Wednesday November 7, 2018 (full photo album here)
The Canadian border beckoned and was within reach. Game on.
I had me a very early start into a surprisingly warm day at 55 degrees around 7 in the morning. I wished Mark and Terry the very best, and thanked them for their hospitality. Between a chance at shower and laundry; a warm bed; entertaining discussion; and a short breather, I was well-suited for the race ahead of me. I took in the beauty of their yard…
… and got on the road. A fuel-up was followed by a LOT of winding Maine roads, which eventually led me to the Penobscot Bridge. I had previously photographed it during a Nor’easter, the last time I went through Maine (which is when I got to meet Mark and Terry in person for the first time) and I am proud to report that I got an even doofier face for this photo, thanks to the angle of the sun:
Great success! Not falling ice shards to dodge this time, either, so it made for an easier crossing. I continued weaving my way north along US Highway 1 towards Calais to cross into New Brunswick.
My memory of the obscenely expensive fuel in western Canada did not have me fooled for a second about the potential for cheaper fuel in eastern Canada. I stopped in Calais, topping off the truck and refilling all 24 gallons of jerry can capacity for the first time since the Yukon Territory – the extra weight was well worth the extra weight. This level of thinking about fuel consumption and costs was forward-thinking and also fear-inspiring. I had carefully tracked and logged fuel consumption for months and so I was all too familiar with beaucoup spacebucks being spent on diesel for my oil-burner. And, at the same time, I am also fully confident that these costs in time, fuel, gear, and stress are all worth every iota of value for the outcomes in my heart, mind, and spirit.
Fueled up and ready to rock and roll. Arriving at the Canadian border, I managed both of those, but not the way I wanted – I hit the rock of polite Canadian border police “well even though you have the paperwork from Western Canada, and even though you’re clearly camping, and even though you plan to camp in areas of Labrador and Quebec which are crawling with bears… you aren’t allowed to bring that shotgun into eastern Canada.” Subsequently, with a scowl and the grumble of my truck’s engine matched in volume and timbre by the grumble in my voice, I was forced to roll back into the United States. I managed to extend my scowl when there was a bunch of hullabaloo about the shotgun I had with me (again, in spite of having the proper American paperwork too) until a uniformed border patrol officer wandered over and conversationally quipped “wait, he is back? I just saw him rumbling into Canada 15 minutes ago!” That simple statement got me sped through – funny how that works.
At the advice of the Canadian border patrol officer I turned around and went over to Johnson’s True Value Hardware. For problems just like mine, and also given the remoteness of this small town, the hardware store included a small sporting goods shop (including a federal firearms licensed dealer, or FFL) and a bank of PO Boxes with an associated shipping department. Condensed into simple form, this meant that I had a place where I could ship the shotgun back home – specifically to the firearms shop nearest my house, where my old friend Mark works. I rushed in to the store like a cyclone hopped up on too much coffee, excitedly trying to explain that I needed to ship out a firearm to Ohio and quickly. Not a lot of steps, just 1) ship a firearm and 2) to Ohio, quickly. The store was very busy but eventually I impressed the alacrity required by step 2 until I got to speak with the person who could effect the paperwork needed for step 1. They packaged it up in a box which could hold the existing soft case and added the specialized label which all the various shipping carriers require to ship firearms. I thanked them and cyclone’d my way back out to the truck. All told, I had lost almost 2 hours because of the border shenanigans and then requirements to get the shipping set up. A small price to pay compared with having found no FFL and shipping option right near the border.
Entering eastern Canada, round 2 – this time I had no issues crossing into New Brunswick. I think it may have been the fastest of any border crossing all trip, either into or out of Canada. Just like that, I was facing a friendly Canadian welcome sign and friendly Canadian speed limit signs in their fake units of measure:
I got about a mile from the border and found a roadside pull-off where I could safely exit the vehicle for that most important of choices – adding a sticker onto a tailgate, regardless of weather:
My grin of satisfaction was so wide that I couldn’t help but get a picture of it (especially after a jaw sore from grimacing at the afternoon’s border frustration), but for the requisite full picture of the updated map:
Now the open road beckoned anew. Now, the truck rumbled up to cruising speed and stayed that way for a good bunch of hours. As per usual the sun began to set. Slightly less typical was seeing the skies turn into a veritable Mordor’s worth of Sauron’s angry red smoke:
All told, it was maybe the ideal afternoon: adoring the gorgeous views; surprised at the unseasonably warm weather at 50 degrees; annoyed that my 75 minute delay to cross the border had burned daylight; but OK with the outcome.
I was zooming along the increasingly rough (and therefore normal) Canadian highways – I was, after all, trying my damnedest to reach the Hopewell Rocks park on time to see them in the last smidgen of daylight. To make a short story shorter, I failed. I got there after dark and decided that the ~1.2 million signs warning about the treacherous beach and tide were serious enough to pay attention to – this is as close as I got to the invisible, fog-shrouded sea:
As I subsequently discovered, this would turn out to be the first of many experiences with the attractions of Eastern Canada being closed for the season since October 15. The frustration I felt would ramp up over time, but that evening it was particularly high (ruefully remembering ~2 hours wasted at the border).
My consolation prize: a very quick bout of astrophotography across the New Brunswick horizon, before the cold rain and heavy clouds got the last laugh:
A bit of behind-the-scenes view of setting up the camera atop the tent platform and focused on the depths of interstellar emptiness (with a single star my cellular camera was gutsy enough to manage to capture, too!):
I had, at the handful of stops along my way, tried my very best to find a free camping area in New Brunswick near the bridge to Prince Edward Island (PEI). I failed. I tried to find paid camping in that area and it was either non-existent or closed for the season. Drat.
I decided to cross the famous Confederation Bridge to PEI at night in the fog, and I never like crossing bridges – this was no exception. But I made it across and rolled up to the Jellystone Campground, which per their website seemed to be open. That was false – I was exhausted and out of options. I settled in at their neighbor, the Carleton Motel of PEI. Sleep was quick, as I had a ~14.5 hour day of travel behind me.
Although this sticker’ing picture was taken the next morning, I felt I earned portraying it on the day I reached PEI:
A Jaunt Around the States 