Newfoundland…oops.

Woke and wandered a bit hoping to find the Dunkin Donuts we passed the night before looking for this place, Actually we were in Moosic, wandered with the digital tried a panoramic then headed back as I found not only a diner but three motels that were cheaper.

Went back to the room and after Kendra was caressed by the shower curtain went to Terry’s – a diner where the interior had every variation on the stars and stripes imaginable done in wood and the special was egg beater French toast. Had pancakes, and coffee – wished that I could brew my own – Kendra eggs and corned beef hash, orange juice – decided that I would get that at the breakfast buffet at the Roadway forgoing the fried cakes – and the same drink that passed for coffee.

Off we went leaving I-80 and heading for the Poconos.

Looking at the map we saw that we had been wrong all the time and Newfoundland was closer that we thought. In fact it was an off ramp of I-84 on route 191 just outside of Scranton.

That was a relief. Of course we had to see this “new found land” no matter how much out of the way it would be to the true north (and east) brave and free. Pulled off and sped down a nice narrowish hilly and curvy road with trees hardly seen on the rock. Twelve miles later – there it was. At first a modest sign hardly dignified for such a grand province, then a bit further in a more worthy one. Stopped – and stopped traffic as we both digitally recorded our landing outside a hardware shop and across from a convenience – or do they call them “deps” here.

That was the end of fun for most of the day. This was the day of driving hell. This was the day when I needed minor milestones to have the day pass and thankfully there were.

Pennsylvania ended. New Jersey came and went in a flash as we just brushed the northern part of the state but then came New York and Connecticut. On the map the symbol for scenic drive stopped. The traffic was greater and people al of a sudden forgot how to drive. It wasn’t recklessness, it was lane hogging. Until now everyone went into the left lane to pass now cars parked out there. The 65 and 70mph was down to 55, at times we couldn’t even achieve that. While New York west of the Hudson was still pretty and crossing it as well as crossing the Delaware – was quite a thrill after that it was one long suburb.

Kendra who was now reading from Dylan Thomas’s selected short stories had to stop, too many cars, too many curves and no feeling of progress being made. It also seem that we had entered a continuous construction zone.

Near the Mass Turnpike we pulled off for snacks and looked forward to calm again. Massachusetts was only a little better, The queue to get on the turnpike and soon afterward was overly long with cars seeming to hold back to see which wicket would open first. Thought that bypassing Boston would be faster which it was but again on I-495 with only the names of famous places - Concord and Walden Pond, isn’t Lowell where Kerouac was born? - it seemed to take forever to reach Maine.

I liked the way the state lines would sneak up on us. First a last/first tourist info on the opposite side then a sign for one on in our direction and at last some welcoming sign.

Kendra seemed a bit perplexed when I squealed seeing an Irving Oil sign – not knowing it was a hint of the Maritimes, one of its unofficial icons. I think se became perturbed when I kept doing it at each new gas bar. Had too much gasoline to purge the tank of the u.s. blend though.

Neither of us had been to Maine and were looking forward to it. Another one of those mythic states. The state where my ex-photography professor can not make pictures and not feel guilty about it as no one will know as he lives the life of obscurity he so deserves. I was expecting it to be the training ground for New Brunswick, a way of easing into the Maritimes and then Atlantic Canada.

It was more like reminding me of what Wisconsin was like. Flat featureless, I was a bit disappointed. I know that turnpikes make everything seem like everyplace – I was just read a passage of Wendell Berry - even so I had to keep reminding myself that we were in Maine.

We continued with the reading from Dylan Thomas.

For some reason pausing from reading, Kendra looked at the map and realised that there were only two exits before a population free part of the state and we hadn’t eaten – reading out loud did have the time pass quite quickly. Again the decision as to where to get down and find a place. We did so at Howland and this time had no trouble finding a spot – after my gleeful whoop at another Irving gas bar.

We pulled into Little Peters – insert Beavis and Butthead laugh here. Parked in the back in the shade and was welcomed by the frostbite attaining temperature of the restaurant.

Sign in the toilet
OUR AIM IS TO KEEP THIS BATHROOM CLEAN – YOUR AIM WILL HELP US.

Sat in a corner to look out the window, only one other family was in there sitting by the toilets again staring at the green things on their plate taking up space from the fried fish and meat.

I had a pizza.

We must have chosen the correct place to sit for a lesbian couple comes in and sits in the booth behind us. Even though the restaurant was empty they sat in the booth where one of them could have butted heads with Kendra. I reckoned that we were sitting in the liberal corner of Maine.

Remarkable how eating in tundra like conditions has one finishing the meal and heading out into the world. We were back on the interstate pushing on with the final gasps of the States but not so much not to pull off at the scenic lookout for Mount Katahdin. A reminder to bring the trip back from the “gotta make time” mode.

Unfortunately on checking the map and seeing how far we are from the ferry, Kendra says that we are going to have to hoof it the next day. Panic sets in I wanted to make Sackville, but now we may have to settle for Fredericton and then a race rather than a stroll across Nova Scotia and worse speeding through Cape Breton.

We press on.