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

Charlottetown, PEI

I wonder if kids who go to school in Charlottetown are better versed in the history of Canadian Confederation than kids in other parts of the country. I've spent the past three days in this charming city and have been reminded in detail about their role in the birth of what we know of as Canada on just about every street.

The story goes that back in 1864 Charlottetown hosted a conference which was meant to develop the idea of Maritime unity among PEI, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. Then George Etienne Cartier from Lower Canada (Quebec) and John A Macdonald from Upper Canada (Ontario) also showed up to join the party and managed to change the debate to one of Canadian unity. After a week of luncheons, meetings, dinners and balls at which apparently a lot of champagne and fresh seafood was consumed, the idea of Confederation was agreed upon. Three years and two more conferences later, one in Quebec City and the final one in London, England, which got the Queen's approval, and Canada officially became the Dominion of Canada. July 1, 1867.

Charlottetown gives itself the moniker of the “Birthplace of Canada” because of this first event; somehow fitting that the idea of Canada was born out of a week of non-stop parties. Gives a bit of insight into the national character, eh.

There is a Confederation Museum and souvenir shop in Founders Hall, an old train building on the picturesque waterfront ,which is kinda cheesy but lays out the details of the story; it then goes on to describe how the Northwest Territories, which included the north and also extended as far west as BC from Ontario, were bought from the Hudson's Bay Co; how Reil led the rebellion in Red River, now better known as Winnipeg, defending those who, many of whom were Metis, were rather unwillingly sold in the deal, and as a result created Manitoba; how BC bargained for the railway; how Alberta and Saskatchewan were formed and lured European settlers to farm the lands; how the Klondike gold rush of Yukon attracted people from all over; about Newfoundland's rather reluctant entrance after World War II; and finally Nunavut's recent formation. Quite a fascinating story, actually. Don't know why I wasn't utterly captivated when I was learning it at about age 14 in school.

There's the Confederation Bridge that I drove over from New Brunswick; the Confederation trail, the bike trail that spans the island and on which yesterday I found myself on a path that diverged in the woods (I am beginning to wonder if Mr. Frost ever visited PEI...); a Confederation Mall and plenty of Confederation themed souvenirs and nicknacks. Every night until the end of October in the centre of old Charlottetown there's a sound and light show beamed onto the facade of the Provincial House, the spot where many of the meetings from the first conference took place and the only photograph to document the event was staged, also detailing the story peppered with reasons why PEI is so great. In town, there's a bench on the sidewalk with a statue of John A. that one can sit beside and pose as if engaged in a conversation or a cuddle with our esteemed first Prime Minister. Hmmm, I'm not sure, but I'd hazard a guess that PEI is fairly proud of their role as the hosts to the conference that breathed life into the idea of Confederation. Despite their not joining themselves because they didn't think it would suit them until many years later, interestingly enough, when it became apparent that Canada was just getting to be too much of a giant to resist.

Autumn is a little later arriving here, I've noticed. The air feels calm enough and many cafes still have thriving outdoor patios; its a bit cool, but the trees are only just beginning to turn their colours. There's still a lot of green out there at the moment. The drive into Charlottetown had me stopping at pretty lighthouses, The Great Canadian Soap Company selling their homemade, organic, goat's milk soaps and creams, complete with an opportunity to feed the goats, and totally irresistible pumpkin-and-potato stalls along the side of the road. I'm now cooking potatoes every night in the Jamboree for supper, and I have two perfectly orange little pumpkins decorating the interior.

Thankfully, its not only Confederation for the Tourists here; Charlottetown is also a humming little city with normal things going on. A good choice of restaurants to dine on oysters, lobster, haddock and mussels and sip wine. Live music in pubs and on stages erected on the street. The requisite Starbucks on the corner, and wide choice of pubs from which to gulp Atlantic beers. Which I did last night; no matter where in the world I've been, my tried-and-true method of meeting people and engaging in conversations when I feel the want for company when travelling alone is to head to the nearest Irish pub, grab a seat at the bar, and pass the evening in the company of those who are there. I sit and read a book, chat with my neighbours, and now that I'm carrying on this tradition here in Canada, and now that hockey season has started, I can keep up for the first time in twelve years with who's playing who, who's been traded and for how much, and who's winning and losing!

Road to Charlottown

To each trail, its own bike

For the last day of September, I found myself spending most of the day admiring Prince Edward Island by bike. Two bikes, actually.

I drove over the Confederation bridge yesterday from New Brunswick to PEI, a 12.9 km long bridge – apparently the longest bridge in the world over ice-covered waters: Luckily for me, there wasn't an ice cube in sight during my crossing. When I arrived on PEI, I was greeted by a huge welcome centre suggesting loudly and clearly that PEI has a booming tourism industry of which they seem to be very proud.

The interesting thing about being here now is that its the end of the season. Many touristy places are closed until May; there is such a scant number of campers left that I have my pick of sites when/if I find an open campground; and the roads are fairly quiet. What this translates to for me is lots of space to park and camp where I can without worry of someone shovelling me towards an official campsite, free entrance to several spots that during the peak season would have charged me, and lots of wide open roads and trails to jump on my bike and explore.

PEI has transformed an old railway line running from one end of the island to the other into a bike path. . Over 400 kms of trail traversing the island! How can I resist? Well, for starters, I've got the wrong bike for these trails. Its because I love Betty the Road Bike that I won't submit her skinny tires to chisel and gravel and pebbles. The tourist info guy suggested that I rent a bike (of course) but I wasn't about to fork out precious dollars for something that I'd only use very briefly. Might as well put those dollars towards something that I can use again and again in similar situations. This line of thinking took me directly to my first stop on PEI: Canadian Tire.

I've threatened to buy a cheap but handy go-anywhere bike since Kamloops, so I finally bought myself the newest inhabitant for the journey in the Jamboree: a little silver mountain/hybrid bike with fat tires that I can ride on gravelly trails, or alternatively, into town for a beer. I love Canadian Tire.

As I exited the store with this rather significant purchase, the downpour that google weather predicted hit. I managed to find the little silver bike a temporary spot in the Jamboree (her permanent spot is sharing the extra bed above the driver's cab with Betty, although she's a little heavier to lift) so that I could manoever our way through the rain with the wipers going full tilt to a campsite that was actually open and not far away; Cavendish. My neighbour is our dear Anne of the Red Braids.

When I awoke to sun and warm temperatures – I dare say reminiscent of summer, even – I took the playful silver bike out for an initial test ride. Our first stop was next door to visit Avonlea, Anne's little village, quiet and mostly closed so gratis to wander around. Without the hoards of tourists elbowing their way through the buildings and gift stores, in a hurry to take as many pictures and buy those souvenirs before their busses leave in 4 and a half minutes, it was quite a pleasant visit, despite the inherently cheesy touristy aspect of it. We gotta love Anne, and when in Green Gables, its a shame not to pop in and say hello.

I then took the as-of-yet unnamed silver on a 20 km trail through the PEI National Park. Another thing I've discovered in the quiet wake of tourist season: people seem relieved that the hoards are gone, and that they finally have enough time to slow down and notice that you are there; I think everyone I passed by today waved, called out a hello, stopped for a chat, or gave me tips on what to look for further on down the road. So incredibly nice.

The trail took me through forest and dunes along the coast of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. I only came up on one other person the entire way along this trail, called the Homestead trail, but I did sneak up on a few examples of the local wildlife. So far, I've spotted fuzzy red and black caterpillars shuffling their way across the paths; slitherly little snakes that would swerve to get out of my way and then pose for me standing perfectly still in the foliage along the side of the path; and curious foxes, in no way fearful of humans. I saw six foxes in total today, sauntering nonchalantly, sometimes playfully, along the side of the road. When I stopped to photograph one of the six, he was downright flirtatious with me, showing off his jumping skills to catch a little bug in the grass, then luxuriously rolling around in the grass, and finally trotting along beside me not a foot away for a while before carrying on with his afternoon.

They must be fed regularly by tourists.

I stumbled upon a littering of apples along one of my paths. Many suffered bruises from the fall, others suffered from all sorts of bugs and worms keen to gorge on their fruity goodness. But I managed to go apple picking anyway, if you call picking off the ground "apple-picking", and found a good stash of apples to take back to the Jamboree. They are a bit on the sour side, and small (because they are natural!), so I plan to make apple crumble with them. MMmmmmm. And, I think it makes a difference that I found the apples before the snake, don't you? And so, dear Mr. Frost, that about does it for apple-picking for me (for now, anyway), too.

Its supposed to rain tomorrow so once I finished this gravelly path, I seized the sunny day, swapped the silver for Betty (she's great on gravel but for paved roads, I like my road bike), and did the ride I was saving for tomorrow of speed and smooth sailing on the cement. I cycled 26 kms to the nearby town of Rustico, with a quaint harbour equipped with an original Atlantic lighthouse, and stunning ocean views - especially in the setting sun - before returning, famished, to the Jamboree.

The rest of my day was filled up with trying to work out how to tune my guitar, reading, and writing this blog post to you. That, and noticing how utterly pretty and charming PEI is. I think I'll stick around a few days.

link to the pictures marking the end of my 3rd month on the road!

Welcome to PEI