Technology marches inexorably on. But there are limits, thank goodness. And for one of my favorite items of technology, I know right where one of its limits is.

A few miles north of Bingham on Route 201.

You see, I'm headed up to the river in a few hours. To The Forks for my favorite campsite at Webb's on the Dead River. For a cold one and some pool at the Marshall Hotel tonight. For a wild rafting trip tomorrow, guiding my niece and a group of her college friends down the Kennebec. Maybe a quiet solo paddle out on Wyman Lake or Moxie Pond on Sunday. Just me and the bald eagles.

But I digress...

Somewhere north of Bingham, my cell phone will once again sputter out one last gasp of a beep and then announce on its little screen: NO SERVICE.

Ahhh. What a damn shame.

I'll turn if off. Break out a smile and relax into the seat. I'm on the river. And I don't have to give a crap about whatever's happening south of here. For a few precious days anyway.

That's the river. An alternative universe for a river guide like me. What happens on the river, stays on the river, and all that kind of thing.

So I'm gone soon. Don't try to call, 'cause I won't be on the other end. I'll be "on the river." And loving it...