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.