Tales of the genuinely nice and hospitable

Mother Nature keeps up her scandalous show out here. The past couple of days I've continued to drive and cycle around and yelp out "holy shit!" randomly at the trees whenever they spurt out a reminder of the time of year at me. In pattering rain, driving rain, soppy rain, and threatening-to-rain with brief patches of sun shining through, still the reds endure, reds so red that it hurts to look at it for too long.

I made my way to a little town along the east wing of PEI called Souris, in the threatening-to-rain skies, hoping to beat the rain by getting in a wee cycle up and around the tip of the East lighthouse. I parked the Jamboree in the empty parking lot of the tourist info centre and was immediately greeted by the guy who lives next door, Joe, who has just returned to his PEI from Whitehorse and is busy converting his house to open a pub. When he heard my plan to cycle, he offered to give me his mobile phone number in case it started to rain while I was out there, he'd come pick me up. He then invited me to the party he was hosting that night and reassured me that I could park there overnight, no problem.

I took Betty out; her wheels and my legs were both itching to ride, so we were off and feeling good. It was one of those roads on which you always think that just over the next hill or just around the next bend would be the goal: in the case of this ride, the lighthouse. I'd gotten used to PEI being so small and driving distances so short, and I'd estimated – with the help of Joe and another friendly lady at the tourist centre – that the ride would be about 50km. No problem.

Until it started to rain, that is. I kept looking over my shoulder to judge the advance of the sky, and once I was already past the lighthouse and around the bend on my return loop, the threat of rain turned several layered and intermingled really deep shades of grey and then, ultimately, it finally all melded into one solid curtain of unmistakable rain. And so, in the last half hour or so, Betty and I got nicely soaked. You can imagine how glad we were to see the warm and dry Jamboree when we pulled back into town. I wish I knew how many kms the ride was but, unfortunately, the battery in my bike computer also chose this day and this ride to quit. I'm guessing 50kms was a bit of an optimistic pre-ride estimation, and think it was little more than 60kms. If only PEI published those distances on one of their otherwise very well detailed maps...

Anyway, check out the route: google Souris, PEI, loop the highway up to the lighthouse, around the other side and then across the little highway 305 back to town. And please, let me know how far we peddled!

Even if I had wanted to leave upon my return from the ride, I couldn't, because the cars carrying the party-goers had pulled up and parked all around the Jamboree, including right behind it, blocking me from going anywhere. Besides, it wasn't like I had anywhere to be, nor had any intention of finding another place to go: upon my return, drowned-rat-like, I stuck my cold feet in a hot bath I'd prepared on the stove in the Jamboree and bundled up in bed with some dry clothes, a beer and my book for a while until I felt ready to move again.

After dinner, around 8pm, Joe came over and knocked on the door to re-extend his invitation to the party. So I went over to Joe's party and was greeted with such a charming and interesting set of characters, ready to share their beer, their food, swap stories, and play music, that I stayed into the wee hours. We had a few guitars between us, and we jammed and sang and talked and laughed until I went back to the Jamboree, finally, to crash for the night, giggling away to myself.

I slept like a baby in that parking lot, and before I drove off the next morning, Joe had given me a case of the local Schooner beer and an African rain stick to take with me for the road.

I passed through a town named Montague. I wonder how many Romeo and Juliet jokes it and its residents must suffer annually. When I was taking the picture of the Welcome to Montague sign just on the outskirts of town, someone who I assumed to be a local called out to me, “you wouldn't happen to be a fan of Shakespeare, eh, my dear”. Uh... who? Me?! Hah!

People in the campsites let me play with their dogs and give me as many thumbs up and cheers as they have at their disposal whenever they find out I'm doing this on my own; some campers I've spotted in more than one site along the way, and several have shared that they have a similar itinerary as me: stay here as long as possible until the weather really turns, then head south. No wonder we are known as snowbirds. Should I be worried that I'm jumping the gun a bit, not yet retired nor anywhere near close to it, or should I just accept my community of 55+ travellers on the road for who and what they are? Um... easy answer.

How is it that people are always so nice?

Here's another story. Last night I got off the ferry from PEI to Caribou-Pictou, Nova Scotia, and it was about 8pm when I found the campspot nearest to the ferry and where the Jamboree and I would sleep that night. 8pm at this time of year is dark but I managed to find a campspot, back in, and as I was attempting to feel my way to the cords so that I could plug in, a car pulled up to shine its headlights along the side of the Jamboree so that I could see what I was doing. I called the owner of the campsite as nobody seemed to be around that late, told him where I'd parked, and he gave me the password to the wireless access and told me to have a nice rest. The next morning, I tried to find him or anyone who worked there to pay for my stay, but couldn't. When I pulled out I called him again to see if I could arrange to meet him to pay him before driving off, and his first words when I identified myself were, “don't worry about it, no charge.”

Seriously. I might never leave Atlantic Canada. Life is not very swanky but its absurdly comfortable and easy and charming and friendly. And what's more, the road signs here are written in two languages: not the expected English and French, mind you, but English and Gaelic!!

These are only a couple of examples of the kind of hospitality that I've been extended that have made life worth living. And I'm not limiting this statement to within the Canadian borders nor within the past three months. It happens out there. All. The. Time.

Let's hear it for all the gazillions of genuinely nice people out there because they definitely, thankfully, outweigh the assholes. Even when there's nothing in it for them.

And THIS little dingy will be sailing the Jamboree and me off tomorrow to one of the Canadian adventures I've been looking forward to for so so long: Newfoundland!

From PEI to NS