Trying to get lost in autumn in Maine

Each year, thousands of people pack their cars and head north to the rolling foothills and mountains of New England to witness the change of seasons.
After the first frost, the leaves on our towering maple and birch trees, turn from a hearty forest green color to a kaleidoscope of red, yellow, and orange. As the leave life cycle comes to an end for the year, people are mesmerized by the array of colors and and the crisp bite in the air.
And yet here we are nearing the end of the third week of October and the leaves have just hit their peek. A late foliage season by Maine standards.
Jules and I were fortunate to be at Sunday River this weekend to view some of the astonishing views afforded by such a pristine site. After a wind-swept game of tennis on Saturday, we packed into the car and headed northwest. We drove past the resort's farthest reaches and into a part of the area neither of us had driven. Passing the last known landmark in that of the Outward Bound camp, the road leading out of Newry merged with the River for which the ski resort is named.
Jules asked where we were going and yet I had no answer. My eyes focused forward, the drooping trees formed a colorful canape over the narrowing road, which had turned from paved to graded gravel to pine needle-covered dirt.
I looked past her and over the side of the road at each chance I got. I could hear the rush of the water getting louder and louder until the trees back away from the road a little and somewhat of a shoulder appeared. Parking the car, each of us grabbed out cameras. The crashing waterfalls and eddies of the upper river were unknown to me in my years of hiking the area. I'd seen pictures and heard stories, but my journeys always took me to sites on topo maps and AT guides. For the two of us that day, we just drove without purpose - allowing ourselves to get lost. Or were we?