. “They’re busy getting wherever the heck they need to go. . .faster than friggin’ Big Blue Pete. . .while I’m just out here high-fiving, low pedaling—and singing my version of “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree”:

I’m headin’ home on this fine day

And I’m glad to see who else is on my way

So if you catch my hand up

Giving you a big hello

Then you’ll know just what to do

If you do see me

If you do see me

Oh do a little road wave

When you pass by me

It’s been ten long miles

Seeing only trees

If you don’t do a road wave when you pass by me

I’ll move on along

Keep singing this song

‘Cause you’ve got places to be

Too fast for any critters or the scenery!

(Original song credits: Monkees theme song written by Tommy Boyce, Bobby Hart and Jack Keller; “Take it Easy” written by Jackson Browne and Glenn Frey; ” Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree by Irwin Levine and L. Russell Brown)