Monday night, we celebrated another marathon with a get-together with some very special Boston friends at a restaurant overlooking the beautiful Tobin Bridge. It ended up being a late evening, and we kind of fell into bed and slept very soundly indeed. I let Tim sleep off his food baby this morning, since we didn't have to check out of the hotel until noon. I actually jogged up to the Common and did three circuits of it...Six kilometres in total, not setting any speed records, but just to see how the legs felt, and really there is only a bit of lactic acid stiffness in the quadriceps. The calf muscle was absolutely fine, which lends credence to my theory that it was salt deprivation that caused the pain yesterday. It was a lot cooler today, with a strong west wind; had the marathon happened today rather than yesterday, we could have let the wind simply blow us back to Boston. 

We left Boston behind (AND DID NOT GET LOST, AGAIN. TWO FOR TWO!) We headed north, stopping first at a little tourist town in Massachusetts called Rockport, where the girls reluctantly posed for the requisite cliché shot in front of Motif Number 1 (they wanted into the water, and the wharf was a good 10 or 12 feet above the harbour and it was frustrating the hell out of them and scaring the hell out of me). Then we got on the interstate to New Hampshire and detoured briefly to a liquor store for Tim to get some gin (tax-free, and so conveniently located right beside the highway, drive-off/drive back on, like a service area only with booze). Next stop was York Beach, our favourite beach, and the tide was way out, so we had a lovely stretch of sand for the girls to play on. It was still wildly windy and quite chilly, but sunny, so the beach didn't have a lot of people on it - even better. We did meet a group of people from Colorado, one of whom had run Boston yesterday and had also been part of the heat-related carnage. It seems like the race got the better of quite a large proportion of this year's participants. In the battle for supremacy between runners and course, the Boston course almost always wins. It's a difficult nut to crack, which only adds to its mystique. 

We found a diner in Wells, Maine, for Tim to have a lobster roll, which he pronounced to be excellent, and then we drove another hour or so to get to Camden, Maine, where we will be staying the next three nights.