It was a beautiful clear morning as we begin to pack up the coach. Karen and Hamish stopped by for a last minute visit. Carol shared many of our photos with them, especially the ones of Hamish playing soccer.
A note here about money. I started to write “rip-offs” but it is different from that. It was in Nova Scotia I first really noticed that some campground operators are happy to take your cash and not give you a receipt. I don’t really need a receipt, I have the site; but where did the money go? Our campground in Bar Harbor was very proud to not take any plastic, but they never provided a receipt. If fact, if you needed change, it came from somewhere under the counter, not the cash register. Carol saw the same thing at the Sun Catcher store. She bought a trinket for 25 dollars. She gave the shop owner cash in the exact amount and he gave her the trinket in a bag. He provided no receipt and offered no receipt. In some ways, I really don’t care, more power to them in avoiding taxes. But, in good faith, I paid sales tax which may never have made it to the state’s coffers. As we were preparing to leave the campground in Bar Harbor, I wanted to get propane. So I filled up at the campground because it was there and it was convenient. The coach took eight gallons of propane and the bill was $34.00. Ouch! I had a chance later to ask Karen what she had paid for her propane. She had just bought 200 gallons at $2.40 per. Double Ouch!!
The drive from Bar Harbor to Middleton, N.H. was a fairly pleasant 273 miles. Carol kept trying to take pictures through the windshield or out the side, but it just didn’t work well. We had chosen a route which entered N.H. about mid state, and then turned south through the White Mountains. It was quite scenic with much more evidence of fall. There was quite a bit of rise and fall to the terrain, but nothing severe. We didn’t have many options to pull off the highway until we were into N.H. headed south. Then when I could, I did for Carol to get some shots. We drove by Mt. Washington, which has some of the severest weather in the northeast. There is an eight mile road to the top, but by then we were pressed for time.
It was after dark by the time we reached my nephew Jack’s home. Given that he lives well out in the country, he was kind enough to stand in the street and wave a flashlight so we could find the house. He and Cheryl prepared a wonderful dinner for the four of us and we chipped in with a bottle of wine. It was an evening of good food, good company, good wine, good conversation and a good night's sleep.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
September 25, 2009 – A true non-tourist tour
We spent the morning writing, doing photos and reading. There is internet access here, if we want to sit in an unheated shed, on a picnic bench with five of our closest friends.
Our friend Karen works at the Jackson Research Laboratory here in Bar Harbor. She has been doing genetic research with mice for about eight years. We met with her for a tour and lunch. The tour of the lab was fascinating. She showed how they can measure blood pressure, respiration and do an EKG on these little creatures. All is done humanely. We stood at a window while one of the technicians presented a variety of mice. Karen would describe each strain and how each had been used in the research.
After lunch, we stopped back in town. Carol had seen a shop she wanted to visit. The owner is an artist who creates glass sun catchers. There was lots of stuff I would never buy. I did find an interesting piece that we could hang outside at home. It was interesting until I saw the price tag, then it was just expensive.
Down the street, we got some homemade blueberry gelato; excellent.
We drove back to the campground to spend some time before we met with Karen again to watch Hamish play soccer. It was cold, so I built a fire and we sat with a glass of wine, read some and took some pictures. A nice relaxing afternoon spent at our campsite in the woods.
Our friend Karen works at the Jackson Research Laboratory here in Bar Harbor. She has been doing genetic research with mice for about eight years. We met with her for a tour and lunch. The tour of the lab was fascinating. She showed how they can measure blood pressure, respiration and do an EKG on these little creatures. All is done humanely. We stood at a window while one of the technicians presented a variety of mice. Karen would describe each strain and how each had been used in the research.
After lunch, we stopped back in town. Carol had seen a shop she wanted to visit. The owner is an artist who creates glass sun catchers. There was lots of stuff I would never buy. I did find an interesting piece that we could hang outside at home. It was interesting until I saw the price tag, then it was just expensive.
Down the street, we got some homemade blueberry gelato; excellent.
We drove back to the campground to spend some time before we met with Karen again to watch Hamish play soccer. It was cold, so I built a fire and we sat with a glass of wine, read some and took some pictures. A nice relaxing afternoon spent at our campsite in the woods.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
September 24, 2009 – The Bar, The Cadillac and The Loop
It looked to be a wonderful day to do the touristy things we wanted to do. After all it was Thursday, so there shouldn’t be any weekend crowd. We already secured our park pass and it was early, so let’s go.
Bar Harbor is named for spit of land that runs to Bar Island from Desert Island when the tide is out. When the tide returns, the spit disappears and the only way between the two islands is via boat. Karen had suggested we check the tide tables and make the walk across to Bar Island. Well, we didn’t check the tide table, but it was obviously low tide, so we took the walk. There were several people out early; I guess they read the tide tables.
We drove on down towards the waterfront, where the cruise ship tenders bring passengers to shore. We arrived just in time to watch hordes of passengers crossing the intersection from two separate directions, essentially stopping all vehicular traffic. So the cruise ships are in town, at least it is not a weekend also. Proceeding to bob and weave through the pedestrian traffic, we made our way across town and were off to Acadia for the day.
Our first stop was to be Cadillac Mountain, the highest peak in the park. As we drove up the road, five tour buses were on their way down from the summit. It didn’t really matter how many descended; there were still several remaining in the parking lot, along with a ton of cars. More buses arrived after we had parked. Needless to say, it was virtually impossible to get any decent pictures without tourists in them. Regardless, the views were well worth the aggravation. The leaves have yet to make a significant transformation, but color variations are in evidence. As we wound our way down there were several overlooks which presented great views of the island, generally without the crowd.
Acadia is laid out with a loop road encompassing the interior carriage roads and trails. The loop is a one-way, two lane road which enables you to see much of the grandeur of the park. For the hikers, bikers and walkers, it also gets you to the various trail heads. The loop follows the coastline for a while before moving inland along many of the numerous ponds and small lakes. One of them is Jordan Pond. There is a history with Jordan Pond and its associated farmhouse. The old house has been renovated and serves as a gift shop, rest stop and restaurant. The original owners specialized in serving “Popovers” and the new restaurant continues the tradition of serving tea and popovers on the lawn. In today’s lingo, it is commonly referred to as the “popover stopover”. Well, we had to stop. For one thing, it was close to two o’clock and we were both hungry. Judging by the number of cars, I assumed it would be a zoo. I was pleasantly surprised. While there is a posting which implies reservations are required, when Carol asked about it, we were told to expect an approximate 20 minute wait; certainly acceptable. Five minutes later, we were on our way to a table. After a wonderful lunch of salads, popovers, lemonade and blueberry crisp, we were off to visit the gift shop (where else). Carol found a nice fleece for a decent price. So with that purchase we were on our way out of the park and back to campground.
Karen treated us to a wonderful dinner at her house. She fixed pasta with pesto and fresh veggies from her garden. Good food, good wine, good conversation and reminiscing capped off a wonderful day.
Bar Harbor is named for spit of land that runs to Bar Island from Desert Island when the tide is out. When the tide returns, the spit disappears and the only way between the two islands is via boat. Karen had suggested we check the tide tables and make the walk across to Bar Island. Well, we didn’t check the tide table, but it was obviously low tide, so we took the walk. There were several people out early; I guess they read the tide tables.
We drove on down towards the waterfront, where the cruise ship tenders bring passengers to shore. We arrived just in time to watch hordes of passengers crossing the intersection from two separate directions, essentially stopping all vehicular traffic. So the cruise ships are in town, at least it is not a weekend also. Proceeding to bob and weave through the pedestrian traffic, we made our way across town and were off to Acadia for the day.
Our first stop was to be Cadillac Mountain, the highest peak in the park. As we drove up the road, five tour buses were on their way down from the summit. It didn’t really matter how many descended; there were still several remaining in the parking lot, along with a ton of cars. More buses arrived after we had parked. Needless to say, it was virtually impossible to get any decent pictures without tourists in them. Regardless, the views were well worth the aggravation. The leaves have yet to make a significant transformation, but color variations are in evidence. As we wound our way down there were several overlooks which presented great views of the island, generally without the crowd.
Acadia is laid out with a loop road encompassing the interior carriage roads and trails. The loop is a one-way, two lane road which enables you to see much of the grandeur of the park. For the hikers, bikers and walkers, it also gets you to the various trail heads. The loop follows the coastline for a while before moving inland along many of the numerous ponds and small lakes. One of them is Jordan Pond. There is a history with Jordan Pond and its associated farmhouse. The old house has been renovated and serves as a gift shop, rest stop and restaurant. The original owners specialized in serving “Popovers” and the new restaurant continues the tradition of serving tea and popovers on the lawn. In today’s lingo, it is commonly referred to as the “popover stopover”. Well, we had to stop. For one thing, it was close to two o’clock and we were both hungry. Judging by the number of cars, I assumed it would be a zoo. I was pleasantly surprised. While there is a posting which implies reservations are required, when Carol asked about it, we were told to expect an approximate 20 minute wait; certainly acceptable. Five minutes later, we were on our way to a table. After a wonderful lunch of salads, popovers, lemonade and blueberry crisp, we were off to visit the gift shop (where else). Carol found a nice fleece for a decent price. So with that purchase we were on our way out of the park and back to campground.
Karen treated us to a wonderful dinner at her house. She fixed pasta with pesto and fresh veggies from her garden. Good food, good wine, good conversation and reminiscing capped off a wonderful day.
September 23, 2009 – Bar Harbor, Part II
OK, first things first, let’s go find a level campsite. After a slow drive through the campground, we found a site adjacent to a small frog pond in a wooded area. With no immediate neighbors, there is little traffic, no noise and we feel a bit secluded. We moved, we leveled, we ate breakfast and it was time to explore.
Our first stop was the visitors’ center at Arcadia National Park. The first thing we noticed was the large number of vehicles in the parking lot. After three weeks in Canada, with no crowds, we suddenly became aware that most of civilization had suddenly elected to join with us. We had decided to buy a National Park Pass on the basis that we would be visiting numerous parks on this trip and it would pay for itself in the long run. A lot of visitors were coming and going as we climbed the 52 steps to the center. Then it was up a slight ramp, turn the corner and get in line with the thirty people ahead of you. Of all my years of visiting national parks, I have never seen a line that went out the door like this one. Of sure, I’ve waited for two or three people ahead of me, but this was like a game day ticket booth. While I held place in line, Carol grabbed a map of the park and got some information from the lady in the gift shop. Then, like all impatient Californians, we split and headed to town. It’s a big park; it won’t go anywhere.
On the way into the harbor the day prior, we saw a Princess Cruise ship. It was one of the largest that I have ever seen and that may have contributed to the congestion in town that evening. This morning, it just seemed touristy with a lot of people roaming the downtown. Carol made a quick stop at the P.O. to drop off some snail mail while Spice and I waited. Then we toured town. Carol did the looky-loo in the shops and Spice and I people watched. Our friend Karen had suggested a couple of non-tourists spots we might try. One of the spots is the Atlantic Brewing Company in Townhill, about four miles to the east. Associated with the brewery is a BBQ spot, which is almost entirely outdoor seating. They have installed a banquet tent to provide some shade and a wind break. We enjoyed a great BBQ lunch; pulled pork for Carol and spicy sausage for me. Carol ordered blueberry ale and found it quite tasty. I was a bit skeptical, but found it enjoyable. It had just a very light overtone of blueberry, more as an aroma then as a taste.
After lunch, we visited their gift shop and discovered they had an ale tasting session. Well, you have to try them all, right? So I participated and enjoyed several of the ales. The last was a honey ale that you could enjoy as an after dinner beverage in a snifter. It was creamy smooth, rich and a tad sweet with the honey. I just knew that Carol would enjoy it. She took a taste and immediately gagged; so much for what I know. In the end, we bought some ale, some root beer and some blueberry soda, and then headed back to the visitors’ center at the park.
The crowd we had experienced earlier at the visitors’ center had dissipated. We walked straight up to the ranger’s desk and bought a season pass for all of the national parks. After a quick stop in the gift shop for a copy of a “Fall Color Guide”, we were off to meet Karen for a quick three mile walk around one of the many ponds in the park. Afterward, we picked up Hamish at his soccer practice and headed off to the “Thirsty Whale” for an evening of pub food and conversation.
Our first stop was the visitors’ center at Arcadia National Park. The first thing we noticed was the large number of vehicles in the parking lot. After three weeks in Canada, with no crowds, we suddenly became aware that most of civilization had suddenly elected to join with us. We had decided to buy a National Park Pass on the basis that we would be visiting numerous parks on this trip and it would pay for itself in the long run. A lot of visitors were coming and going as we climbed the 52 steps to the center. Then it was up a slight ramp, turn the corner and get in line with the thirty people ahead of you. Of all my years of visiting national parks, I have never seen a line that went out the door like this one. Of sure, I’ve waited for two or three people ahead of me, but this was like a game day ticket booth. While I held place in line, Carol grabbed a map of the park and got some information from the lady in the gift shop. Then, like all impatient Californians, we split and headed to town. It’s a big park; it won’t go anywhere.
On the way into the harbor the day prior, we saw a Princess Cruise ship. It was one of the largest that I have ever seen and that may have contributed to the congestion in town that evening. This morning, it just seemed touristy with a lot of people roaming the downtown. Carol made a quick stop at the P.O. to drop off some snail mail while Spice and I waited. Then we toured town. Carol did the looky-loo in the shops and Spice and I people watched. Our friend Karen had suggested a couple of non-tourists spots we might try. One of the spots is the Atlantic Brewing Company in Townhill, about four miles to the east. Associated with the brewery is a BBQ spot, which is almost entirely outdoor seating. They have installed a banquet tent to provide some shade and a wind break. We enjoyed a great BBQ lunch; pulled pork for Carol and spicy sausage for me. Carol ordered blueberry ale and found it quite tasty. I was a bit skeptical, but found it enjoyable. It had just a very light overtone of blueberry, more as an aroma then as a taste.
After lunch, we visited their gift shop and discovered they had an ale tasting session. Well, you have to try them all, right? So I participated and enjoyed several of the ales. The last was a honey ale that you could enjoy as an after dinner beverage in a snifter. It was creamy smooth, rich and a tad sweet with the honey. I just knew that Carol would enjoy it. She took a taste and immediately gagged; so much for what I know. In the end, we bought some ale, some root beer and some blueberry soda, and then headed back to the visitors’ center at the park.
The crowd we had experienced earlier at the visitors’ center had dissipated. We walked straight up to the ranger’s desk and bought a season pass for all of the national parks. After a quick stop in the gift shop for a copy of a “Fall Color Guide”, we were off to meet Karen for a quick three mile walk around one of the many ponds in the park. Afterward, we picked up Hamish at his soccer practice and headed off to the “Thirsty Whale” for an evening of pub food and conversation.
September 22, 2009 – Bar Harbor
My first impressions of Bar Harbor are a bit hurried. We got through customs without too much hassle. It probably would have been better had we reconnected the two vehicles, but I chose not to. Consequently, the customs agent was a bit confused until I could make him understand that my wife was in the second vehicle. After that, all was good.
We met with Carol’s college friend Karen right in the parking lot outside of customs. After the initial “hellos”, she was off to Rosalie’s to order pizza for all of us, while we were off to the campground, three miles the opposite direction. By now, it is dark and becoming more so. With Carol in trail, I found the campground, right off the highway and not nestled down some gravel road. We checked in and asked, “do you take Visa?” We don’t take any plastic came the response. Alrighty then, how much cash do we have. We had enough for one night and found enough for two. The interior of the campground has no lights. For those of you who might be hearing impaired let me repeat - NO LIGHTS! Carol led us to the site, stopping numerous times to turn on the truck’s interior light to read the campground map and flashing her brights to see if she could find any lane markings. With patience, she found it. The site was a nice pull through with about an eight degree slope front to rear and four degrees right to left. We didn't try to set-up, not time. I just left the coach and booked into town. In the meantime, Karen had called to say that downtown was very busy with a lot of “leaf peepers” as tourists this time of year are identified. She suggested some alternate parking if we could not find any on the street. By now, I’m tired, hungry, upset about the campsite and suddenly confronted with the possibility of having to search out parking because of tourists (yes, I’m one also, but I know a local). I think that Carol would like to have been in a separate vehicle.
We found Rosalie’s with very little effort and voila, practically right across the street is a parking spot. Having dropped Carol off, I parked then caught up with her inside the restaurant. Verily I say to you, the most beautiful pizza I have ever seen, sat beckoning on the table. Karen and her son, Hamish, were well into their pizzas when we showed up. I bought a round of Smithwick’s Ale and attacked the pizza. Two slices and a pint later, I became human again. We had a wonderful dinner with K and H and hated having it end, but there would be tomorrow.
Carol and I have gotten pretty good at setting up the coach in minimal time. But tonight was not one of those times. First of all, it was an ugly site to begin with. On top of that, it was pitch black and our communications were not always clear. Carol brought the Dakota around to shine some headlight then retrieved our leveling blocks and stacked them four high. Finally, with the rear hydraulic levelers fully extended we were only a bubble width and a half from level and we called it a night; at least we would roll out of bed.
We met with Carol’s college friend Karen right in the parking lot outside of customs. After the initial “hellos”, she was off to Rosalie’s to order pizza for all of us, while we were off to the campground, three miles the opposite direction. By now, it is dark and becoming more so. With Carol in trail, I found the campground, right off the highway and not nestled down some gravel road. We checked in and asked, “do you take Visa?” We don’t take any plastic came the response. Alrighty then, how much cash do we have. We had enough for one night and found enough for two. The interior of the campground has no lights. For those of you who might be hearing impaired let me repeat - NO LIGHTS! Carol led us to the site, stopping numerous times to turn on the truck’s interior light to read the campground map and flashing her brights to see if she could find any lane markings. With patience, she found it. The site was a nice pull through with about an eight degree slope front to rear and four degrees right to left. We didn't try to set-up, not time. I just left the coach and booked into town. In the meantime, Karen had called to say that downtown was very busy with a lot of “leaf peepers” as tourists this time of year are identified. She suggested some alternate parking if we could not find any on the street. By now, I’m tired, hungry, upset about the campsite and suddenly confronted with the possibility of having to search out parking because of tourists (yes, I’m one also, but I know a local). I think that Carol would like to have been in a separate vehicle.
We found Rosalie’s with very little effort and voila, practically right across the street is a parking spot. Having dropped Carol off, I parked then caught up with her inside the restaurant. Verily I say to you, the most beautiful pizza I have ever seen, sat beckoning on the table. Karen and her son, Hamish, were well into their pizzas when we showed up. I bought a round of Smithwick’s Ale and attacked the pizza. Two slices and a pint later, I became human again. We had a wonderful dinner with K and H and hated having it end, but there would be tomorrow.
Carol and I have gotten pretty good at setting up the coach in minimal time. But tonight was not one of those times. First of all, it was an ugly site to begin with. On top of that, it was pitch black and our communications were not always clear. Carol brought the Dakota around to shine some headlight then retrieved our leveling blocks and stacked them four high. Finally, with the rear hydraulic levelers fully extended we were only a bubble width and a half from level and we called it a night; at least we would roll out of bed.
September 22, 2009 – Here Kitty, Kitty or The Cat
Moving day and we spent the morning getting the RV ready. I had a couple of bottles of wine too many, so we gave one to Doug and Pauline, whom we had camped next to. He is a retired Canadian Post Office master. They live in Blockhouse, Nova Scotia which is near Lunenburg. They winter in Blockhouse and summer in Bridgetown, about one hundred miles away. I don’t get it either, but they’re Canadians, eh. Not to poke fun, they were very enjoyable people to visit with. Carol even went with Pauline to play bingo, but she has to tell that story. Pauline's sister,
Doreen, who also summers in Bridgetown, is from Blue Rocks. They were quite intrigued that we had been there.
With wine given and farewells said, it was time to head off to Yarmouth for the ferry to Bar Harbor, ME, U.S.A. Yarmouth lies approximately 85 miles west of Bridgetown, so it was a fairly quick trip. Carol found a Wal-Mart which was just a couple of miles from the ferry dock. Not that we really needed anything, but we did have $25 Canadian to spend and we did need to separate the vehicles for the ferry trip. An hour and a half later, after a leisurely lunch in the coach, a quick shopping trip in Wal-Mart, a decent walk with Spice and the two vehicles as separate entities, we were off to the ferry landing with absolutely no idea of what to expect.
We were early, which was a good thing. The nice traffic director asked if I had been on “the Cat” before. When I responded in the negative, he told me just about everything to expect, measured the length and height of the RV and moved me to the security inspection area. I had told him that Carol was in the Dakota behind me. He said not to worry; he would run her right up in trail. At the security inspection station, I stayed with the vehicles, while Carol went to get our boarding passes. The security inspection amounted to looking into all of the basement pods and a quick look inside the coach. What they were looking for, they didn’t say. Once that was done, we were marshaled towards the stern of the ferry to wait our turn to drive on, though “in” is a more correct description. They load tour buses and RV’s first, then cars. When it was our turn, we followed two tour buses, an RV and a pick-up/trailer combo. Inside the hull, it is seven lanes wide. After you drive in, you do a 180 so you are in position to drive off at the destination. Once inside, we had the option to reconnect the vehicles, but elected not to as our campground is only three miles from the ferry landing in Bar Harbor. Then we turned off the fridge, turned off the propane, told Spice to be good, locked the door and climbed the stairs to the main deck.
I don’t know quite how to describe the main deck of “the Cat”; picture six separate sitting areas each with comfortable reclining seats and plenty of foot room. Each area with its own large TV tuned to sports, or news, or movies, etc. In between the areas are snack bars, card tables, gift and duty free shops. Full view windows encompass the entire deck and the only exterior access is at the stern, where you can stand outside to smoke or enjoy the fresh air. Once all were loaded, we cleared the dock and moved easily out through the harbor. Clear of the breakwater, we began to accelerate. You don’t really notice the speed as the only visual reference is the water, but it is moving by quickly. After 90 minutes, I walked to the stern and stepped outside. This gave me my first real appreciation for the craft. The twin jets throw a pair of 15-20 foot rooster tails off the hulls of the catamaran as we cruised along between 50-55 MPH. Remember, in the hull of this thing are two tour buses, half-a-dozen RV’s and probably 100 cars and it is not full. Just over 3 hours after we left Yarmouth, we are docking in Bar Harbor; a journey of 100 miles and we had to slow for some areas of fog.
Doreen, who also summers in Bridgetown, is from Blue Rocks. They were quite intrigued that we had been there.
With wine given and farewells said, it was time to head off to Yarmouth for the ferry to Bar Harbor, ME, U.S.A. Yarmouth lies approximately 85 miles west of Bridgetown, so it was a fairly quick trip. Carol found a Wal-Mart which was just a couple of miles from the ferry dock. Not that we really needed anything, but we did have $25 Canadian to spend and we did need to separate the vehicles for the ferry trip. An hour and a half later, after a leisurely lunch in the coach, a quick shopping trip in Wal-Mart, a decent walk with Spice and the two vehicles as separate entities, we were off to the ferry landing with absolutely no idea of what to expect.
We were early, which was a good thing. The nice traffic director asked if I had been on “the Cat” before. When I responded in the negative, he told me just about everything to expect, measured the length and height of the RV and moved me to the security inspection area. I had told him that Carol was in the Dakota behind me. He said not to worry; he would run her right up in trail. At the security inspection station, I stayed with the vehicles, while Carol went to get our boarding passes. The security inspection amounted to looking into all of the basement pods and a quick look inside the coach. What they were looking for, they didn’t say. Once that was done, we were marshaled towards the stern of the ferry to wait our turn to drive on, though “in” is a more correct description. They load tour buses and RV’s first, then cars. When it was our turn, we followed two tour buses, an RV and a pick-up/trailer combo. Inside the hull, it is seven lanes wide. After you drive in, you do a 180 so you are in position to drive off at the destination. Once inside, we had the option to reconnect the vehicles, but elected not to as our campground is only three miles from the ferry landing in Bar Harbor. Then we turned off the fridge, turned off the propane, told Spice to be good, locked the door and climbed the stairs to the main deck.
I don’t know quite how to describe the main deck of “the Cat”; picture six separate sitting areas each with comfortable reclining seats and plenty of foot room. Each area with its own large TV tuned to sports, or news, or movies, etc. In between the areas are snack bars, card tables, gift and duty free shops. Full view windows encompass the entire deck and the only exterior access is at the stern, where you can stand outside to smoke or enjoy the fresh air. Once all were loaded, we cleared the dock and moved easily out through the harbor. Clear of the breakwater, we began to accelerate. You don’t really notice the speed as the only visual reference is the water, but it is moving by quickly. After 90 minutes, I walked to the stern and stepped outside. This gave me my first real appreciation for the craft. The twin jets throw a pair of 15-20 foot rooster tails off the hulls of the catamaran as we cruised along between 50-55 MPH. Remember, in the hull of this thing are two tour buses, half-a-dozen RV’s and probably 100 cars and it is not full. Just over 3 hours after we left Yarmouth, we are docking in Bar Harbor; a journey of 100 miles and we had to slow for some areas of fog.
September 22, 2009 – Pleasant Surprises
We camped yesterday in Bridgetown, a small farming town. The camp ground, situated on a small river, is right on the edge of town. We can walk across the bridge into the town and four blocks later be on our way out the other side. There isn’t much in town to see; a grocer, a couple of clothing shops, Realtor, lawyer, a couple of barber/beauty shops. It is just like the majority of small farming towns we’ve seen. On Post Office street, you can find the Post Office. Church Street has the town three churches and Rink Street has the ice skating rink.
But we wanted to see Digby. We took the coast road over to Annapolis Royal. I expected another little seaside fishing village. And in most way, it was. But we found Fort Anne, originally founded by the French. It is a bastion style fort. The earth works are quite evident, but most of the fort’s buildings, except two, are gone. One of the remaining buildings is a powder magazine, built in 1705 of stone and mortar. The other, a wooden frame building, now houses the visitors’ center. The rest of the town consists of a couple of blocks of shops, cafes and the waterfront. But the history of the town with occupations by both French and English is quite interesting.
Next, we were off to the Digby Neck which is a peninsula between the Bay of Fundy and Mary’s Bay. If you travel the full extension of the Digby Neck, you can then take the ferry to Long Island. And, if you travel the full length of Long Island, you can take the ferry to Brier Island. About half-way out the Digby Neck, Carol stated she didn’t really need to see any more. Thinking to my self, “thank goodness”, I agreed and we turned around. One interesting note is the proposed development of wind farms in the Digby Neck. We saw a lot of signs in support of “clean energy” and a lot of signs in opposition. It must be a real hot button locally. When you get to the upper reaches of the Bay of Fundy, they are proposing a “tidal” energy plant. As best as I can tell, they submerge hydro-turbines which spin as the tide moves in and out. And, in the Bay of Fundy, it can be a significant motion.
Digby, town of, specifically, was our next stop. Wow, another fishing town! We haven’t seen one of these for a while! Look, colorful houses; ticky-tack shops; little cafes; a board walk along the harbor; a nestle of fishing boats and eateries featuring the world famous “Digby Scallops”. We did stop for lunch and one of us had the “Digby Scallops”. One of us selected French Onion Soup and was somewhat disappointed. The scallops were sautéed in garlic and butter. While they were quite good, I’m not enough of a scallop connoisseur to deem them “world famous”. I mean a scallop is a scallop isn’t it? Don’t ask that question of a Nova Scotian, there will be Hell to pay.
But we wanted to see Digby. We took the coast road over to Annapolis Royal. I expected another little seaside fishing village. And in most way, it was. But we found Fort Anne, originally founded by the French. It is a bastion style fort. The earth works are quite evident, but most of the fort’s buildings, except two, are gone. One of the remaining buildings is a powder magazine, built in 1705 of stone and mortar. The other, a wooden frame building, now houses the visitors’ center. The rest of the town consists of a couple of blocks of shops, cafes and the waterfront. But the history of the town with occupations by both French and English is quite interesting.
Next, we were off to the Digby Neck which is a peninsula between the Bay of Fundy and Mary’s Bay. If you travel the full extension of the Digby Neck, you can then take the ferry to Long Island. And, if you travel the full length of Long Island, you can take the ferry to Brier Island. About half-way out the Digby Neck, Carol stated she didn’t really need to see any more. Thinking to my self, “thank goodness”, I agreed and we turned around. One interesting note is the proposed development of wind farms in the Digby Neck. We saw a lot of signs in support of “clean energy” and a lot of signs in opposition. It must be a real hot button locally. When you get to the upper reaches of the Bay of Fundy, they are proposing a “tidal” energy plant. As best as I can tell, they submerge hydro-turbines which spin as the tide moves in and out. And, in the Bay of Fundy, it can be a significant motion.
Digby, town of, specifically, was our next stop. Wow, another fishing town! We haven’t seen one of these for a while! Look, colorful houses; ticky-tack shops; little cafes; a board walk along the harbor; a nestle of fishing boats and eateries featuring the world famous “Digby Scallops”. We did stop for lunch and one of us had the “Digby Scallops”. One of us selected French Onion Soup and was somewhat disappointed. The scallops were sautéed in garlic and butter. While they were quite good, I’m not enough of a scallop connoisseur to deem them “world famous”. I mean a scallop is a scallop isn’t it? Don’t ask that question of a Nova Scotian, there will be Hell to pay.
Monday, September 21, 2009
September 21, 2009 – It’s Monday, we must be in Nova Scotia, still.
Whenever it was we left, where ever it was we were, we wound up at Kejimkujik (pronounced just like it looks) National Park. I think it was Saturday. Keji (as the rangers refer to it) is a beautiful park situated pretty much dead center in the southwest of NS. It has Annapolis Royal to the NW, Liverpool to the SE and Yarmouth to the SW. Halifax is about twice the distance to Yarmouth to the E.
When we first arrived, we were unsure as to whether we wanted to camp in the park. The nice young lady at the welcome kiosk suggested we go to the visitors’ center, just a couple hundred yards up the road, check it out and then we could buy our day passes and see about camping. After speaking with one of the hosts at the center and seeing a short video on the park, we decided that if we were going to see any of it all, we best camp there.
Once again, we found ourselves dry camping. We were ok on both supplies and storage; and this time we didn’t even have the electricity we had at Forillon in Gaspe. The site was really nice (That is one thing about the campsites in the National Parks, they have lots of room and are forested enough to provide a modicum of privacy). At the heart of this park lies Lake Kejimkujik. The campground is within walking distance to the shore. After we set-up, we embarked on a hike which took us along the shore line for just over three kilometers. As the trail emerges from the wooded flood plain adjacent to the lake, you have to cross a floating bridge to Jake’s Landing, a canoe concessionaire. Spice was a bit hesitant, but once she got her sea legs so to speak, she crossed with no problems. Jake’s signified the end of the 3.2 K, but the trail had been flat so we thought we might venture on for a couple more kilometers. A short way into the next section, it began to sprinkle/rain. Given the late afternoon hour and the already cool temperature, we elected to reverse course. About 1000 yards along the trail, a doe whitetail deer came up from a stream just yards from where we stood. As she moved down wind of us, she would stop and look. I don’t think she was concerned about our scent, but Spice might have thrown her a curve. Yet, she crossed the trail within 20 yards of us, and then began to browse. Carol tried to get some decent pictures while I kept Spicy still. After a few moments, the doe became bored and moved on out of range. Carol was ecstatic about seeing the deer.
On the outbound leg, we had just begun to parallel the lake when I spotted some furry creature about twenty-five feet up in a tree. Carol tried to get some photos, but he wasn’t in a good spot and wasn’t cooperating. We couldn’t figure out what type of varmint he was. He didn’t look raccoonish and he didn’t have the tail of an opossum. As we were returning to camp, a couple walking towards us said to watch for the juvenile porcupine sitting in a tree just above the trail. When I asked about it, the guy explained the porcupine is furry initially, and then develops quills as he matures. On this one, you might be able to make out some quill development if he presents in the right light. We parted and walked on. Lo and behold, there in the same tree, but a bit higher, was said porcupine. He had moved to a smaller branch and was nibbling on leaves and the lesser twigs. Between the smaller tree branch and the lighting change, it was fairly obvious he was a porcupine; quills were even in evidence.
Sunday morning dawned cold and crisp. We had found another hike we could get in before the 11 AM checkout time. It was a six K loop through both hemlocks and hardwoods. The trail was well graveled as was the one the night before. As we move towards an old stand of hemlocks, the trail became a board walk so as to protect the shallow roots of the stand. On the way back to the campground, we saw two more along side the road. Packed up and leaving, we saw two more deer on our way out of the park. On our way, elsewhere, again.
When we first arrived, we were unsure as to whether we wanted to camp in the park. The nice young lady at the welcome kiosk suggested we go to the visitors’ center, just a couple hundred yards up the road, check it out and then we could buy our day passes and see about camping. After speaking with one of the hosts at the center and seeing a short video on the park, we decided that if we were going to see any of it all, we best camp there.
Once again, we found ourselves dry camping. We were ok on both supplies and storage; and this time we didn’t even have the electricity we had at Forillon in Gaspe. The site was really nice (That is one thing about the campsites in the National Parks, they have lots of room and are forested enough to provide a modicum of privacy). At the heart of this park lies Lake Kejimkujik. The campground is within walking distance to the shore. After we set-up, we embarked on a hike which took us along the shore line for just over three kilometers. As the trail emerges from the wooded flood plain adjacent to the lake, you have to cross a floating bridge to Jake’s Landing, a canoe concessionaire. Spice was a bit hesitant, but once she got her sea legs so to speak, she crossed with no problems. Jake’s signified the end of the 3.2 K, but the trail had been flat so we thought we might venture on for a couple more kilometers. A short way into the next section, it began to sprinkle/rain. Given the late afternoon hour and the already cool temperature, we elected to reverse course. About 1000 yards along the trail, a doe whitetail deer came up from a stream just yards from where we stood. As she moved down wind of us, she would stop and look. I don’t think she was concerned about our scent, but Spice might have thrown her a curve. Yet, she crossed the trail within 20 yards of us, and then began to browse. Carol tried to get some decent pictures while I kept Spicy still. After a few moments, the doe became bored and moved on out of range. Carol was ecstatic about seeing the deer.
On the outbound leg, we had just begun to parallel the lake when I spotted some furry creature about twenty-five feet up in a tree. Carol tried to get some photos, but he wasn’t in a good spot and wasn’t cooperating. We couldn’t figure out what type of varmint he was. He didn’t look raccoonish and he didn’t have the tail of an opossum. As we were returning to camp, a couple walking towards us said to watch for the juvenile porcupine sitting in a tree just above the trail. When I asked about it, the guy explained the porcupine is furry initially, and then develops quills as he matures. On this one, you might be able to make out some quill development if he presents in the right light. We parted and walked on. Lo and behold, there in the same tree, but a bit higher, was said porcupine. He had moved to a smaller branch and was nibbling on leaves and the lesser twigs. Between the smaller tree branch and the lighting change, it was fairly obvious he was a porcupine; quills were even in evidence.
Sunday morning dawned cold and crisp. We had found another hike we could get in before the 11 AM checkout time. It was a six K loop through both hemlocks and hardwoods. The trail was well graveled as was the one the night before. As we move towards an old stand of hemlocks, the trail became a board walk so as to protect the shallow roots of the stand. On the way back to the campground, we saw two more along side the road. Packed up and leaving, we saw two more deer on our way out of the park. On our way, elsewhere, again.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
September 19 – Food
Food is kind of like, well food. It’s not that different from what we eat at home and we really haven’t eaten out very often. One night we wandered into a little joint and ordered a pizza to take out. While we were waiting, I took Spice for a walk. Across the street was a nice, touristy place. I knew it was touristy by the number of buses parked outside. The restaurant advertised two dining rooms: one was an ala carte menu; the other was a 60 ft. salad bar with all you could eat lobster. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an all you could eat lobster place but they seem numerous here. The churches even host lobster dinners. You can also find lobster sandwiches. They are unique in that instead of using toothpicks to hold them together, the claws serve the same purpose.
I’ve mentioned Tim Horton’s a couple of times. It seems every town, large or small has at least one church and one Tim Horton’s. Want breakfast? Coffee, lattes, mochas or tea are available with your choice of donut, bagel or croissant. You can also opt for a breakfast wrap. Want lunch? A couple of sandwiches are offered as are a couple of wraps. You can get them in a combo, with your choice of donut. The same goes for the soup or chili combo. Want dinner? See lunch. Its fast food and nothing fancy.
Donairs. I had seen signs advertising donairs, but had no idea what they were. While we were in Mahone Cove, there was a young man walking out of a lunch place carrying a huge slice of pizza. He had a dog, I had a dog and we began to talk. Since the establishment where he purchased his pizza offered donairs, I asked him what it was. He thought a minute and said it was very close to heaven on earth. It consists of thinly sliced marinated beef with chopped tomatoes and onions wrapped in pita bread with donair sauce. The sauce is a thick white sauce, slightly sweet and sticky. So we had to try them. When Carol emerged from what ever shop she was in, I suggested we try a couple. She agreed and I went to order them. When they arrived, they must have weighed close to ¾ of a pound a piece. The beef itself was pretty incredible; slightly spicy and moist. The sauce both countered and complimented the meat. It took close to six napkins to get through the sandwich. You can only find donairs in Nova Scotia. The young man told me that some shops in Montreal and Quebec City had begun offering Halifax Donairs, but the sauce, which makes the sandwich, was entirely different.
Food is kind of like, well food. It’s not that different from what we eat at home and we really haven’t eaten out very often. One night we wandered into a little joint and ordered a pizza to take out. While we were waiting, I took Spice for a walk. Across the street was a nice, touristy place. I knew it was touristy by the number of buses parked outside. The restaurant advertised two dining rooms: one was an ala carte menu; the other was a 60 ft. salad bar with all you could eat lobster. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an all you could eat lobster place but they seem numerous here. The churches even host lobster dinners. You can also find lobster sandwiches. They are unique in that instead of using toothpicks to hold them together, the claws serve the same purpose.
I’ve mentioned Tim Horton’s a couple of times. It seems every town, large or small has at least one church and one Tim Horton’s. Want breakfast? Coffee, lattes, mochas or tea are available with your choice of donut, bagel or croissant. You can also opt for a breakfast wrap. Want lunch? A couple of sandwiches are offered as are a couple of wraps. You can get them in a combo, with your choice of donut. The same goes for the soup or chili combo. Want dinner? See lunch. Its fast food and nothing fancy.
Donairs. I had seen signs advertising donairs, but had no idea what they were. While we were in Mahone Cove, there was a young man walking out of a lunch place carrying a huge slice of pizza. He had a dog, I had a dog and we began to talk. Since the establishment where he purchased his pizza offered donairs, I asked him what it was. He thought a minute and said it was very close to heaven on earth. It consists of thinly sliced marinated beef with chopped tomatoes and onions wrapped in pita bread with donair sauce. The sauce is a thick white sauce, slightly sweet and sticky. So we had to try them. When Carol emerged from what ever shop she was in, I suggested we try a couple. She agreed and I went to order them. When they arrived, they must have weighed close to ¾ of a pound a piece. The beef itself was pretty incredible; slightly spicy and moist. The sauce both countered and complimented the meat. It took close to six napkins to get through the sandwich. You can only find donairs in Nova Scotia. The young man told me that some shops in Montreal and Quebec City had begun offering Halifax Donairs, but the sauce, which makes the sandwich, was entirely different.
September 18, 2009 – A Coastal Drive
Another beautiful day dawns, so we’re off to explore. We had read about a small coastal village named “Peggy’s Cove”. Described as quaint and picturesque with a population of 70, it supposedly represents what a fishing village looked like 50 years ago as it has not changed. One caveat, the big tour operators had found “Peggy’s Cove” and it was now inundated daily with tour buses. So, if you were to go, you would find yourself with 250 of your closest friends in a town of 70.
Camped next to us is a couple from
The coast here is ragged, not rugged. While you might be on a coastal road, it doesn’t necessarily mean you will see the coast, most often the forest block any view. Then you will come around a bend and see what appears to be a small lake or large pond, but it isn’t. It is a low area that the sea has reached into made a bay. And if you look really hard, you can probably see the inlet through which the sea flows. Consequently, the coast appears constructed with jigsaw puzzle pieces, some are wet and some are dry. But none are edge pieces.
As we approached “Mahone Cove” we saw three towering church spires. Entering the town, two of the churches sit side by each while the third is just across the small bay. There was a farmers’ market in the municipal parking lot where we parked. We could walk the entire town which is defined by a Y-intersection. There is a colorful small boat harbor in the bay. Then the typical establishments fill out the town: Artisan shops, art galleries, B&B’s, cozy little restaurants, quilt and yarn shops. In the Pewter Shop, Carol found a crèche. She has started to collect ones she finds unique or unusual. This shop had a crèche with all pewter figurines. I knew as soon as I saw it, the crèche was coming home with us. When she left empty handed, I thought she might not have even seen it, but alas, she deemed it too costly. Then it was off to Lunenburg.
But before we got there we took a road less traveled to a little fishing
Lunenburg is a much larger town then Mahone Cove and appears more of a real working town then Mahone Cove. For my windsurfing friends, North Sails has a loft here where they make real sails for real boats. It is also home to the Blue Nose II, a working replica of the Blue Nose fishing schooner. The original BN was the fastest fishing schooner for 18 years running. There are a couple of other schooner/tall ships which offer sailing tours here also. After dropping into several of the shops and buying the obligatory ice cream cone, we search for the Lunenburg Soap Factory we had read about in the tour guide. We found that it had been located in the abandoned building where we were parked. So with that sad discovery, we were set to return home. It had been a great day of seeing the countryside.
Friday, September 18, 2009
September 17, 2009 – Halifax
So this morning we were off to Halifax to see what we could see. Our first stop was the Citadel, a fortification overlooking Halifax Harbor. As with the town itself, the Citadel has quite a storied history. Housed with in the walls is a museum of Canadian Military history and artifacts dating from the Seven Years War. Of all the military armament, uniforms and other paraphernalia on display, on of the most interesting is a bottle of Champaign. The story is the members of a platoon from WWI, bought the bottle with a pledge the last remaining soldier would receive it. Then sometime in the seventies, I believe, the last two remaining members of the platoon said to hell with it and donated the bottle to the museum.
In its heyday, the Citadel could house a thousand troops. Today, as a historic site, there are pipers piping and drummers drumming, a changing of the guard ceremony and a firing of the noon cannon. Everyday, except Christmas, they conduct a demonstration firing of a 30lb smooth bore cannon at noon. We were standing a couple of hundred away from the cannon and could still feel the concussion. It was quite an awesome display.
The Citadel became busy right after we arrived. There were four cruise ships in port which added another 10 thousand people to the population. Obviously, the Citadel is high on the shore excursion list. While there are several things to do in Halifax, we elected to just walk the streets and check out the shops. Carol found an interesting little yarn shop. Eventually, we wound up harbor side with all of the passenger comings and goings. The port has all the typical trappings of a cruise port, pricey restaurants and glitzy shops, but it was fun watching the people and good exercise for Spice.
In its heyday, the Citadel could house a thousand troops. Today, as a historic site, there are pipers piping and drummers drumming, a changing of the guard ceremony and a firing of the noon cannon. Everyday, except Christmas, they conduct a demonstration firing of a 30lb smooth bore cannon at noon. We were standing a couple of hundred away from the cannon and could still feel the concussion. It was quite an awesome display.
The Citadel became busy right after we arrived. There were four cruise ships in port which added another 10 thousand people to the population. Obviously, the Citadel is high on the shore excursion list. While there are several things to do in Halifax, we elected to just walk the streets and check out the shops. Carol found an interesting little yarn shop. Eventually, we wound up harbor side with all of the passenger comings and goings. The port has all the typical trappings of a cruise port, pricey restaurants and glitzy shops, but it was fun watching the people and good exercise for Spice.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
September 17, 2009 – Catching up
Yesterday, we had a leisurely morning while we tried to determine whether we would stay or go. After checking the weather forecast, because it was a beautiful sunny morning excluding the low bank of clouds over the west side of the lake, we decided with rain on the way, it was best to move on. As we were getting prepared to leave, I spoke with the gentleman camped a couple of spaces over. He has a 35+ foot Winnebago. He was having a couple of problems: one, his slides would not come in; two, his jacks would not retract. So there he was with his handbook, trying to figure out how to retract the slides manually. I pitched in to help (I’m trying to become more helpful to my fellowman). We found the retraction bolts, but he didn’t have the right size wrenches. I broke out my tools and found a socket that would fit. Carol grabbed the manual retraction wrench from our coach and it fit his also. Now armed with two wrenches, we set about retracting the first slide. His owner’s manual said to go slow as to avoid building up hydraulic pressure. Neither of us was aware of hydraulics being involved, but there was some resistance on the bolts. His end moved in some, but mine didn’t seem to move at all. So he said he would stop turning while I caught up. Three turns later, the bolt head snapped off in my wrench. There is no describing how bad I felt. I mean, if this guy’s day wasn’t off to a bad start already, this just put a capper on it. There was no way on God’s green earth he was going to get this slide in now. So there I stand with a wrench on one hand and the bolt head in the other. But he took it all in stride. I’m feeling absolutely terrible and he’s telling me not to worry, he would have done the same thing and now he just has to call Good Sam and get a pro to finish the job. Still feeling bad about the experience, we finished our own packing and rolled out towards Baddeck.
Baddeck, on the shore of Lake Bras d’Or, was the summer home of Alexander G. Bell. They have a marvelous museum, full of AEG stuff. I know of Bell principally because of the phone. The museum also highlights his work with the deaf, his family and his studies of aeronautics, sound recording and hydrofoils. He, along with Selfridge, Curtis and a couple of other aviation notables whose names escape me, was responsible for the first power flight in Canada. Bell collaborating with Casey Baldwin, build the worlds fastest boat using aviation engines and hydrofoils. Neat stuff, eh.
A quick lunch in the RV and we were off on a five hours drive to Halifax. Somewhere on the road coming up, I had seen a sign for an inn/gift shop/ restaurant named the Bras d’Or House. I really wanted Carol to get a picture of it, but I couldn’t find it again. Perhaps it was all just wishful thinking.
The drive wasn’t bad. We took the major east-west highway which is a wide two lane road with lots of shoulder and passing zones on the uphill grades. We had selected a campground based on a recommendation of a couple we had met who reside in southwest Nova Scotia. The campground was also well touted in Woodall’s, advertising Wifi and TV (I know Denny, I should have a disk). So we pay up front for two nights only to find, there is no TV and the Wifi processes somewhere between 5.5 and 1 Mbps. Wifi is virtually non-existent. Have you heard this complaint before? After a couple of steaks, mashed potatoes and a good bottle of red wine, it was all better.
We had bought a small electric heater to help off set the use of propane. I’m a bit paranoid about our propane use and worry that we will empty the tank and not be able to find a supplier. Since there was a frost warning last night, we set the heater fairly high, but left the coach furnace off. Sometime early this AM, Carol awoke and feeling cold, cranked the heater to max. Then checking the thermostat and reading 64 degrees, turned on the furnace assuming 64 is what it was set at. Little did she know that when you turn the thermostat off, it automatically resets itself to 72 degrees regardless of what you had it set at previously. With the bedroom door pulled closed, the little heater was happily working away, producing it maximum heat. On the other side, the coach furnace was readily warming the coach to the required 72 degrees, completely oblivious to the efforts of the little heater just a few feet away. Moments later, I found myself lying on top of the bed covers. The thermal eruptions from the heater were baking my toenails like thrown pottery in a kiln. My leg hair was surely being reduced to singe. I contemplated grabbing an extra blanket and sleeping outside on the ground. Until I remembered the blankets are under the bed. So instead, I dragged my sorry butt out of bed, stumbled over the dog, found the heater, glowing as I can only assume the fires of Hades do, and turned it down. Then, hearing the furnace click on, I went to the thermostat and set it at a reasonable 64 degrees. Having left the bedroom door open, there began an exchange of air between the bedroom which was by now a toasted 78 degrees and the rest of the coach. Not only did I have to fight my way back into the bedroom against gale force winds, small thunderstorms were building in the hall way as air masses collided.
Baddeck, on the shore of Lake Bras d’Or, was the summer home of Alexander G. Bell. They have a marvelous museum, full of AEG stuff. I know of Bell principally because of the phone. The museum also highlights his work with the deaf, his family and his studies of aeronautics, sound recording and hydrofoils. He, along with Selfridge, Curtis and a couple of other aviation notables whose names escape me, was responsible for the first power flight in Canada. Bell collaborating with Casey Baldwin, build the worlds fastest boat using aviation engines and hydrofoils. Neat stuff, eh.
A quick lunch in the RV and we were off on a five hours drive to Halifax. Somewhere on the road coming up, I had seen a sign for an inn/gift shop/ restaurant named the Bras d’Or House. I really wanted Carol to get a picture of it, but I couldn’t find it again. Perhaps it was all just wishful thinking.
The drive wasn’t bad. We took the major east-west highway which is a wide two lane road with lots of shoulder and passing zones on the uphill grades. We had selected a campground based on a recommendation of a couple we had met who reside in southwest Nova Scotia. The campground was also well touted in Woodall’s, advertising Wifi and TV (I know Denny, I should have a disk). So we pay up front for two nights only to find, there is no TV and the Wifi processes somewhere between 5.5 and 1 Mbps. Wifi is virtually non-existent. Have you heard this complaint before? After a couple of steaks, mashed potatoes and a good bottle of red wine, it was all better.
We had bought a small electric heater to help off set the use of propane. I’m a bit paranoid about our propane use and worry that we will empty the tank and not be able to find a supplier. Since there was a frost warning last night, we set the heater fairly high, but left the coach furnace off. Sometime early this AM, Carol awoke and feeling cold, cranked the heater to max. Then checking the thermostat and reading 64 degrees, turned on the furnace assuming 64 is what it was set at. Little did she know that when you turn the thermostat off, it automatically resets itself to 72 degrees regardless of what you had it set at previously. With the bedroom door pulled closed, the little heater was happily working away, producing it maximum heat. On the other side, the coach furnace was readily warming the coach to the required 72 degrees, completely oblivious to the efforts of the little heater just a few feet away. Moments later, I found myself lying on top of the bed covers. The thermal eruptions from the heater were baking my toenails like thrown pottery in a kiln. My leg hair was surely being reduced to singe. I contemplated grabbing an extra blanket and sleeping outside on the ground. Until I remembered the blankets are under the bed. So instead, I dragged my sorry butt out of bed, stumbled over the dog, found the heater, glowing as I can only assume the fires of Hades do, and turned it down. Then, hearing the furnace click on, I went to the thermostat and set it at a reasonable 64 degrees. Having left the bedroom door open, there began an exchange of air between the bedroom which was by now a toasted 78 degrees and the rest of the coach. Not only did I have to fight my way back into the bedroom against gale force winds, small thunderstorms were building in the hall way as air masses collided.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
September 15, 2009 – Cape Breton Highlands
As I start this, the rain is pelting down. It is a steady drone on the roof of the RV. The wind is insignificant, so we have the windows cracked a bit, but it is cooling off and soon we will need some heat. I don’t really mind the rain because it has held off until we were safely ensconced in the RV before it began. As we drove today, we were in and out of sun; touching the bases of the low clouds while in the mountains and encountered some gentle sprinkles. Thursday, the sun is scheduled to re-assume his rightful place and shine brightly on all.
Cape Breton Island is at the extreme northeast of Nova Scotia. On the map, it initially appears as two islands because of a large inland sea, Bras d’Or Lake, which nearly severs the island in half. We are camped in a K.O.A pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but in actually, about 20 miles west of Sydney. We went to Sydney yesterday, but there wasn’t much to do at 4 PM on a Monday. Accidentally, we wandered on to the quay the cruise ships use. While no ships were in, normally Wed/Thur are ship days, there was a coffee shop open in the harbor pavilion. The shop operator was only too happy to make an afternoon sale as the place was emptier then Nancy Pelosi. We had an engaging conversation where we learned about a museum on the second floor and it was free. After that, it was a drive through old town Sydney, but nothing caught our fancy. Sydney is one of those towns where the two major industries, coal and steel, have gone away and it is now trying to redefine itself as a tourist destination. Blue collar goes culturally historic with a degree of artsyness (is that even a word, I think not) tossed in for good measure.
So this morning, we were off to drive Cabot Trail (www.cabottrail.travel) which encompasses the Cape Breton Highlands National Park. The tour books recommend allowing 6-8 hours to fully explore the 185 miles of road, so we ventured out at 8:45. Just east of the town of Baddeck (Bagh deck, there is a strong Scottish influence on the island and Highlanders first emigrated here in the early 1800’s) we began our drive along the Trail. The road from there to Margaree Harbor dissects this part of the island as it winds northwest ward through rolling hills of forest and farm. As we descended into Margaree Harbor, the coastline came into view. From here, the Trail swings northward and you can see the hills to the east, rising from the farmland buffer between them and the sea. The small towns along the way have French names like: Grand E’tang; Belle Cote; and Cap le-Moine. Each town is a blending of fishing and farming. And each town marks a steady change in the topography. The hills are rising higher while the buffer to the sea is dwindling. By the time you reach Cheticamp, the coastline has assumed the ruggedness we saw in Gaspe, with the now, mountains dropping straight into the see, while the coast road does all it can to hang on to the landmass. At Cap Rouge, just north of Presqu’ile, the road leaves the sea behind as it ascends French Mountain (455 M. or 1478.75 ft.). Then just as dramatically as it left, it returns to the sea, racing pell-mell down the other side of the mountain until the shore break is just a stone’s throw away. The reunion is short as the road once more begins the winding trek towards the high forested ridges it will traverse as it re-crosses the island headed eastbound. The east coast doesn’t have the grandeur displayed by the west coast, but remains a beautiful drive. Our friend Dana speaks of her fondness for Crème Brulee in that she enjoys the whole, but loves the top the best. The top being that caramelized surface created by a kitchen torch or under a broiler. Well if this drive is Crème Brulee, the west cost is the top.
In PEI, the soil has a very high content of iron. When the soil is worked and brought to the surface the iron rusts and turns the soil red. Here in Nova Scotia, the iron is still evident, but not to the extent of what we saw on PEI. Much of the exposed rock face we saw in the Highlands revealed the reddishness of iron aside the granite or limestone.
We have seen hints of fall, but the Nova Scotia fall runs a bit later then what will be seen west of here. My assumption is the generally lower altitude combined with the influence of the Gulf Stream serve to keep at bay for a couple of weeks. But as we were driving today, we were both startled at times by a sudden eruption of color. Sometimes, it would be a single red maple tree who decided to show up early for the dance. We would come around a corner or crest a ridge and there it would be, all decked out in a scarlet formal against a backdrop of forest green tuxedos. Other displays have just been the tops of one or two red maples, blushing and embarrassed they have changed so soon while the rest of the tree has yet to even look in the closet. On occasion, we see a sugar maple beginning to transition to the yellow/orange flame appearance. But those sightings have been rare.
Another assumption of mine has to do with churches and cemeteries. In rural Quebec Provence and out towards Gaspe, we never saw a church without an adjacent cemetery. This held true into northern New Brunswick, but here in Nova Scotia, cemeteries sit alone, surrounded by parkland or forest. I believe this has to do with the predominance of Catholicism in eastern Quebec. As each town/village had its own church, the church then had its parish and parish cemetery. As we have moved away from Quebec, the church denominations have increased. Where we saw only Catholic with an occasional Anglican church, we now seen not only those two but Baptist, Jehovah’s Witness, United Church of Canada, Presbyterian and a couple of free Christian. Hence, cemeteries tend to be more diverse then parish orientated.
The most northern realm of Cape Breton has a strong Scottish influence. There is a museum, a Piper’s School and the gift shops are full of Scottish stuff. As I’ve written before, Canada has become a bi-lingual nation with everything official printed in both English and French (this however is not necessarily true in Quebec where English is rarely posted). But in the Highland area, you now get the names of places in both English and Gaelic. Many of the names also represent the Mi’kmaq people who were the first settlers in the area. Like many places around North America, the influence of the various inhabitants has influenced much that we know today.
Tomorrow, our day is dictated by the weather. If it is supposed to rain all day, we will probably move on towards Halifax. If it is clear and windy, we may try to sail here or possibly at Baddeck. Allez les bon temps rouleaux!
As I start this, the rain is pelting down. It is a steady drone on the roof of the RV. The wind is insignificant, so we have the windows cracked a bit, but it is cooling off and soon we will need some heat. I don’t really mind the rain because it has held off until we were safely ensconced in the RV before it began. As we drove today, we were in and out of sun; touching the bases of the low clouds while in the mountains and encountered some gentle sprinkles. Thursday, the sun is scheduled to re-assume his rightful place and shine brightly on all.
Cape Breton Island is at the extreme northeast of Nova Scotia. On the map, it initially appears as two islands because of a large inland sea, Bras d’Or Lake, which nearly severs the island in half. We are camped in a K.O.A pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but in actually, about 20 miles west of Sydney. We went to Sydney yesterday, but there wasn’t much to do at 4 PM on a Monday. Accidentally, we wandered on to the quay the cruise ships use. While no ships were in, normally Wed/Thur are ship days, there was a coffee shop open in the harbor pavilion. The shop operator was only too happy to make an afternoon sale as the place was emptier then Nancy Pelosi. We had an engaging conversation where we learned about a museum on the second floor and it was free. After that, it was a drive through old town Sydney, but nothing caught our fancy. Sydney is one of those towns where the two major industries, coal and steel, have gone away and it is now trying to redefine itself as a tourist destination. Blue collar goes culturally historic with a degree of artsyness (is that even a word, I think not) tossed in for good measure.
So this morning, we were off to drive Cabot Trail (www.cabottrail.travel) which encompasses the Cape Breton Highlands National Park. The tour books recommend allowing 6-8 hours to fully explore the 185 miles of road, so we ventured out at 8:45. Just east of the town of Baddeck (Bagh deck, there is a strong Scottish influence on the island and Highlanders first emigrated here in the early 1800’s) we began our drive along the Trail. The road from there to Margaree Harbor dissects this part of the island as it winds northwest ward through rolling hills of forest and farm. As we descended into Margaree Harbor, the coastline came into view. From here, the Trail swings northward and you can see the hills to the east, rising from the farmland buffer between them and the sea. The small towns along the way have French names like: Grand E’tang; Belle Cote; and Cap le-Moine. Each town is a blending of fishing and farming. And each town marks a steady change in the topography. The hills are rising higher while the buffer to the sea is dwindling. By the time you reach Cheticamp, the coastline has assumed the ruggedness we saw in Gaspe, with the now, mountains dropping straight into the see, while the coast road does all it can to hang on to the landmass. At Cap Rouge, just north of Presqu’ile, the road leaves the sea behind as it ascends French Mountain (455 M. or 1478.75 ft.). Then just as dramatically as it left, it returns to the sea, racing pell-mell down the other side of the mountain until the shore break is just a stone’s throw away. The reunion is short as the road once more begins the winding trek towards the high forested ridges it will traverse as it re-crosses the island headed eastbound. The east coast doesn’t have the grandeur displayed by the west coast, but remains a beautiful drive. Our friend Dana speaks of her fondness for Crème Brulee in that she enjoys the whole, but loves the top the best. The top being that caramelized surface created by a kitchen torch or under a broiler. Well if this drive is Crème Brulee, the west cost is the top.
In PEI, the soil has a very high content of iron. When the soil is worked and brought to the surface the iron rusts and turns the soil red. Here in Nova Scotia, the iron is still evident, but not to the extent of what we saw on PEI. Much of the exposed rock face we saw in the Highlands revealed the reddishness of iron aside the granite or limestone.
We have seen hints of fall, but the Nova Scotia fall runs a bit later then what will be seen west of here. My assumption is the generally lower altitude combined with the influence of the Gulf Stream serve to keep at bay for a couple of weeks. But as we were driving today, we were both startled at times by a sudden eruption of color. Sometimes, it would be a single red maple tree who decided to show up early for the dance. We would come around a corner or crest a ridge and there it would be, all decked out in a scarlet formal against a backdrop of forest green tuxedos. Other displays have just been the tops of one or two red maples, blushing and embarrassed they have changed so soon while the rest of the tree has yet to even look in the closet. On occasion, we see a sugar maple beginning to transition to the yellow/orange flame appearance. But those sightings have been rare.
Another assumption of mine has to do with churches and cemeteries. In rural Quebec Provence and out towards Gaspe, we never saw a church without an adjacent cemetery. This held true into northern New Brunswick, but here in Nova Scotia, cemeteries sit alone, surrounded by parkland or forest. I believe this has to do with the predominance of Catholicism in eastern Quebec. As each town/village had its own church, the church then had its parish and parish cemetery. As we have moved away from Quebec, the church denominations have increased. Where we saw only Catholic with an occasional Anglican church, we now seen not only those two but Baptist, Jehovah’s Witness, United Church of Canada, Presbyterian and a couple of free Christian. Hence, cemeteries tend to be more diverse then parish orientated.
The most northern realm of Cape Breton has a strong Scottish influence. There is a museum, a Piper’s School and the gift shops are full of Scottish stuff. As I’ve written before, Canada has become a bi-lingual nation with everything official printed in both English and French (this however is not necessarily true in Quebec where English is rarely posted). But in the Highland area, you now get the names of places in both English and Gaelic. Many of the names also represent the Mi’kmaq people who were the first settlers in the area. Like many places around North America, the influence of the various inhabitants has influenced much that we know today.
Tomorrow, our day is dictated by the weather. If it is supposed to rain all day, we will probably move on towards Halifax. If it is clear and windy, we may try to sail here or possibly at Baddeck. Allez les bon temps rouleaux!
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Sunday, A day of rest
So we are taking a day of rest. We are in Antigonish, Nova Scotia which is a college town. As we entered town yesterday afternoon, St. Francis Xavier University was the first thing to greet us. Red brick buildings with portico and columns (that may be redundant) spread across a manicured green campus gave an instant impression of university. This morning we took a walk around downtown. Unlike what we have become accustom to in CA, the stores are closed on Sunday, or don’t open until noon. We considered ducking into a Tim Horton’s for a donut or pastry, but the church across the street had just let out and the congregation moved to TH ahead of us and the line was out the door with both congregants and students.
There was a smattering of rain this morning. We needed umbrellas for about 5 minutes; the rest of the time was more like a heavy mist. I think Spice enjoyed the change of pace. She was dry by the time we were back at the RV.
When we first entered Nova Scotia yesterday at Amherst, we had choice to either take the main road or go north along the coast. We chose the coast road. Not necessarily the best decision. The road was two lanes, which most roads have been, with only a 12-24 inch berm. When it was smooth, it was fine, but a lot of the road was in disrepair with asphalt patches and no berm. A rough road does several things, none of them pleasant. First, the RV becomes a rolling earthquake. Your ears are assaulted by the sounds of everything you own bouncing on some shelf or in some cabinet. The second is, I become fixated on my driving as I move to avoid rougher sections, slow to absorb others and just grit my teeth through the rest. Third, sitting high in the RV is nice on a smooth road, but when you’re being pitched right and left by rough pavement, the lateral swing in significant. I do “ok” as I have the steering wheel to hang onto. Carol on the other hand, just has to ride it out, occasionally advising me there is no road on her side and she would appreciate me moving back towards the middle. A couple hours of this type of driving, we are both feeling the effects. So we stopped at a winery.
The Jost Winery is known for it Icewine. But we tried some of the others. They have quite a variety of wines. The labeling is quite different from what I’m used to: different grapes and different processes. I bought a non-oak Noir and a Leon Millot. Both are a bit unique. I also got an icewine for Carol.
Carol called and booked our passage on the ferry from Yarmouth to Bar Harbor. It is pretty pricey but saves us approximately 550 miles of driving. It also gives us a date that we will be back in the good old U.S.A. For now, we are enjoying having the internet and catching up on mail, banking, columns and blogs.
There was a smattering of rain this morning. We needed umbrellas for about 5 minutes; the rest of the time was more like a heavy mist. I think Spice enjoyed the change of pace. She was dry by the time we were back at the RV.
When we first entered Nova Scotia yesterday at Amherst, we had choice to either take the main road or go north along the coast. We chose the coast road. Not necessarily the best decision. The road was two lanes, which most roads have been, with only a 12-24 inch berm. When it was smooth, it was fine, but a lot of the road was in disrepair with asphalt patches and no berm. A rough road does several things, none of them pleasant. First, the RV becomes a rolling earthquake. Your ears are assaulted by the sounds of everything you own bouncing on some shelf or in some cabinet. The second is, I become fixated on my driving as I move to avoid rougher sections, slow to absorb others and just grit my teeth through the rest. Third, sitting high in the RV is nice on a smooth road, but when you’re being pitched right and left by rough pavement, the lateral swing in significant. I do “ok” as I have the steering wheel to hang onto. Carol on the other hand, just has to ride it out, occasionally advising me there is no road on her side and she would appreciate me moving back towards the middle. A couple hours of this type of driving, we are both feeling the effects. So we stopped at a winery.
The Jost Winery is known for it Icewine. But we tried some of the others. They have quite a variety of wines. The labeling is quite different from what I’m used to: different grapes and different processes. I bought a non-oak Noir and a Leon Millot. Both are a bit unique. I also got an icewine for Carol.
Carol called and booked our passage on the ferry from Yarmouth to Bar Harbor. It is pretty pricey but saves us approximately 550 miles of driving. It also gives us a date that we will be back in the good old U.S.A. For now, we are enjoying having the internet and catching up on mail, banking, columns and blogs.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
September 11, 2009 – Observations
The colors (house color that is) that bleached out to white in New Brunswick, have reappeared in PEI. Not to the extent of color in Gaspe, but still color is used in establishing an exterior décor. It is nice to see.
In New Brunswick and now in PEI, everything is written twice, one in English and once in French. But when we were in Quebec, things were only written in French unless you were in a National Park.
Carol has a certain fascination with road signs, I don’t know why.
The island becomes much smaller driving the Dakota as opposed to the RV.
When driving the RV, the bigger the road, the more I can enjoy the scenery. Most of the roads we have been on lately are narrow with no shoulder. Where are we?
Hay can be baled either into rectangular bales or into round bales. The preference here seems to be round. Perhaps, the preference is determined by the equipment available.
Most of the private campgrounds we have stayed at have a significant population of seasonal or quasi permanent tenants. I don’t know if people live in the RV’s (trailers) or just use them as campsites, but most have decks and other adornments which preclude them from moving.
There are a lot of homes for sale here. I asked a local about it and she said that the economy is really hurting. The fishing is way down, the farming is down and people are in over their heads. Some of the homes were bought to be summer rentals, and the tourism has declined.
We first saw the elderberry bushes in N.Y. They were beginning two “berry out” with bunches of red berries. In Quebec, the mountain ash joined in the fun, producing its own berries in a slightly less red, a little more orange color. While both the mountain ash and the elderberry tend to grow with their own, we often see them together.
The colors (house color that is) that bleached out to white in New Brunswick, have reappeared in PEI. Not to the extent of color in Gaspe, but still color is used in establishing an exterior décor. It is nice to see.
In New Brunswick and now in PEI, everything is written twice, one in English and once in French. But when we were in Quebec, things were only written in French unless you were in a National Park.
Carol has a certain fascination with road signs, I don’t know why.
The island becomes much smaller driving the Dakota as opposed to the RV.
When driving the RV, the bigger the road, the more I can enjoy the scenery. Most of the roads we have been on lately are narrow with no shoulder. Where are we?
Hay can be baled either into rectangular bales or into round bales. The preference here seems to be round. Perhaps, the preference is determined by the equipment available.
Most of the private campgrounds we have stayed at have a significant population of seasonal or quasi permanent tenants. I don’t know if people live in the RV’s (trailers) or just use them as campsites, but most have decks and other adornments which preclude them from moving.
There are a lot of homes for sale here. I asked a local about it and she said that the economy is really hurting. The fishing is way down, the farming is down and people are in over their heads. Some of the homes were bought to be summer rentals, and the tourism has declined.
We first saw the elderberry bushes in N.Y. They were beginning two “berry out” with bunches of red berries. In Quebec, the mountain ash joined in the fun, producing its own berries in a slightly less red, a little more orange color. While both the mountain ash and the elderberry tend to grow with their own, we often see them together.
Friday, September 11, 2009
September 11, 2009 – Prince Edward Island
We explored the western end of the island yesterday sans GPS. Our first stop was a little harbor village in Summerside, the PEI version of a Shoreline Village. In the gift shop, they sold fudge and I bought the last of the chocolate. As of today, the fudge and ice cream concession is closed.
From there it was off to see the bottle houses. It is not anything you would see in CA, as the construction is simply a collection of bottles embedded in concrete to form walls. In all, there are three structures: a chapel, a house and a tavern. Then it was off to the potato museum. Yes, a potato museum. Potatoes are a major crop grown on PEI along with Corn and Soy Bean. Anyway, the museum highlights the history of the potato and it growth as a major food crop. From the museum, we journeyed to see the West Point Lighthouse which is now an Inn and Restaurant. You can actually stay in rooms in the lighthouse. Carol went in while Spice and I took a walk on the beach. We met a couple from Saskatchewan. They had never been in eastern Canada, so this was quite an adventure for them.
We had considered driving to the northeast to see the large wind farm project and interpretive center, but decided to pass. We did decide to stay one more day on PEI.
This A.M., I went to the K.O.A. office to see about staying another day. I don’t know when Halloween is in Canada, but at this campground it is this weekend. The spot we were in was reserved for the weekend but we could change to another spot. When I asked about the campground filling up for the weekend, the woman said that it would be quite busy as many of the island families come there for the three day Halloween festivities. That pretty much sealed the deal for us. We packed up and moved about 20 miles down the road, closer to Charlottetown. The move actually saved us a couple of bucks in camping costs.
While driving to the new campground, we stopped at the PEI preserves shop and bought preserves. Being only a half block from the toy store, we left everything in the preserves parking lot and walk to the toy shop. The toy shop features wooded toys which are made on the premises. You can actually watch the craftsmen in the shop.
We spent the afternoon in Charlottetown, the provincial capitol. Walking around downtown is much like being in a moderate size Irish town with pubs, small hotels and shops. The area around the ship harbor is again like a Seashore village as they get a lot of trade from the cruise ships. The highlight was St. Dunstan’s Basilica. The largest Catholic Cathedral on the Island, it is quite beautiful both inside and out. Carol got some great photos. One of the things I appreciate about Catholic Churches/Cathedrals is they are open to the public and you are welcome to come in. Sometimes the construction is awesome, sometimes just so-so. They can be a bit gaudy. But usually, the stain glass is interesting, as are the embellishments around the altar.
Not yet having had enough fun, we ventured off to the “Cows Creamery” for a tour. Cows Creamery is well known in Canada for their quality ice cream. But they are also quasi famous for their tee shirts (check out the web site for some good illustrations). There were ten of us on the tour: Carol and I along with four Amish/Shaker couples. We were supposed to where our creamery hats while on the tour. So these four Amish/Shaker women carefully put the creamery hats on over their little white bonnets (Carol and I have been discussing what to call the head piece they wear and bonnet is as close as we can come. Whatever it is, it fits tightly over the hair and ties beneath the chin. It is usually a netted material with a bit of lace trim). Carol really wanted to get a picture.
So that is it for PEI. Tomorrow, we’re off to Nova Scotia.
From there it was off to see the bottle houses. It is not anything you would see in CA, as the construction is simply a collection of bottles embedded in concrete to form walls. In all, there are three structures: a chapel, a house and a tavern. Then it was off to the potato museum. Yes, a potato museum. Potatoes are a major crop grown on PEI along with Corn and Soy Bean. Anyway, the museum highlights the history of the potato and it growth as a major food crop. From the museum, we journeyed to see the West Point Lighthouse which is now an Inn and Restaurant. You can actually stay in rooms in the lighthouse. Carol went in while Spice and I took a walk on the beach. We met a couple from Saskatchewan. They had never been in eastern Canada, so this was quite an adventure for them.
We had considered driving to the northeast to see the large wind farm project and interpretive center, but decided to pass. We did decide to stay one more day on PEI.
This A.M., I went to the K.O.A. office to see about staying another day. I don’t know when Halloween is in Canada, but at this campground it is this weekend. The spot we were in was reserved for the weekend but we could change to another spot. When I asked about the campground filling up for the weekend, the woman said that it would be quite busy as many of the island families come there for the three day Halloween festivities. That pretty much sealed the deal for us. We packed up and moved about 20 miles down the road, closer to Charlottetown. The move actually saved us a couple of bucks in camping costs.
While driving to the new campground, we stopped at the PEI preserves shop and bought preserves. Being only a half block from the toy store, we left everything in the preserves parking lot and walk to the toy shop. The toy shop features wooded toys which are made on the premises. You can actually watch the craftsmen in the shop.
We spent the afternoon in Charlottetown, the provincial capitol. Walking around downtown is much like being in a moderate size Irish town with pubs, small hotels and shops. The area around the ship harbor is again like a Seashore village as they get a lot of trade from the cruise ships. The highlight was St. Dunstan’s Basilica. The largest Catholic Cathedral on the Island, it is quite beautiful both inside and out. Carol got some great photos. One of the things I appreciate about Catholic Churches/Cathedrals is they are open to the public and you are welcome to come in. Sometimes the construction is awesome, sometimes just so-so. They can be a bit gaudy. But usually, the stain glass is interesting, as are the embellishments around the altar.
Not yet having had enough fun, we ventured off to the “Cows Creamery” for a tour. Cows Creamery is well known in Canada for their quality ice cream. But they are also quasi famous for their tee shirts (check out the web site for some good illustrations). There were ten of us on the tour: Carol and I along with four Amish/Shaker couples. We were supposed to where our creamery hats while on the tour. So these four Amish/Shaker women carefully put the creamery hats on over their little white bonnets (Carol and I have been discussing what to call the head piece they wear and bonnet is as close as we can come. Whatever it is, it fits tightly over the hair and ties beneath the chin. It is usually a netted material with a bit of lace trim). Carol really wanted to get a picture.
So that is it for PEI. Tomorrow, we’re off to Nova Scotia.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
September 9, 2009 - Wifi Finally
After editorializing about campgrounds, internet and WiFi, I took my laptop and walked the 100 yards to the pool. There I sat on a bench with my back to the morning sun and initiated contact with WiFi. Please understand there was no possible way for me to sit that the bright morning sun didn’t either create massive glare or completely washout my laptop’s screen. Through it all, I managed to get onto the internet, retrieve from Word all of my writings and get them posted.
While all of this was going on, Carol packed the RV. She also was nice enough to wash the windshield (me thinks she had a motive here) and the front of the RV to remove yesterday’s carnage. With everything done we rolled out at 10:30 A.M., Atlantic Time. First stop, the gas station. We were came through town yesterday evening, we saw the Esso station (yes folks, it is Esso, not Exxon) but no posting of price. With over 450 miles on the RV since the last fill-up, we knew it was thirsty and the last price we saw was $1.059 a liter. Lo and Behold, Esso was 99.9. 400 liters and $400 later, we were on our way again.
They actually come out and pump the gasoline for you; it was like being in Oregon. So while Carol oversaw the filling of the RV, it was my job to get post card stamps from the P.O. across the street. The cost of a postcard stamp for mailing to the U.S. is 98 cents per. And, don’t forget, it’s taxed. Final accounting: six stamps, 98 cents each for a cost of $5.88; tax, $1.06 for a total of $6.96. But the health care is free.
As we motored south, we saw more and more farmland. The mountains have moved west and the terrain is gently rolling, not unlike Iowa or central Illinois. But at the edge of the highway right-of-way, the pines, spruce, maple, elm and what ever else, block any view you might have. We are seeing the first vestiges of fall as the maples are beginning to redden. There is also some yellow or gold starting to show, but I don’t know what trees are changing.
If you were a white paint salesman and this was you district, you could make a fortune. The bright hues we saw in Quebec and Gaspe have been replaced with white. No trim color for accentuation, just white. Roofs are black or grey, some deep green. Our travel takes us more inland, something the terrain in Gaspe did not allow and we see fewer villages and more farms or small acre plots. Conversely, the towns along our route have grown larger. The people we have met are open and friendly. Perhaps it is the language thing, because English is the language of preference in New Brunswick.
This afternoon, we crossed the causeway from N.B. to Prince Edward Island. It is 12.9 kilometers long or just over eight miles in length. Like the bridges in the Bay area, you only pay one-way and that way is out. So we’re looking at around $60 when we leave. PEI is a tourist destination and as such, it begins to close down in September. We hadn’t planned on doing any touristy things, but the campground suggested we check our daily itinerary as some operating hours/days have been cut back. We are at a K.O.A. and while Kids normally Outnumber Adults in these parks, with school back in session, this one is pretty empty. But it has WiFi (he wrote with the sounds of the Hallelujah Chorus in the background).
We’re going to explore for the next few days. So, we will be on-line for mail.
While all of this was going on, Carol packed the RV. She also was nice enough to wash the windshield (me thinks she had a motive here) and the front of the RV to remove yesterday’s carnage. With everything done we rolled out at 10:30 A.M., Atlantic Time. First stop, the gas station. We were came through town yesterday evening, we saw the Esso station (yes folks, it is Esso, not Exxon) but no posting of price. With over 450 miles on the RV since the last fill-up, we knew it was thirsty and the last price we saw was $1.059 a liter. Lo and Behold, Esso was 99.9. 400 liters and $400 later, we were on our way again.
They actually come out and pump the gasoline for you; it was like being in Oregon. So while Carol oversaw the filling of the RV, it was my job to get post card stamps from the P.O. across the street. The cost of a postcard stamp for mailing to the U.S. is 98 cents per. And, don’t forget, it’s taxed. Final accounting: six stamps, 98 cents each for a cost of $5.88; tax, $1.06 for a total of $6.96. But the health care is free.
As we motored south, we saw more and more farmland. The mountains have moved west and the terrain is gently rolling, not unlike Iowa or central Illinois. But at the edge of the highway right-of-way, the pines, spruce, maple, elm and what ever else, block any view you might have. We are seeing the first vestiges of fall as the maples are beginning to redden. There is also some yellow or gold starting to show, but I don’t know what trees are changing.
If you were a white paint salesman and this was you district, you could make a fortune. The bright hues we saw in Quebec and Gaspe have been replaced with white. No trim color for accentuation, just white. Roofs are black or grey, some deep green. Our travel takes us more inland, something the terrain in Gaspe did not allow and we see fewer villages and more farms or small acre plots. Conversely, the towns along our route have grown larger. The people we have met are open and friendly. Perhaps it is the language thing, because English is the language of preference in New Brunswick.
This afternoon, we crossed the causeway from N.B. to Prince Edward Island. It is 12.9 kilometers long or just over eight miles in length. Like the bridges in the Bay area, you only pay one-way and that way is out. So we’re looking at around $60 when we leave. PEI is a tourist destination and as such, it begins to close down in September. We hadn’t planned on doing any touristy things, but the campground suggested we check our daily itinerary as some operating hours/days have been cut back. We are at a K.O.A. and while Kids normally Outnumber Adults in these parks, with school back in session, this one is pretty empty. But it has WiFi (he wrote with the sounds of the Hallelujah Chorus in the background).
We’re going to explore for the next few days. So, we will be on-line for mail.
September 9, 2009 – To Wifi or not to Wifi, the Internet is the question
Our RV’ing friends probably have experienced this, but I’m finally fed up enough to write Good Sam’s and Woodalls. In all of our travel, U.S. and Canada, we have kept an eye open for campgrounds with either internet or WiFi. The campground we are in now advertised WiFi in both the Good Sam atlas and in Woodalls. Last night as we checked in, after driving an extra hour to get here, we asked about the WiFi only to be told, “Yes, we have it (and here comes the “But” Monkey), you can get it by the pool or by the dumpster. It doesn’t reach the campsites.
In Iowa, we were told that it should work, but if it doesn’t just come sit by the office. Forget the fact it was raining at the time. At another location they said it must have been an error as they don’t have internet or Wifi.
It seems only fitting that a facility advertising WiFi, should have it available throughout the campground. If not, advertise limited service or ignore it all together. Instead, campgrounds are running a semi bait and switch operation to get those of us who need occasional internet service to stop at their locales.
“Ok”, enough whining. I’m off to the pool to see if I can post what I wrote last night and this morning. Carol, possessor of the giant screen I-Mac, will not be posting any more pictures until we reach an actual WiFi or internet location.
In Iowa, we were told that it should work, but if it doesn’t just come sit by the office. Forget the fact it was raining at the time. At another location they said it must have been an error as they don’t have internet or Wifi.
It seems only fitting that a facility advertising WiFi, should have it available throughout the campground. If not, advertise limited service or ignore it all together. Instead, campgrounds are running a semi bait and switch operation to get those of us who need occasional internet service to stop at their locales.
“Ok”, enough whining. I’m off to the pool to see if I can post what I wrote last night and this morning. Carol, possessor of the giant screen I-Mac, will not be posting any more pictures until we reach an actual WiFi or internet location.
September 8, 2009 – Travel Episodes
Got GPS? You better have a map. Got a navigator? Make sure she is not taking pictures. If your navigator is on the phone, you are bound to wind up lost.
It started in N.Y. on our way to the North Pole. As we passed through the town of Jay, Gigi, the GPS instructed me to turn northwest on route 9. We had been traveling on route 9 as we approached the intersection she was referring to. To my left, heading northwest was route 86. To my right was route 9 heading north. Closer to my right was my navigator with the map in her lap, but talking with either friend or family. I made a snap decision and followed route 9. Gigi, in her inimical way, said, “Re-calculating”.
Today we are trucking down the road on our merry way to Perce. I’m following the road signs of HWY 132 and Perce “X” number of miles ahead. Carol is busily taking photos through the windshield. Suddenly, Gigi says, “in point three mile turn right.” “What the …. “says I. And, now we are at the intersection. The road sign says Perce, HWY 132 Ouest straight ahead; Barachois turn right. I say, “Where the heck is Barachois?” and blow straight through the intersection. Gigi says, “Re-calculating.” By now, Carol has caught up, checked the map and said that Gigi was just cutting off some milage by going overland versus around a small peninsula. It would probably have saved us ten miles and we wouldn’t have passed that ugly house on the left.
Later today, we are coming into Nouvelle, on the northshore of Chaleur Bay on our way to Pointe a la Croix where route 132 would junction with route 11. We would take route 11 south into New Brunswick. Gigi instructs us to turn left off of route 132. I’m thinking I was wrong the last two times, so I best be turning. Carol is thinking that something is wrong. Too late, I’m turning. As Carol is advancing Gigi through the planned route, she realized that Gigi wants us to take the ferry across the Chaleur Bay. While it will save us a ton of milage, we’ve no idea if the ferry even exists as it is not shown on the atlas. Two and a half miles later, at the base of another 15 degree downslope, I reach a place I can turn the rig around. It is like a four way stop with the only traffic being the poor souls stuck behind me. By now we’ve decided that even if a ferry does exist, they probably don’t take RV’s, especially ones with a vehicle in tow. And, even if they do take RV’s towing another vehicle, what is the cost? And, how often does it run? So we make a U-turn and head back from whence we came. We re-join route 132 and precede none the worse for wear, just some lost time.
So now we are in New Brunswick. Not much here.
It started in N.Y. on our way to the North Pole. As we passed through the town of Jay, Gigi, the GPS instructed me to turn northwest on route 9. We had been traveling on route 9 as we approached the intersection she was referring to. To my left, heading northwest was route 86. To my right was route 9 heading north. Closer to my right was my navigator with the map in her lap, but talking with either friend or family. I made a snap decision and followed route 9. Gigi, in her inimical way, said, “Re-calculating”.
Today we are trucking down the road on our merry way to Perce. I’m following the road signs of HWY 132 and Perce “X” number of miles ahead. Carol is busily taking photos through the windshield. Suddenly, Gigi says, “in point three mile turn right.” “What the …. “says I. And, now we are at the intersection. The road sign says Perce, HWY 132 Ouest straight ahead; Barachois turn right. I say, “Where the heck is Barachois?” and blow straight through the intersection. Gigi says, “Re-calculating.” By now, Carol has caught up, checked the map and said that Gigi was just cutting off some milage by going overland versus around a small peninsula. It would probably have saved us ten miles and we wouldn’t have passed that ugly house on the left.
Later today, we are coming into Nouvelle, on the northshore of Chaleur Bay on our way to Pointe a la Croix where route 132 would junction with route 11. We would take route 11 south into New Brunswick. Gigi instructs us to turn left off of route 132. I’m thinking I was wrong the last two times, so I best be turning. Carol is thinking that something is wrong. Too late, I’m turning. As Carol is advancing Gigi through the planned route, she realized that Gigi wants us to take the ferry across the Chaleur Bay. While it will save us a ton of milage, we’ve no idea if the ferry even exists as it is not shown on the atlas. Two and a half miles later, at the base of another 15 degree downslope, I reach a place I can turn the rig around. It is like a four way stop with the only traffic being the poor souls stuck behind me. By now we’ve decided that even if a ferry does exist, they probably don’t take RV’s, especially ones with a vehicle in tow. And, even if they do take RV’s towing another vehicle, what is the cost? And, how often does it run? So we make a U-turn and head back from whence we came. We re-join route 132 and precede none the worse for wear, just some lost time.
So now we are in New Brunswick. Not much here.
September 8. 2009 - Costs
Let me change the subject for a moment. Yesterday, Labor day in both Canada and the U.S. we found a store where I could buy a stove size Coleman propane bottle. The one I have I bought at the K.O.A. in Texas last spring for $4.50 which was probably $.50 more then I would have paid at Wal Mart. The little grocery store had the bottles, retailing for $7.98. Even discounted for the Canadian dollar, that’s a heap of change. If we were back at home the sales tax would be almost 79 cents. But, here in Canada, the sales tax was 96 cents. We have been commenting to each other about the Canadian taxes and how steep they are. We first noticed it while on the Canadian side in Niagara Falls. Every purchase had a national tax, a provincial tax and a city tax. Maybe they don’t have an income tax and it is replaced with a national sales tax. Regardless, the taxes are high.
Our first gasoline cost was 99.9 per liter or roughly $3.80 a gallon. As we headed east towards Gaspe, we watched the price steadily climb to $1.04.9 per liter which became the norm. I don’t know how much of that is taxes. The good news today was the price dropped to $1.03.4. The bad news is that we didn’t need gas. Hoping it would continue to decline in price we drove merrily onward only to see it rise again to $1.05.9 or the equivalent of $4.00 a gallon.
The little bit of food shopping we have done, doesn’t really give you a good basis for comparison, but it appears food costs run a bit lower then at home.
Our first gasoline cost was 99.9 per liter or roughly $3.80 a gallon. As we headed east towards Gaspe, we watched the price steadily climb to $1.04.9 per liter which became the norm. I don’t know how much of that is taxes. The good news today was the price dropped to $1.03.4. The bad news is that we didn’t need gas. Hoping it would continue to decline in price we drove merrily onward only to see it rise again to $1.05.9 or the equivalent of $4.00 a gallon.
The little bit of food shopping we have done, doesn’t really give you a good basis for comparison, but it appears food costs run a bit lower then at home.
September 8, 2009 – Travels by foot and by RV
Sometime yesterday after we had returned from our exploits in the south sector of the park, I commented to Carol that before we left in the morning, I would like to go down to Cap Bon Ami which is the end of the road in the north sector of the park. She suggested that since it was just 6:30, there was no reason we couldn’t go right then. And so we did.
Once there, we were very glad that we had ventured out again. There was a spectacular overlook which enable us to see “Shipshead” to the right and the lighthouse at Cap des Rosiers to the left. We were able to take the stairs down (almost vertical) to the beach. As we proceeded down the steps, we notice numerous flows of water on our right. It must be a veritable waterfall in spring and early summer; even still, the flow of water spread through the moss and lichen creating liquid strings connecting the layers of rock. Back in the parking lot, we decided we would climb to the observation tower located on Mont St. Alban before we left in the morning.
We were out of bed this morning at 7:15. We fed the dog, grabbed a quick bowl of cereal for ourselves, packed some water and the last of the banana bread, took Spice’s leash and were off again to Cap Bon Ami. When you are in the parking lot, you can look straight up the mountain and see the tower perched 917 feet above you. The trail is 1.8 kilometers or just over a mile. In the first third of the climb, you gain about 2/3 of the elevation. And no, there are no switchbacks, you just go up. When the going up gets really steep, they put in steps. It took us 40 minutes to reach the tower, but it was worth every step. From the top of the tower, you get a 360 degree panorama of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, the Gulf of Gaspe, Perce and the Perce rock to the south, New Foundland to the northeast and northern Quebec across the Gulf to the north. It took us 35 minutes to descend back to the parking lot. By 10:45 we had cleaned up camp, showered and were on the road again passing through the exit gate with 15 minutes to spare.
For the first thirty miles we covered the same road we have driven yesterday in the Dakota. Once we had passed Cap aux Os, we were again in new territory. We rolled through villages with French names and came to the actual town of Gaspe, located at the head of the Gulf of Gaspe. It is an actual town, larger then most of the villages we had passed through. Then it was on to Perce (there is a grave over the final e, but I don’t know how to do that. It is the same grave that is over the final e in Gaspe. The two towns share it on alternating days, excluding Sundays when it is laid to rest along with John Brown’s Body).
Perce is a tourist town home to Roche de Perce. Perce Rock is home to some 168,000 birds during the summer of which 64,000 are northern gannets. So tourists come to see a giant piece of rock fighting off the ocean’s eroding effects while slowly being buried in bird guano. It is some what similar to the rock at Monterey, except it runs horizontally out into the sea, where the rock in Monterey bay is more like a nude sunbathers silicone filled breast. We had hoped to stop here and walk around some. As we crept through the town looking for any place we might park 57 feet of rolling earthquake, it soon became evident there was none to be had. In hindsight, it was probably best as we don’t speak French, probably would not have wanted to buy anything and Carol got a good shot of the rock from the window.
As we travelled west along Gaspe’s southern shore, the ruggedness of the terrain began to soften. The steep elevation changes and sheer vertical cliffs dropping into the sea dwindled to rolling hills which eased their way towards the water. Instead of waterfalls cascading down facades of granite, there were salmon rivers meeting the sea at estuaries where they played a tidal tug of war. And so it is we bid “aurevoir” to Gaspe and all of its grandeur.
Once there, we were very glad that we had ventured out again. There was a spectacular overlook which enable us to see “Shipshead” to the right and the lighthouse at Cap des Rosiers to the left. We were able to take the stairs down (almost vertical) to the beach. As we proceeded down the steps, we notice numerous flows of water on our right. It must be a veritable waterfall in spring and early summer; even still, the flow of water spread through the moss and lichen creating liquid strings connecting the layers of rock. Back in the parking lot, we decided we would climb to the observation tower located on Mont St. Alban before we left in the morning.
We were out of bed this morning at 7:15. We fed the dog, grabbed a quick bowl of cereal for ourselves, packed some water and the last of the banana bread, took Spice’s leash and were off again to Cap Bon Ami. When you are in the parking lot, you can look straight up the mountain and see the tower perched 917 feet above you. The trail is 1.8 kilometers or just over a mile. In the first third of the climb, you gain about 2/3 of the elevation. And no, there are no switchbacks, you just go up. When the going up gets really steep, they put in steps. It took us 40 minutes to reach the tower, but it was worth every step. From the top of the tower, you get a 360 degree panorama of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, the Gulf of Gaspe, Perce and the Perce rock to the south, New Foundland to the northeast and northern Quebec across the Gulf to the north. It took us 35 minutes to descend back to the parking lot. By 10:45 we had cleaned up camp, showered and were on the road again passing through the exit gate with 15 minutes to spare.
For the first thirty miles we covered the same road we have driven yesterday in the Dakota. Once we had passed Cap aux Os, we were again in new territory. We rolled through villages with French names and came to the actual town of Gaspe, located at the head of the Gulf of Gaspe. It is an actual town, larger then most of the villages we had passed through. Then it was on to Perce (there is a grave over the final e, but I don’t know how to do that. It is the same grave that is over the final e in Gaspe. The two towns share it on alternating days, excluding Sundays when it is laid to rest along with John Brown’s Body).
Perce is a tourist town home to Roche de Perce. Perce Rock is home to some 168,000 birds during the summer of which 64,000 are northern gannets. So tourists come to see a giant piece of rock fighting off the ocean’s eroding effects while slowly being buried in bird guano. It is some what similar to the rock at Monterey, except it runs horizontally out into the sea, where the rock in Monterey bay is more like a nude sunbathers silicone filled breast. We had hoped to stop here and walk around some. As we crept through the town looking for any place we might park 57 feet of rolling earthquake, it soon became evident there was none to be had. In hindsight, it was probably best as we don’t speak French, probably would not have wanted to buy anything and Carol got a good shot of the rock from the window.
As we travelled west along Gaspe’s southern shore, the ruggedness of the terrain began to soften. The steep elevation changes and sheer vertical cliffs dropping into the sea dwindled to rolling hills which eased their way towards the water. Instead of waterfalls cascading down facades of granite, there were salmon rivers meeting the sea at estuaries where they played a tidal tug of war. And so it is we bid “aurevoir” to Gaspe and all of its grandeur.
September 7, 2009 - Gaspe 2
The little electric heater we bought at Matane, worked well last night. I have one sitting on the shelves at home and considered bringing it, but it still sits on the shelves at home. When we took Spice for her evening walk, it had cooled considerably. In fact, most of yesterday wasn’t what you would call warm. Carol said it all last night, “it’s the first week of September and I’m wearing a ski jacket!” So this morning as I prepared to take Spice for a morning walk, I dressed as I thought would be appropriate: undershirt, tee shirt, long sleeve heavy weight shirt and my ski jacket. For you purist, I also wore jeans, socks and shoes. It wasn’t really that cold; in fact it felt warmer then the previous evening. However, as we got down towards the shoreline, away from the trees, the wind became very apparent. As I would look out at the water, it was white capping with a pretty steady 15 mph wind. But then you would see an area of water roiling black suddenly burst with liquid smoke as the white caps exploded into mist driven by a 40 mph gust. It was awesome to watch.
After breakfast, we three merry travelers took the Dakota to the south side of the peninsula, where you can hike out to Shipshead rock and light house. This is still with in the National Park but is a different recreational area. On the way, we stopped at La Chute, a nice waterfall area with a loop hike of one kilometer. The trail is entirely boardwalk and very well maintained. We passed through primarily evergreens, but after we crossed the stream and climbed up the opposite side, we were in a large
Then it was on to the South Sector. We drove to Les Graves. There we parked the truck for the four kilometer hike to Cap Gaspe and the light house. When you start out, you have a choice. You can walk along a gravel service road to the end of the peninsula, or you can take the trail. The trail extends along the water, then crosses the service road to climb to the top of the ridge, before descending a short distance down to the lighthouse. The service road was fine as it gave us some nice views of the
Once back at the lighthouse, we ate the snack we had brought. The area around the lighthouse is similar to a small park with benches and picnic tables. So we sat down in the shade, broke out the banana bread I had baked, grabbed water bottles and a bowl for Spice and dug in. Thirty minutes later with food in our tummies and our fluid replenished, it was time to start back. We opted for the trail which climbed a short distance to the ridgeline. The wind we had earlier in the day had all but disappeared. The sun was high overhead and it got warm. The trail through the forest provided almost full shade and cooler temperatures. Along the way, we passed several pines which had been uprooted by high winds, but had not fallen as they were held erect by the denseness of the adjacent trees. The trail took us across the service road and down toward the water. On the lower trail, there were no trees, but an abundance of wild flowers. Carol was in photog heaven. Finally, back at the truck, we gave Spice some more water and headed home. Spice did well when you figure we covered over 10 kilometers during our walks today.
Tomorrow we are off to another destination, we just don’t know where it will be. But before we go, the is a hike from Cap Bon Ami, named for a sea captain Bonamy, to a look out tower on Mont St. Alban. It is only 1.8K but climbs 282 meters. No, I haven’t done the math, but looking at the tower from the parking lot, it appears to be a nearly vertical climb.
Gasp -- Gaspe
GSeptember 6, 2009
We’ve arrived at Farillon National Park of Canada located on the
The Drive. It is only 180 miles from Matane to des Rosiers campground were we now reside. Less then three hours on route 5; closer to three hours on route 99; and, an eternity on highway 1. We spent most of the day on the Canadian version of hwy 1. What began as a typical two lane road slowly disintegrated into a narrow, winding road with severe elevation changes and numerous stretches of road construction, also known as “travaux”. This was not “slow down, we are working on the road” construction: this was “there is no road, we hope your shock absorbers work well” construction. And, we are not talking about a couple of hundred yards of no pavement; we’re talking about half mile segments. One stretch was one-way only and controlled by lights at both ends. By the time we reached the far end, the light had changed. Thank goodness, we were big enough to see or the on coming traffic may have started our way. It wasn’t all bad; we had a wonderful lunch at one of the road side parks. The vistas along the route were spectacular. So was the occasional 15% downgrade.
The Observations. There is a WalMart in Matane, do you have a shopping list? And so it started. We did shop. We needed a new toaster as ours bit the dust somewhere in N.Y. and we thought it having an electric heater might offset the problem of buying propane for the R.V.
I wrote yesterday that most of the farm land had disappeared once we were north of
Coastal villages exist because there are on villages inland. Everywhere a river flows in to the sea, is a coastal village. Because of the river, there is generally a bay where a sheltered harbor can be constructed. Because of the river, there is a supply of fresh water. Because of the river, there is a salmon run in the spring. And each coastal village has two things in common, actually three things. One, they are clean. There is no litter, no graffiti. The homes are maintained and the yards are mowed. Two, they each have a roadside park, usually with a view out over the water, and gardens of flowers. Three, and you should know this given we are in French Quebec, each has a Catholic Church. The spire of the church is usually the tallest structure in the town.
One more observation before I turn in for the night: Color. While not predominate, color factors in to a high percentage of the houses built here. There are white houses with bright blue or red roofs. There are houses of blue, not just blue, but navy blue, powder blue, sky blue; aquamarine, etc. There are yellow houses trimmed in red or green. There are green houses. There are houses which are white, but have porches of purple or orange or neon green or electric yellow. We saw one house which had what appeared to be flagstone walls. Not stacked stone as you see in some façades, but flagstone as if you took a patio and tilted it vertical. The stone was close to white, but it was interspersed with stones of blue, red and yellow as if a child had been instructed to color every fifth one.
It has been an interesting day. On our walk this evening, we met a couple from
Saturday, September 5, 2009
September 5 – Baby, it’s cold outside
We woke up to 59 degrees this morning. I took the dog for a walk while Carol went to find a shower. She found one, but it cost coinage and all I have are Canadian twenties. We haven’t been anywhere to break one. So she elected to leave her hair as is and just shower in the RV. I don’t seem to have that problem.
Did I tell you this place is busy? Of course, it is Labor Day weekend which the Canadians celebrate along with us. That may help to explain some of the traffic yesterday. The campground is not only full and busy, it is organized. At 9AM, we already have a volleyball tournament in progress along with roller hockey. There is a miniature golf course, an outdoor theatre with English subtitles, a restaurant, a bar (with all of these kids it’s required), swimming pools, craft projects and the list goes on.
Did I mention kids? I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re trying to navigate an RV or truck trailer combo between the campsites and towards you come kids on bicycles. You would think that the presence of 6 tons of motorized, moving steel and fiberglass would hasten their moving to the side of the road. No way. You are expected to stop until the parade passes. This morning we were trying to re-join the RV and the Dakota. I had moved the RV into the road in order to back in towards the Dakota. I was at a 45 degree angle and couldn’t see what was coming from my right, but I was only in the first two-thirds of the roadway. As I began backing in, I heard a teenage girl yelling, “whoa, whoa, whoa”. She and her friend had come down the road from my right side, seemingly oblivious to the fact there was a thirty foot RV with it’s front end in the road way. Although the back half of my rig was in my space and the only way around me was to pass in front of the rig, I was expected to halt all movement until the little darlings had passed. Needless to say, we were glad to get back on the road.
GiGi, the GPS, knows most of
Northeast of
We are camped on the outskirts of Matane. While we started the day in shorts and tee shirts, it was quite evident when we got out at the office that jeans had become the clothing of choice. I estimate the temperature around 65 degrees with a good 15 mph breeze. Unlike last night, this campground, situated almost on the water, is virtually empty. When I took Spice for her evening walk, I counted four RV’s with lights on. There are several others, but they appear vacant, probably seasonal or semi permanent sites.
Tomorrow, we will be moving on toward
September 4, 2009 – Forgive me Father, for I have Lied
We got a lot accomplished this morning. Carol did a couple of loads of laundry while I cleaned the RV. While we had internet at this site, it was through a cable modem and a bit finicky. Carol was able to up load a couple of sets of photos, some last night and some more this morning. I was able to send a package to my soldier in Iraq, check e-mail, and finish some on-line banking while she was off folding clothes. With everything done, we rolled out of the North Pole around 11:30 en-route to Plattsburgh and Canada.
We stopped in Plattsburgh for some last minute groceries. We really don’t want to have to shop in Quebec Provence, so we bought enough to see us through to New Brunswick. While I finished the shopping, Carol went to the parking lot and fixed some lunch. We stowed away the provisions, ate our lunch, then gave the dog a quick walk and it was off to the border, passports and rabies certificate in hand.
Border crossings are similar to grocery store checkout lines: it doesn’t matter which line you’re in, it will be the slowest. And, with 57 feet of RV and Dakota, you just don’t jockey for a better position. Patience is a keyword. After 40 minutes in line, it was our turn. The nice customs agent said, “Bonjour”. I replied in kind and then said “hello” as I handed over our papers. He asked where we lived and where we were going. He then asked if I had the registration for the Dakota? I did, but it was in the truck, so Carol went to get it. I handed over the registration for the RV. At this point, the agent asked what the side camera on the RV was for. I told him that it comes on with the turn signal in order to help eliminate blind spots when your making a lane change and that there is one on each side; as well as one in the back for when you need to back up. At this point he said something similar to “That’s cool. Some truckers could use that.” I replied, “Amen.” Carol returned with the Dakota registration and we handed that over. After examining both, he reached them back to me. He then asked the question, “do you have and liquor or wine; anything in the mini-bar?” I said that we had four bottles at which point he interrupted me. I was about to say they were surrounded by twenty other bottles, but he handed me our papers and said to have a wonderful stay in Canada. I said that we would, and with a “merci” , we were off to a new adventure.
There is Costco in Canada (Oh, and corn also). If there is a Costco, then there should be an ATM. With a quick exit, were soon found our selves in the Costco parking lot. Once inside, we realized it looked just like every other Costco, except instead of being in Spanish it was in French. Opps, I meant English and French. Lo and behold, we found Auntie Em and got $300 Canadian. There was no charge for the withdrawal, but the bank does charge one dollar to the locals. I wonder what the exchange rate is. Then it was back on the road.
Those of you with a program know that we are headed north towards Montreal on the Canadian 15. If you didn’t buy a program when this started, then we are headed north on the C-15. As we near Montreal, we take what could be termed a beltway, but is the C-30 to the northeast. As I looked at the opposite direction lanes, I commented that I’m glad we’re going this way. I spoke too soon as “this way” rapidly became “that way” and we were mired in rush hour traffic on a Friday get away weekend. OMG, picture the 405 as a two lane road. After considerable consternation, we reached the C-20 which runs to the northeast toward Quebec City. It is an escape route out of Montreal, and there was no escaping the traffic. All I could hope for was the traffic would thin as we move eastward. Eventually, we found ourselves rolling along at 60 mph, but the traffic was steady: a constant stream of cars, trucks, semis and RV’s rolling toward Quebec, it never thinned out, it just sped up.
We reached the campground where we wanted to stay, Domaine de la Chute. With 620 campsites, it shouldn’t be a problem. We wandered three kilometers down a couple of narrow lanes and found ourselves number four in line. It went like this: Bonjour, English? Yes, you need a spot and we have room. Yes, I’m 30 feet towing a truck. $39 on your Visa card? Yes, merci. Here is your campsite number and a brochure; someone will lead you to your site. Merci. With that, Carol and I set a new record for disconnecting the truck and then waited. While others were lead off to their sites, we waited. Finally, I went back to the office. They needed to change our site, which was fine. We were moved from quatra quatra une to tois tois neuf. A nice young man with a golf cart led us to the site. By now, dusk had become night and the full moon was yet to be useful. The young man, dressed in black jeans with a navy sweat shirt, was trying to back me into the site with no light. Fortunately, Carol realized the folly of this exercise and came to my rescue. The campground is a weekend zoo. It puts KOA to shame. They should only hope to have a thousand kids running campsite to campsite. But, we are here. Tomorrow, I hope to leave early. We can’t make Gaspe in a day (well we could if it was Texas), so I would like to get somewhat close. Maybe we can get in six or seven hours tomorrow and then four or five on Sunday. We will see.
We stopped in Plattsburgh for some last minute groceries. We really don’t want to have to shop in Quebec Provence, so we bought enough to see us through to New Brunswick. While I finished the shopping, Carol went to the parking lot and fixed some lunch. We stowed away the provisions, ate our lunch, then gave the dog a quick walk and it was off to the border, passports and rabies certificate in hand.
Border crossings are similar to grocery store checkout lines: it doesn’t matter which line you’re in, it will be the slowest. And, with 57 feet of RV and Dakota, you just don’t jockey for a better position. Patience is a keyword. After 40 minutes in line, it was our turn. The nice customs agent said, “Bonjour”. I replied in kind and then said “hello” as I handed over our papers. He asked where we lived and where we were going. He then asked if I had the registration for the Dakota? I did, but it was in the truck, so Carol went to get it. I handed over the registration for the RV. At this point, the agent asked what the side camera on the RV was for. I told him that it comes on with the turn signal in order to help eliminate blind spots when your making a lane change and that there is one on each side; as well as one in the back for when you need to back up. At this point he said something similar to “That’s cool. Some truckers could use that.” I replied, “Amen.” Carol returned with the Dakota registration and we handed that over. After examining both, he reached them back to me. He then asked the question, “do you have and liquor or wine; anything in the mini-bar?” I said that we had four bottles at which point he interrupted me. I was about to say they were surrounded by twenty other bottles, but he handed me our papers and said to have a wonderful stay in Canada. I said that we would, and with a “merci” , we were off to a new adventure.
There is Costco in Canada (Oh, and corn also). If there is a Costco, then there should be an ATM. With a quick exit, were soon found our selves in the Costco parking lot. Once inside, we realized it looked just like every other Costco, except instead of being in Spanish it was in French. Opps, I meant English and French. Lo and behold, we found Auntie Em and got $300 Canadian. There was no charge for the withdrawal, but the bank does charge one dollar to the locals. I wonder what the exchange rate is. Then it was back on the road.
Those of you with a program know that we are headed north towards Montreal on the Canadian 15. If you didn’t buy a program when this started, then we are headed north on the C-15. As we near Montreal, we take what could be termed a beltway, but is the C-30 to the northeast. As I looked at the opposite direction lanes, I commented that I’m glad we’re going this way. I spoke too soon as “this way” rapidly became “that way” and we were mired in rush hour traffic on a Friday get away weekend. OMG, picture the 405 as a two lane road. After considerable consternation, we reached the C-20 which runs to the northeast toward Quebec City. It is an escape route out of Montreal, and there was no escaping the traffic. All I could hope for was the traffic would thin as we move eastward. Eventually, we found ourselves rolling along at 60 mph, but the traffic was steady: a constant stream of cars, trucks, semis and RV’s rolling toward Quebec, it never thinned out, it just sped up.
We reached the campground where we wanted to stay, Domaine de la Chute. With 620 campsites, it shouldn’t be a problem. We wandered three kilometers down a couple of narrow lanes and found ourselves number four in line. It went like this: Bonjour, English? Yes, you need a spot and we have room. Yes, I’m 30 feet towing a truck. $39 on your Visa card? Yes, merci. Here is your campsite number and a brochure; someone will lead you to your site. Merci. With that, Carol and I set a new record for disconnecting the truck and then waited. While others were lead off to their sites, we waited. Finally, I went back to the office. They needed to change our site, which was fine. We were moved from quatra quatra une to tois tois neuf. A nice young man with a golf cart led us to the site. By now, dusk had become night and the full moon was yet to be useful. The young man, dressed in black jeans with a navy sweat shirt, was trying to back me into the site with no light. Fortunately, Carol realized the folly of this exercise and came to my rescue. The campground is a weekend zoo. It puts KOA to shame. They should only hope to have a thousand kids running campsite to campsite. But, we are here. Tomorrow, I hope to leave early. We can’t make Gaspe in a day (well we could if it was Texas), so I would like to get somewhat close. Maybe we can get in six or seven hours tomorrow and then four or five on Sunday. We will see.
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