Monday, January 30, 2012

Day 4 -- 1770km of 5500km

Theoretically, if the entire road trip consisted of a single broken line down the middle of all the highways, I would, based on my calculations of 83 lines per kilometer (travelling at 80km/h), pass more than 456,500 little white dots.
They are the kinds of things you think of when you are driving 5500km across Canada.
The other thoughts surround the highlights for each town.
For instance, as hard as it is to believe I missed out on visiting Potato World Museum in Florenceville-Bristol, N.B., it’s harder to believe that such a museum exists.
The lack of punctuation left me wondering whether it was a museum about potatoes or a potato museum about the world.
Either way, it wasn’t the only attraction I had to bypass on my leg through Nova Scotia and New Brunswick.
The giant blueberry at Oxford, N.S., was impressive but I would have loved to have visited  the world’s longest covered bridge in Hartland, N.B., Nackawic’s world’s largest axe and the thought of standing at the site of New Brunswick’s last fatal duel in New Maryland, intrigues me no end.


“Think they’ll mind if I dry my vamps on the fire,” I asked Aaron as we slouched in mass produced wooden chairs that were never meant to be lounged in.
The Piper’s Inn, located in the heart of Antigonish, was about as active as the Amherst wind farm.
“You’re Australian,” he replied, “they’d expect it.”
As we sat back nursing a pint of stout, feet resting in front of the gas fire place, pogie boots and their innards scattered asunder, their stench wafting through the bar, we tossed around theories about everything from newspapers to Russian oligarchs.
Later we moved back to Aaron’s attic apartment for a few more beers, more tales, more theories on world politics and before finally falling asleep in the unmade queen-sized bed – separated by Sir Richard, we spoke of the future.


My pursuit of blue sky across black bitumen ended about 70km from the New Brunswick border. The trip through new Scotland was uneventful expect for the odd slab of ice cartwheeling ever so briefly from the roof of passing semi-trailers. Picked up in its entirety with a sharp gust of wind, they float towards the road and shatter into car sized chunks before disintegrating on their second contact with the blackness. At one point an entire sheet flipped back straight onto the windscreen of a trailing semi causing it to weave across two lanes of traffic. There’s a real benefit in driving at 80km/h.

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