Finally!

July 9, 2008
The trip

I am here in Wolfville ... finally! Right now I have a dog on either side of me and I am sitting at Arrow’s little desk. Mica thinks I am wonderful because I took her out on Kenya’s collar and leash as soon as I came in from walking Kenya early this morning. There are no arguments between the dogs. Mica is simply the boss dog here and Kenya knew her place the minute she walked in the door.

It was a long drive from L’ile du Perrot. I left around 6 a.m. and there was already heavy traffic getting through Montreal, but I emerged from the Louis Hippolite Tunnel at 7 a.m. Had I left any later I’d have hit rush hour traffic and it likely would have taken at least two hours.

Then began the drive along the Trans Canada through Quebec. Quebec does it well with rest stops every few kilometres. These rest stops are very people- and dog-friendly with wooded areas, snack bars, bathrooms and picnic tables. In between these stops are gas stations. I paid $1.45.4 per litre in Quebec.

I stopped in Edmundston in the afternoon and stayed at a Days Inn. They are pet friendly and we had a good rest in an air conditioned room. After driving all day in an un-air-conditioned car in 31 degree temperatures it felt like heaven.

We were on the road again by 6:45 a.m. on Tuesday. The New Brunswick highway system is impressive. The road surfaces are like butter, the speed limit is 110, and there is almost no traffic, so I felt as if I were flying ... but across an alien landscape. It is beautiful of course. The highway has been carved out of spectacular landscape and you are often treated to great sweeping vistas, but it feels unpopulated. Not just because of the traffic ... but you travel across miles and miles of landscape without seeing any sign of habitation. Not even a cow. I did see four deer, a couple of small animals and a beautiful little fox ... all still and stiff beside the road.

I needed gas so I went off at Hartland where signs advertised gas. Then I searched. I came to an Irving station where the pumps were as still and dead as the road kill. I asked a motorist standing beside his car if there were a station further up the road. He didn’t know. He was from Ontario. I took my chances and drove and drove and drove until I finally came to a road that would take me to Hartland. I filled up at $1.40.5 and made my way back to the highway.

A couple of hours later I wanted to take a pee break, unpack a sandwich for me and fill up Kenya’s water bowl, so I left the highway again. This time I found myself on an inhospitable two lane highway with no shoulder between it and the barbed wire fence. Across the road were a few trailers perched on straggly lawns. We walked anyway and except for the occasional blast of wind as a transport rushed past, were quite alone. Kenya is developing the attitude I was forced to adopt in Africa. If the vehicle stops you take advantage of any bathroom available because it may be hours before the next opportunity arises. As a result she finished her business quickly. As I walked back to the car I thought about my own options. I opened both doors on the passenger side and hitched up my skirt, pushed aside my panties, and peed too. Quite a feat when your other hand is holding a leash. I learned a great many lessons in Africa, not the least valuable of which was to wear a skirt while traveling. A pit stop along the road to Nairobi with women on one side of the road and men on the other and only one very white bum mooning everyone is not easily forgotten.

New Brunswick is teaching me that you fill your tank wherever you actually see a station, and that you should not expect any amenities like toilets or picnic tables or even human beings from whom you might get directions. It was her experience with New Brunswick that made Kerry tell me to get a cell phone. I didn’t need it on the way here, but I am sure glad I have one for the trip back.

I filled the tank one more time before entering Nova Scotia. The price was $1.38.8. Imagine thinking that is cheap! Nova Scotia prices are higher. So far Ontario prices have been the lowest and Quebec’s the highest.

After the barrens of New Brunswick, Nova Scotia felt positively cozy. The man at the toll booth was very old and very sweet. Told me to turn on my air conditioning. I said I had none ... and he advised me to open my windows and travel at 60 mph. After a few miles of modern highway, I found myself on a two lane road with a crumbling tarry surface. Surely this couldn’t be Highway 14 West. I stopped at a friendly little frame house and got out of the car. The woman came out before I was halfway up her walk. Yes this was 14 West. I just had to keep following it and eventually I would get to a sign for Wolfville.

Well it wasn’t quite that simple, and 14 West continued for another 60 kilometres, but I felt immeasurably happier traveling at 80 kph along this very human road from one hamlet to the next than I had for all those hours flying along the super highway.

I passed a sign advertising Hants County and immediately saw a red muddy river bed that reminded me of my days at boarding school where we called our caramel pudding Avon River mud.

Almost before I knew it I was in Wolfville and heading up Kerry’s street. Every place in Nova Scotia is just a few miles from the next, just as everything in a smallish city like Ottawa is only a twenty minute drive away. So very different from traveling across large provinces or within large cities. The only times I have felt almost as small as I did in New Brunswick were in Mongolia and Namibia ... both of which have vast sparsely populated landscapes. Scale does matter. But something else matters too. Namibia did not feel as empty because there were so many wild animals moving and grazing in herds in the grasslands along the roads. The occasional warthog raced the vehicle, and the wild birds were so unafraid they sometimes became supper. And in Mongolia you would pass lone herdsmen traveling with their animals, and clusters of round gers ... the temporary settlements of nomadic families ... often enough to know you would never be completely stranded. New Brunswick felt much emptier to me.

I encountered almost more transports than cars. One almost rear ended me as we went through a construction zone where the speed limit was 50 kph. I slowed at a confusing intersection with flashing lights and felt the hot breath of the behemoth as the air horn blasted. My foot slammed reflexively down on the accelerator and I shot forward.

I was beginning to think there were no highway patrols in New Brunswick when a car passed me at 150 kmp. We were approaching a construction zone, and he found himself suddenly entering a funnel created by the construction barriers. He wove back and forth as he slowed down, but afterwards he crept along for a while. I thought he’s been scared by his near miss ... until I looked across the median and caught sight of the real reason he was driving sanely. A cop was writing a ticket for a motorist. The speeder kept up the slow pace for another three minutes and then sped away. About twenty kilometres later I had to move into the left lane as a traffic cop was ticketing the speed demon. I gloated. It happens so seldom that bad drivers and cops are actually in the same space at the same time.

Last night Kerry and Maurice took me out to Kingsport to wade in the red mud. It was not an entirely pleasurable experience as the red goo oozed up between my toes, but the village is quaint, the temperature was a good ten degrees cooler than it had been in Wolfville, and the ice cream was yummy..

Today we went to a Baha'ai gathering.

Thank goodness I am here!