At Atlantic Brewing in Town Hill, belt-sander races, cryptids, barbecue, and a whole lot of joy mark the turn toward fall.

Carrie Jones

just now

The Bar Harbor Story is generously sponsored by Paradis Ace Hardware.

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BAR HARBOR — Two belt sanders sat at the starting line, plugged into orange extension cords, while the crowd gathered with beers, cellphones, and a few creatures that might not have existed outside a campfire story.

Then the switch was thrown.

For the next couple of seconds, the machines screamed down their wooden lanes toward the grain bags at the finish, while somewhere in the crowd a baby Bigfoot waved hello.

The racers clustered around a long wooden track. Some wore wigs or unicorn onesies. Onlookers who were of age lofted beers and cell phones or baby Bigfoot or alien cut-outs as heat after heat of belt sanders—those mechanical tools used for sanding rough surfaces, trimming to scribed lines, and leveling surfaces—raced against each other.

Quirky?

Most definitely and most beautifully quirky.

But it’s quirky only in a good way. And it’s become a Town Hill tradition that many associate with the almost-end-of-the-tourism season on Mount Desert Island and Acadia National Park, a park that has been hosting approximately 4 million visits (Not visitors. There’s a difference.) annually on an island that is the year-round home to approximately 10,500 residents.

Every place has its ways of marking the turn toward the end of summer. In Town Hill, one of them involves belt sanders, beer, barbecue, and—this year—creatures that may or may not exist: cryptids.

The belt sanders come with names like Lake Wood Ness, Melon Head, Touchdown Barbie, Pegasander, Captain American, and of course, Man Bear Pig.

Other competitors went by Pauline, Bitzilla, Chain Land Sander, Purple Haze, Blue Belle, and Flight of the Seraphim. There were roughly 30 that competed.

Oh, and there was also Bob. Bob looked like he was maybe a mythical water fowl.

There’s a science to what happens here, not the same science that’s used to make local craft beer or outstanding barbecue, but there’s still a method.

Racers names are called.

During the races, two belt sanders are lifted and carried to the track, plugged in to long orange extension cords and then they wait for the switch that will turn them both on at once. It’s basically drag racing with power tools.

Bryce Cough, who years ago built the track the sanders rumble down, lets the racers go at the start of the race. The machines grind toward their wins or losses as a crowd of spectators cheer them on.

At the end of the wooden tracks, the racers smack into grain bags and are unplugged. That is unless they stop halfway down instead. Or never start at all.

During Sunday’s race, some belt sanders stalled out and completed slow-motion roll-overs while others zoomed to the finish line so quickly that spectators could blink twice, take a sip of Real Ale or a specialty cocktail, and miss the race entirely.

That has always been part of the fun of it: the race, the banter of emcee Bryce Lambert, and the fun of hanging out with strangers who become friends.

“The Belt Sander Races are friendly but fierce competition in which decorated belt sanders are raced down two tracks in a double elimination bracket….The winners receive prizes, glory, and eternal bragging rights,” said Allie Sasner a couple of years ago. She is Atlantic Brewing Company’s marketing and administration manager.

This year’s theme was cryptids.

Some people went all in.

In the audience, Thom Willey had a baby Bigfoot strapped into a baby carrier on his chest. He made it wave hello on multiple occasions. A fairy flitted about. Ghoulish beings tended bar. The Men in Black did, too.

On the track, a decapitation of a sand belter’s ghoulish “unknown creature” occurred. Its owner lofted the head into the air.

The crowd cheered.

It was re-capitated to race again.

The Silver Surfer lost his footing. Purple Haze’s unicorn was kissed and given a pep talk before her wins.

The joy and the fun wasn’t just limited to the race. There was a band afterwards—the phenomenal The Jam Company with Patrick Corson, a playground for kids. There were cryptid-funky details all everywhere. Inside Mainely Meat, the staff dressed up. Skeletons and aliens mixed together. Sassy sasquatch gallivanted across the wall. A local Nessie—or maybe just a bright blue dinosaur—received a good luck pet on her nose from an audience member.

That’s the thing about these two family-run businesses and their staff and their friends and the race: everyone goes all in. They aren’t afraid of silliness. They also aren’t afraid of joy.

There’s always the moments of wonder at the races: Who would win? Would it be Bob of Golden? Mothman or Beer Bear or Kebo Kraken or Octo Sander? Spector Mouse on the Loose or Glich or Fire Swamp or the Silver Surfer?

What would the prize be?

That was the same on Sunday, too.

Each heat lasted about 2.4 seconds in 2023, according to the boy who’d started to time them then, until he went off to hang out with his friends. There’s no real reason to think that’s changed this year.

Occasionally there was a photo finish that required reviewing brewer Jon Hill’s phone and some spectators’ phones too.

There were hugs and encouragement for contestants who ranged in age from grade school to several decades older. The audience was full of demographics, too: tourists, executive directors, band members, retirees, school board members, singers, year-round residents, seasonal workers who make the island their home every single year.

That’s part of the merriment.

And of course, for some, bragging rights and just drama rights. Some competitors mock cried, crumpling to the ground when their sander lost and then jumped right back up smiling and laughing.

“Winning is nice, of course, depending on how the victory comes, and the prize doesn’t have to be more than a memento — it’s a footnote to the memory,” Glass said. “Well earned is better than entitled (‘Dulcius ex asperis’). Like many things that make life worthwhile, do it for the journey,” Steven Glass said back in 2022.

Do it for the journey, the moment, the quirk. Do it to be outside with friends.

There were winners this year. Those were:

• People’s choice: Flight of the Seraphim.
• First Place in 3-inch belt division: Moonshadow.
• First Place in 4-inch division: Glich.

The monsters came out for the races, and so did the people who know that a belt sander, a wooden track, and a cold beer can be enough to make a late afternoon.

The races themselves last only moments, but the ritual takes longer: the staff preparing everything, the gathering, the costumes, the mock arguments over a photo finish, the cheers when a machine makes it to the end or when it spectacularly flops over.

There are bigger events on Mount Desert Island, and certainly faster machines elsewhere. But at Atlantic Brewing in Town Hill, as summer gives way to fall, a little sawdust, a little beer, a lot of barbecue, some excellent music and a few improbable creatures seem to be just about enough.

The machines were unplugged, the grain bags put away, and the cryptids returned to whatever shadowy places (and garages) that they call home, but the stories will last a good deal longer than two seconds.

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LINKS TO LEARN MORE

We took a zillion photos (not blurry of Big Foot, we were so proud) and there were too many to fit here, but you can check them out here. All photos and video: Shaun Farrar/Carrie Jones/Bar Harbor Story.

The last day of Atlantic Brewing’s season in Town Hill will be Saturday, October 17. Come grab some beer and barbeque at 15 Knox Road before the season wraps up with Music Harbor on the 17.

Atlantic Brewing Company’s website.

The Jam Company

How to build a belt sander racer. Modifications are NOT allowed at the Bar Harbor race.