I really have to discipline myself

I state out loud as we are heading for the Bay of Fundy. I had got my mum addicted on a T-Ho double double and the Baleful the intern on Timbits. The place was hopping with retired Canadian Naval Gents we had made a cursory stop in Saint John then made a drive for the Bay. This was to be a day of relaxation, after the 800 miles yesterday we had over 18 hours – the ferry didn’t leave until 2AM - for a 6 hour drive or at worse if we did what I wanted, nine hours. There is nothing worse than sitting around North Sydney for hours on end.

I though was still in must make time mode, I got behind the wheel of the Honda and drove until I ran into my first ball park. Pulled off, did my now familiar investigation of the place much to the confusion of the other occupants of the machine – who while seeing the images were still shocked at the enthusiasm I had running across one.

When they determined that I was as sane as I ever was and we were heading out again, I made a U-turn in the middle of Route 111 sped back made another and stopped the machine on a narrow verge to made a snap that had potential. The car looked like a re-enactment of the Robert Frank photograph with Mary and the kids in the car.

Baleful the intern – started to see that this was fun so also started calling stop and running out to make photographs having my mother wonder what school would hire this as a member of its faculty – we know the answer to this it is not a real school. Ice cream stands, Irving Gas Bars, fishing stages.

My mother got into the act but being aged commanded up to make the snaps for her – mainly churches and church yards.

At one stop - a covered bridge for my mum – I notice the barachois is empty and we make a bee line for the Bay – after two more stops – an interesting post box and a closed convenience.

Ah the Bay of Fundy – a marvel to walk on the ocean floor here, the tide was out and the coach load of tourists were in. They’d come in waves, two or three at a time the people would flow off the coaches to the caves and the sea bottom ebb back to queue up for the toilets then disappear.

Tour guides in period costumes – what period is suitable for low tide - would hold provincial flags to gather their group.

A couple in deck chairs were out reading and had been there since 9AM.

We looked and headed out to take 111 to another part of the province before heading up to Moncton and Sackville so that we could head down to Halifax for the drive along the South Coast of Nova Scotia to Cape Breton.

Well after seeing the provincial park.

I really have to discipline myself.

Realising that time is passing and that we were still near Saint John, I went back into making time mode – which is painful for when I have made myself stop for everything I see – no matter how sick the passengers get from the constant jerking – it is hard to ignore those road side attractions that seem to jump out at you when you want them to be invisible.

Nevertheless we sped to Moncton didn’t stop in Sackville – saw the RCI transmission towers and didn’t slow down for the importation of bees notice along the TCH.

I realised that I had made up all this time, doing a calculation with Baleful the intern, we reckoned that I could head down to Hubbards to see this gallery that is owned by a friend to see if it would be suitable for the collaborative show we have been – sort of – working on.

Plenty time – maybe I’ll even see Halifax.

Watching the time when I pull into Hubbards when I pull into the village, I stop at a great looking café restaurant to ask directions then ask how long it would take to get to the North Sydney ferry from here as that will determine if we can stop and have a nice meal here.

-Oh I’d guess about six hours.
It was 7:00
Ditch the intern so that she can use the wi fi at the café the perpetual bureaucratic money matters. Race to the gallery – closed.
Ding dong ditch a book and race back to pick up Baleful and race back up 102 to the Trans Canada.

A pit gasoline fill up food while driving stop in Truro.

Seeing me bark orders to everyone a nova scotian asks me where we’re heading.
-the North Sydney Ferry.
-you’ll never make it. it is about six hours from here.
We chat about Newfoundland and Nova Scotia. She preferred the rock also.
-I wonder why people come back from there.

The other passengers return and as we drive off she yells good luck but you have to let the ladies pee.

I really should have disciplined myself.

Mental calculations on how fast I have to go to make this. Average speed has been 80 k/h. we’ll have to keep to that and more. Follow someone doing 120 and begin to relax. Use Radio One as a passive way of marking time. Constant calculations at the mileage it looks good, until Antigonish where there is not only construction but also a 4km tailback. The anxiety returns as we are not in Cape Breton yet.

It then opens up, a motorist from New Brunswick and I take turns taking the lead as even when the super highway ends we keep to about 110k/h.

Over the causeway, again heading across Cape Breton in the dark none of the beauty can be seen. I point out what one would see in daylight.

At 11PM I see the lights of North Sidney and being early I give them a tour of the town before heading into the ferry terminal.

Pulling up to the wicket, the Marine Atlantic person informs me that the ferry is running four hours late.

We take turns trying to pass the time alternating between the terminal and the machine – trying to sleep.

There is nothing worse than sitting around North Sydney for hours on end.