From Greenbelt, Maryland to Cape Elizabeth, Maine (just south of Portland) is 539 miles and $23.43 in tolls (yes, some obstreperous place in New York charges a $1.43 toll — probably an encouragement to stop paying in cash).

The highest toll is at the George Washington Bridge in NYC — $6.

When I have a 10 hour drive to do, I find that I start out in a gas-conserving manner and lapse into I’m-tired-of-this-drive-as-fast-possible after a few hours, so I end up getting only about 45 miles to the gallon, varying a bit with how much I need to crank the A/C.

At $4 a gallon, that’s 12 gallons of gas, bringing the cost of a drive to Maine to $71.43. Cheaper than a plane or train, but it can be agonizing trip if you run into traffic and spend 2 hours going through NYC or inching down the NJ Turnpike because everyone in the entire world is getting off at exit 7 to go to the beach. My 5am trip north took 10 hours, and my 4am trip south took 13 hours.

Tip: Don’t buy gas at rest areas in Connecticut. It was $4.50 a gallon when I passed through yesterday. Zip through New York to New Jersey, where it was $4 a gallon (although you’re not allowed to pump it yourself, so you have to sit in a 10-car-deep line while a wholly disinterested Exxon employee pumps it for you).

Don’t know why these people are so nuts about them. It’s just lobster and lettuce on a bun, but they’re practically the state past-time.

I noticed this on the way to dinner yesterday, but it was too dark to photograph then.

I walked to the end of Crescent Beach this morning and over the rocky outcroppings that mark its terminus. Beyond the beach, there is another beach. The rocky outcroppings are quite lovely, layered and full of color.

They’re also chock full of shells that are already clean and dry, unlike those on the beach. Walking down the coast by way of beaches and scrambling over rocks is my idea of a good time, but I hadn’t known that there was exploration to be had when I set out, so I’d only brought a bottle of water, and turning around when half of it was gone seemed the prudent course of action. By the time I was padding back up the beach, having been out only 45 minutes, the blasted sun was already giving me a headache. This is going to put a cramp in my wandering.

After hiding out in the shade for a couple hours, I took my camelbak and an umbrella, retraced my steps to the rocky outcroppings at the end of Crescent Beach, and investigated the beach beyond. Rocky and deserted. My kind of place!

The upper reaches were covered in large, smooth, flat stones — no Mom, I’m not driving my car down the beach and loading you up a trunkful of them — and strangely red sand. Very cupric?

Beachgoers have a primal drive to build cairns. I saw them back on the sandy beach, too, but this one was more noticeable and aesthetically pleasing.

At the end of my new private beach, past more rocky outcroppings, I found a sign telling me that beyond was a nature preserve, and I should just push off, so I sat on a rock at the edge of the sea and fell prey to the universal mesmerizing powers of breaking waves.

The tide was coming in with impressive rapidity, and it chased me off of three rocks before I had retreated sufficiently to retain dry shoes. The eventual journey back exposed an impressive jutting of rocks that appeared to have been sawn off by some great sheering force (clicking on this one to enlarge it is highly recommended).

The colors of the rock are really phenomenal — perhaps my beach was ejected from Mars!

This one is nearly purple.

Unfortunately, the day was not all sunshine and kittens. A sturdy headwind all the way down Crescent Beach bent the two wonky spokes on my umbrella, I lost half of my favorite pair of earrings down the drain, and then I got rained upon on the walk back from the dinner.