The Lewiston Lobster

So after 30-plus years in Lewiston, I just learned that the red weenies sold at Simones’ Hot Dog Stand on Chestnut Street are commonly known as “the Lewiston lobster.” This just tickles me to no end. As one who used to eat almost exclusively at Simones’, I’m kicking myself for not learning about this revelation sooner. I mean, who’s the real weenie here, am I right?

Clueless, as always

So, I had to cover an event the other day that was planned for Dufresne Plaza here in Lewiston. Brain cramping, I had to turn to Google to find out where that is. Dufresne Plaza, Dufresne Plaza … sounds familiar, but can you show it to me on a map? Duh. The plaza, as it turns out, is pretty much the front yard for the Sun Journal’s newish home on Lisbon Street. It’s like not being able to find your hat when it’s actually on your head. It’s something like that, anyway. I guess. Brain is still pretty cramped up over here.

The cat who saved my mortal soul

So, I finally hiked the entirety of Franconia Ridge in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Good for me, right? But I’ll tell you. Halfway up the punishing Falling Waters trail on Little Haystack Mountain in Franconia, I was hating life. I had taken one too many caffeine pills, which made me jittery and turned my thoughts dark. At that point, along a very steep climb above the waterfalls, I was questioning my life choices instead of enjoying an epic hike. Then I ran into some young dude who was on the same climb, but with a cat poking its head out of a bucket on the hiker’s back. A &!$#@! cat out for a 10-mile hike! Talking to both man and cat for two minutes perked me up so much — when I so badly need reinvigoration — that I just blasted through the rest of the hike with full vigor and enthusiasm. The cat’s name was Perseus, by the way, and I may honor him by getting a tattoo of his likeness on my forehead.

Speaking of difficult jaunts …

Riding through downtown Lewiston in daytime is still quite the trick, thanks to about 100 different road and construction projects going on. Everywhere I turn, I run into flaggers or a detour sign that leads me to another block, another project and another detour. It’s starting to feel like one of those lab rat mazes, only I haven’t come across any tasty cheese at the end of it yet.

Mark LaFlamme is an award-winning Sun Journal reporter and columnist. He’s covered the nighttime police beat since 1994, which is just grand because he doesn’t like getting out of bed before noon. He is the author of eight published novels and rides a dual sport motorcycle everywhere he goes. Unless it’s winter, in which case he just sulks a lot.