Written Day 21,
On the road again. we are “forced” to take a big highway, Canadian 1, across from Maine to Sackville, New Brunswick. There seem to be no small secondary roads connecting. Old route 1 is being replaced, apparently the highway is to be ready early and below budget. Huh, what about THAT?! Doesn’t seem like that would happen at home. The few old parts of 1 we drive make US wish the new road weren’t going in. Where it is old, it is small and quaint;just what we like. Where it has been completed, it is a monument to a smooth, wide consistent road capable of Winter maintenance in a place like this and allowing an easy 100kph for anything but our little V-6 4Runner with the big Tramper in tow. Ah, the flashers on the uphills as it drops to 40 mph.
We thought today was a long driving day and likely to carry us to our friends, then we recall they have a reunion of their own. J-P is finishing out some projects in Texas through January, while Anne has assumed a teaching job in New Brunswick. Today, Jean-Philippe arrives in Canada. We should at least wait til tomorrow.
Black Harbor became our accidental tourist stop. The highway offered a blue sign with a “?”, the international symbol for tourist information. After 6-8 miles down a side road we felt misled, then, there at the bottom of a near dead end road on a peninsula, was another “?” sign. The Information center door was, “of course” locked and as we walked away a gracious employee from the store next door, leaving for the day, came back from his car to offer us a hand. He asked if we wanted some help. Then we went into the same building through the next door, into a yarn and knitting store. There too was another gracious employee, offering anything they had. Snacks, yarn, BEAUTIFUL knit goods, truly useful and real woolen wares. It was VERY HARD not to buy some neat things, some warm things, something for Olivia, something for Jane…but we can only travel til the money runs out. We need to try to be frugal…food, gas, shelter costs won’t relent much.
We bumbled upon the New River Campground and Park on the Bay of Fundy as I thought…does this part of the bay have that big tide change. Checking in at the campground I saw the high and low tide times posted. ….maybe? Next, after paying up for the night I asked how much the tide changed here? In feet, or meters? 8 meters. 8 meters! Wow, this is really on That bay. We checked in, parked at a nice site and walked over to the beach area. Off to the left of the point was a rocky area with a steep drop more that 28 feet. Perhaps, just as odd was the 200 yard stretch of sandy beach that also represented the depth change. We couldn’t help but look back at where we would run if the tide rushed in. Jane dipped her feet into the bay, small waves broke as evening darkened and we decided to go cook something. We fried some “salted cod” we had bought. willing to try anything we sat and ate. Soon I realized the salty, salty, salty meal would be an emetic and we both decided to eat no more. I guess we’ll have to google how people prepare this stuff. Sure hated to waste it.
As always, we met a nice couple here in camp. Two nice couples really. first is Dennis, from New Brunswick and a welder of the old school. All types, any job, hard work complete with mini-stroke warnings of our too-short lives. Dennis and I rambled about the solar power and many small Tramper details swapping times with a 1930-? Pontiac frame and a Land Cruiser project. His dad, like him, was skilled at whatever had to be done. We are all learning every day (I hope). The next couple, from State College, PA, was trying to share a nice quiet dinner in the “kitchen area” of the campground when we arrived to wash our dishes. She noticed our oddly similar cookware as she commented on our Big All-Clad sauté’ pan that I insisted on bringing. We love food, we like to cook, how could we cook big meals or feasts without a big pan? (Sorry tonights meal was not picture worthy. Anyone know what to do with salted cod?) We are doubting that even the local skunks are going to want what we made (even after washing and rinsing before frying).
The Voyage of the Tramper 