Didn’t really have a plan when I left the ferry in North Sydney, simply knew that I didn’t care much to see the ferry dock nor to look at that expanse of water. Saw Klunder and his brood in his machine and went over to say good-bye. It was somewhat reassuring to see him off island as from now on I would be searching for things newfie as a hint of some connexion.
Wanted to hit the Tim’s in North Sydney but missed the turn off. Didn’t want to go to the next as this was where everyone was stopping. Kept going, watching the Newfoundland number plates become fewer and fewer.
While Cape Breton was a nice build up for the rock, not quite tenuous enough to be the island but good hints as what is to come.
Now it worked to ease the shock of not being there. Newfoundland with the “messy bits” taken out. A bit tamer, a bit more hospitable in the lay of the land respectable bodies of water but not quite the same. Here humans have tamed their surroundings.
Raced across the island getting lost when I was to leave Cape Breton by a rotary which led me to my double double and two cranberry muffins. Couldn’t eat the muffins.
It slowed me down a bit a made some snaps of phone boxes and a tiny boat in a pathetic pond.
Photographed a puffin statue for Jen missed the McPuffin outside the McDonalds.
On the mainland, the road became a proper freeway and once again Klunder passed me in his escort. Played tag with me until Sackville when I pulled off for a pit stop.
New Brunswick was preparing me for the states as the Trans Canada to Fredericton was the type of road I hadn’t seen even on the Avalon, no pot holes, missing cities – the type of road that doesn’t connect but moves people efficiently. There were more machines.
Making Fredericton meant that I could make the journey back in the three days allotted. Pressed on and the Trans Canada reverted to a road for a sparsely populated land. Welcomed the frustrations of having to wait to pass slow cars.
While there was no turning back when I saw the sign for I-95 I could see more doors closing. Turned off on provincial 95 and sooner than I expected I hit the border.
- where were you born?
- Baltimore
- What was the purpose of you trip?
- I was artist in residence at Gros Morne National Park
- And exactly what is that?
- What do you do in the States? What is your job?
This is why I have come to hate this States. How much more exact could I get than saying I was artist in residence and what defines one more down here than what your actual job is.
Mentioned that I had a bunch of photographic equipment in the machine another question was asked which I don’t remember but mentioned that I had Kendra’s bag in the boot.
Red flags. All of a sudden I was a threat. They asked what exactly, clothes a printer, a camera. Who is this person. Where I tried to explain the size of planes that leave Deer Lake and how all her belongings wouldn’t fit. She is a grad student.
I had to pull over fill out forms – one officer went to the computer the other to the car. I explained yet again what was going on.
The place was plastered with memorabilia from 11 September.
Remembered the trip up with the Customs Canada official and the idea of trust. Coming back trust would become a rarity.
When it was over I was called out to the motor to show that my argyrotype chemistry was leaking and had done so over my film boxes luckily the ones with raw film in them and thus completely sealed.
Thanked him again thinking that they feel that they are just doing their job and thus have to be hard edged but they were really normal joes. Pity all this fear and paranoia.
After being a bit out of sorts – not knowing where to put the leaking bottles – they didn’t offer to dispose of them. placed the stuff on the back seat protected and headed down I-95 seeing that I had only 300 miles to cross Maine and I had just gained an hour.
Stopped at the Tim’s and felt strange paying in funny, smelly green money. The shock of seeing Tim’s competing with a Dunkin Donuts, an Irving Gas Bar beside a Citgo.
Even though the road was efficient – so much so that I took the road to Portland also in an attempt to save money – it was still unpopulated.
The ended with New Hampshire, it only got worse with Massachusetts. It was getting dark and I was close to 900 miles that day.
The rains from Katrina were beginning to hit, I was in a mood for a pizza so Worcester was the goal for the first day.
Thought about stopping to say hello Anna and Stasiu in Boxford but thought again,
Arrive in the city at 9PM but got lost and only found a hotel and a restaurant at 10. I had to wait a good 30 minutes while the person at the Comfort Inn had to deal with someone on the phone. Chose the place as it had internet access.
The pizza was replaced by some dreadful aubergine parmagian and almost a Smithwicks but my rule of having something local over came my nostalgia and had a local pint. The monitors in the bar showed sports. The men my age had women half that all falling out of their blouses with hair so blond that Scandinavians would wonder.
