Tales from St Anthony Part X -- Are you Trippin'?

We finally have a car.

After more than a month of wrangling our modus transportus has been upgraded from Shank's Pony to a 1999 Mazda Protege, which can mean only one thing -- ROAD TRIP.

I see you, caribou.

A gaggle/swarm/hive of caribou

For most people registering a car is a fairly simple task and involves the following steps:

1) Roadworthy; 2) Purchase; 3) Insure; and 4) Register.

With the first three under our belts and our hip pocket decidedly lighter for it, we headed for a motor registry office able to fulfill the transfer and registration.

Six hours and close to 450km later we arrived at the cavernous lair doubling as the motor registry. 

Having averted car sickness up until that point as soon as we entered I felt I had been swallowed by a wormhole that spat me out into the hull of a Vietnamese fishing junk used to traffic humans.

I was not however a people smuggler but more a smuglee.

The looks on my fellow sallow-faced inmates at the fore confirmed we were all on the same boat, their joyless eyes conveyed that feeling of being sixth in line to twirl the revolver's cylinder in a game of Russian roulette when all five people are crowding around you all very much alive and all very much wearing grins.

Without the need for guns we escaped triumphantly with registration papers held aloft and to prove we were still strong of spirit and mind we decided to test our resolve and headed for that other pit of human depravity – Walmart.

People in stressful situations talk about the ‘breaking point’ as if it is something you can see coming however I would argue the opposite, that you never see it coming, it just turns up and you are left stunned sifting through the emotional shards scattered on the well-lit and overcrowded aisle sandwiched between the dairy section and its 500 gram blocks of mild cheese on special for $4.59 and despair.

To put the adventure into context, St Anthony has admirable shopping options but there are just some things you can’t get here, items such as couscous or cloves draw looks of confusion, so when you reach a major centre like Corner Brook you have to make sacrifices and head to places like Walmart.

Our bid to extract ourselves from harm’s way worked against us and in no time we were being bashed from all angles by crazed shopping-trolley wielding housewives and teenagers who follow the “more is better” approach to make-up and their clearly uninterested boyfriends.

We had stumbled into the one place you do not want to get caught in Walmart – the clearance aisle.

Much like getting in between a bear cub on its mother, the clearance aisle brings with it a sense of rabidity, so with the coast clear we rushed to the neighboring pet aisle, which apparently is also where two Australians can get in the world’s way.

We escaped Walmart and discovered with glee that our B&B was just around the corner – so after meeting the owner, an interesting story in itself, we plonked our belongings in the room, had a quick shower and headed for a bar that had beer on tap – another thing that St Anthony lacks.

You forget just how nice a beer from a chilled tap tastes.

All dolled up we headed for a lovely tapas bar with live music and a wine list and the rest is history.

Our first road trip was a huge success – 1000km in 12 hours of driving. A registered car, Em now has a Newfoundland licence for the next six years (the minimum amount of time you can get a licence here apparently), we had beer on tap, bought cloves, met some lovely people and avoided all the moose the Northern Peninsular could throw at us.

Learning how to time travel and the conspiracy of the Googlebox -- Departure T-Minus 16 Days

The enormity of what we are embarking on finally dawned as we sent bag after bag of clothes and belongings to the local thrift store but as in all great love stories the pieces of the Newfoundland puzzle are clicking into place with ease.

Like everything in the world though, nothing is what it seems, especially if you base your life on Google Maps and here is why.

Firstly we have secured an apartment and here is a lovely little map showing you just how far Em will have to travel to get from our two bedroom slice of heaven to the office. I wanted to work out just how far away it was from Em's office so I mapped it out.

According to Google Maps the 1.1km journey will take 12 minutes to walk or two minutes to drive but I wondered as I do, "what is Google basing this on?" and what I discovered could rock the interwebz to its very foundation.

Science, take it away.

Wikipedia, that great tome of questionable knowledge, states that the average human walks at 3 miles per hour according to Naismith's Rule, which is:

"a rule of thumb that helps in the planning of a walking or hiking expedition by calculating how long it will take to walk the route, including ascents, devised in 1892 following the rule: "Allow 1 hour for every 3 miles (5 km) forward, plus ½ hour for every 1000 feet (300 metres) of ascent."

The article also goes on to state that:

"Specific studies have found pedestrian walking speeds ranging from 2.8 mph to 2.95 mph for older individuals to 3.3 mph to 3.38 mph for younger individuals"

That "study" is from a 1997 TranSafety study specifically looking at older people's walking speeds in relation to traffic signals and for how long the little green walking man and the blipping red non-walking man should be shown for to allow those 65 and older to cross a road without being skittled.

Without stating an age range for the "younger individuals" the study also states that males walk 0.32 feet per second faster than women.

Extrapolating the results from Google Maps, a person will need to walk at 3.42 miles per hour to accomplish the distance of 1.1km in in the stipulated time of 12 minutes leaving two possible conclusions:

A) Google is being optimistic and encouraging in their appraisal of our modern day walking habits or;

B) Google is wrong in assuming the fitness of the young males from the aforementioned 1997 study are the same as the fitness levels of young males circa 2010. Don't forget that in 1997 there was no World of Warcraft, physical activities didn't involve a Wii console and worldwide obesity levels were manageable without the need for stretchy pants.

Anyway the real reason for me jumping into the details of this 1.1km journey is that Google Maps suggests it takes 17 hours to drive from St John's to St Anthony, which I find to be all together a load of bollocks.

According to Newfoundland and Labrador Statistics Agency the 1056km journey will take 12 hours if you stick to the speed limits. If you choose to travel at 100km/h the entire way, an implausible and illegal activity, you can make the trip in 10-and-a-half hours.

Where are those other 5 hours Google? Hey? Hey?

Oh and the other good news is that we almost own a car -- a 1999 Mazda Protege, but more on that later.

For now I am awaiting a response from the Googlebox on my time travel conundrum.