Oh the Places I Went.. The Final Chapter

I keep turning on my laptop and staring at this empty page, not knowing where to start this last entry. There is no exciting city or small rustic town to describe, no trail to be remembered or hotel room to be forgotten.

There is no story to tell...

           but I'm working on an ending..

Wesleyville NL... Random moments in rural places

I spent most of Monday morning lazing around, doing laundry, collecting receipts, all the usual stuff one does the first day off after a couple of weeks on the road.  Just before noon I was flipping channels and contemplating if it was somehow wrong to open a beer in my pajamas before lunch on a workday when I got a fairly unimportant email, while I had my email open I decided to check my itenarary for this weeks travel and discovered that I was due to fly to Newfoundland in exactly 30 minutes. Crap.

Crap crap crap crap crap crap.

I had thought I was flying out the next day. I frantically called, emailed, texted, and BBM'ed  (simultaneously) my colleague F. who I knew also thought we were flying the next day. A mad panic ensued, at least on my end, until the travel department was able to rebook the flights later that day. I took my clothes out of the dryer and put them back in my suitcase and changed out of my home lounging clothes into my airplane lounging clothes, called the airport limo and was on my way back to The Rock.

Because of the flight change I had a long layover in Halifax waiting for the EVA airlines plane heading to Gander and didn't make the final flight until after well after midnight. F. would be arriving about the same time via St. John's.  After delays for refueling and de-icing in Halifax I landed back in Gander about 2:30 local time and found the now familiar agent at the car rental counter waiting for me. She smiled and said she had good news and bad news. I laughed and asked her to explain before she informed me the rental was ready and all warmed up, but unfortunately all she had was a passenger van. I asked her what she had given F. when he came through earlier and she said he hadn't arrived yet.  I jumped, literally, into the 12 seater white van and made a bee line for the hotel, F. could worry about himself.

I got to the hotel about 3am and stood at the desk for a few minutes directing polite 'excuse me' noises towards the pair of legs I could see sticking out from the office door. Tapping on the counter and calling out hello didn't stir the pair of legs so I eventually resorted to ringing the bell on the counter. The legs jumped into the air and then out of site to be replaced by the top half of the leg's body peering around the corner sleepily. 'Checking in please' I called out and with a sigh the legs and body pulled themselves together into a full person who grumpily checked me in and gave me a room key.

I was just getting into the hotel room about an hour later when I got an email saying F. was delayed in Toronto in bad weather and wouldn't arrive until sometime the next afternoon. I had just two hours before I had to be on the road to get to Wesleyville first thing in the morning so I weighed my options, propped open my eyelids and flicked channels until it was time to head out. I walked back over to the office and woke up the clerk for the second time that night to check out. I tried joking with her, saying that I should get a discount for not even messing up the bed but I couldn't even get her to crack a smile.

Back onto the TransCan highway for the four kabillionth time for a yet another dark drive through the Newfoundland wilderness until I got to Gambo where I slid over to the the Road to the Shore for the last 80kms. As I passed slowly through the small weather beaten villages alonng the Kitimakke Coast the sun began an astonishing rise over the Atlantic Ocean's horizon. I watched the sky change as I drove from black to deep red to brilliant orange as it broke the day and started illuminating the landscape around me. Scanning the sides of the road I looked for somewhere to pull over that wasn't someones driveway/yard/pier/dock and eventually  found a place to stop at the water's edge in Indian Bay. It felt really cool to be one of maybe just a handful of people to witness the sunrise over the western hemisphere that morning.

I arrived at work in Wesleyville at the perfect time, just as coffee was being made and passed the day slowly waiting for F. to join me in town. I still hadn't slept and was hoping to get a nap mid afternoon when he arrived. I was literally leaning against a wall with my eyes closed when F. called to say his plane had made in emergency landing in PEI and would be further delayed. I prepared myself to work throughout the day alone and later on that evening I got the word that he wouldn't be making the trip at all.  Hmmm, I thought sleepily, that meant I was on-call until 10pm. I left work shortly after and made my way through town to the motel that the travel department had found for me, the only place to stay anywhere close to town.

I walked into the motel and found myself flashing back to my parents fake wood panelled basement circa 1977. I settled into the 'rec' room that I was given which didn't come with a chair, or an iron, or an alarm clock, and jumped into the shower to wake myself up before I went to find food. There was a small homey looking dining room down a dark hallway in the motel and I sat down and looked at the menu, quickly realizing that my choices were cod. Cod and chips, cod on a bun, cod tongue, pan fried cod, scruncheons (deep fried salted cod fat cubes).. you get the picture. I settled for cod and chips and a bottle of Black Horse and ate while chatting with a friendly local who turned out to be the brother of the motel owner. Between my state of complete and utter exhaustion and the crazy Newfoundland accent I only understood every third or fourth sentence but I was pretty sure he was telling me he would introduce me to his beautiful niece who the whole town was crazy about. After a while we were joined by the owner, who had earlier checked me in and later cooked my meal and I drifted out of the conversation. Even though I could barely understand their words it was enjoyable to listen the to strange accent and oddly phrased comments between the two as they discussed the everyday business of living in small town Newfoundland.

I stumbled back to my room and lay on the bed with my phone next to my head waiting for 10 o'clock. Finally the workday ended and after 40 hours of flying and driving and working and dealing with the locals who just refused to speak the same language as me I was able to relax, close my eyes and fall asleep.

I had the foresight to ask if the dining room would be open for breakfast and had arranged for eggs and home fries to be served at 8am  and so, for the first time in a week arrived at work unaccompanied by stomach moans and gurgles of hunger. Considerably more alert than I was the day before I found myself catching on to the lingo a bit and laughing along with some of the good natured ribbing the store full of 60 year old women I was spending the day with kept tossing at me. It was a good day and by the time I left my cheeks were sore from smiling so much.

I was amazed to discover the local grocery store was still open when I drove by about 7pm and I decided to stop and look for anything that wasn't cod. Without access to a microwave, stove top, or even a coffee maker to heat water I was hoping to buy something that was ready to eat and could actually be placed in a food group other than 'fried'. I left with two brownish bananas, a block of cheese, a small tin of tuna, a bag of pretzels and a 8pk of Black Horse and climbed up into my passenger van for the short drive back to my parents basement rec room, oddly transplanted 35 years later to a motel in a small fishing village in Newfoundland.

A while later I was lying on the bed flipping through the 19 channels on the TV............until...


Through the thin motel walls I could hear the sound of voices coming from somewhere in the motel. not just voices but drinking voices.. drinking Newfoundlander voices- and above all the sound of female voice. I left my pretzels and followed the voices down the dark hallway until I came into a small 'pub'.

Very small.. very very small.

 A polished wooden bar stretched the length of three stools in addition to two small tables in the room meaning the place sat a maximum of seven and made it it officially the smallest pub I have ever had the pleasure of patronizing. The owner's brother that I had met the previous night at dinner was seated at one of the tables with his wife and a couple of locals were at the bar. Behind the bar was a drop dead gorgeous blond serving up drinks and stories and raunchy jokes. I took the last seat at the bar and easily struck up a conversation after ordering the local beer.  The two guys at the bar worked together and were drinking on the ol' b'ys tab, the ol' b'y being the boss and the quieter of the two.  I struggled to keep track of the conversation as I kept an eye and an ear on the blond behind the bar, who had by now been introduced as promised the her uncle who sat behind me. The niece had just come to town from BC and was keeping herself busy at the small pub as she adjusted to life in very rural NFLD. She was the first female under the age of 50 that I had seen since arriving two and she was, ahem..., a very welcome sight. As we took turns buying rounds of beer, I began telling stories about my travels across the country and more recently around 'The Rock'.  With a packed house of 6, including the blond, I found myself the center of attention as I talked about far off places that these people would likely never see.

I mentioned towards the end of the night that my one regret about this being my last trip to  NFLD was that I had never been 'screetched in'. It seems silly and touristy but it was something that I wanted to do. The ol' b'y started telling me how his grandfather used to give a Newfoundland welcome to mainlanders that was similar to screeching but older than the modern ritual. The bar discussed for a bit whether I had earned the right to the ritual but before I knew it I found myself walking down the road to one of my new friends fishing hut where all the required elements for my screeching were to be found. A surreal night was unfolding I realized as I stood reciting lines from a poem that was English but unrecognizable in a yellow sou'wester and coat drinking shots of dark rum before kissing a mounted stuffed puffin. The three locals had some big laughs at my expense as I drunkenly tried to recite the lines of verse and kiss the bird and take the shot all with just the right amount of respect the ceremony required. The Newfie welcome was a highlight of the entire year and am experience that I hope I never forget. An amazing random moment.

I finished work the last day about noon and headed out of a town. I had awhile before I flew out of Gander and had planned on taking the slightly longer route back to the city, continuing along the Road to the Shore  along the north eastern corner of Canada. It was a cold day with a salty wind blowing in from the ocean but it was sunny and I drove slowly following the highway from town to village along the coast, exploring amazingly small settlements along the way. Pound Cove and Deadman's Bay and Musgrave Harbour are quintessential fishing villages with stacks of lobster and crab traps in the driveways and trawlers anchored in the water. Wind and salt blasted wooden houses and fishing huts perch on rocky shores and small islands and outcroppings that have somehow stood the test of time and Mother Nature's harsh winters. I spent an hour or so in Newtown, wandering around the historic living heritage buildings that date back to the original 1850's seal hunting settlers. Change seems to come slowly in that isolated corner of the country and it was easy to imagine the lives of those early immigrants scratching out their lives, hunting and fishing in the days before highways and Google and smartphones replaced letters and instincts and traditional knowledge passed down from father to son and mother to daughter.

The town of less than 300 was quiet and with any public buildings closed for the season I felt a bit like an intruder and moved on after taking a few pictures. Speeding down the highway in my big white van with my belly rumbling after another breakfast and lunch less day. I was on a beeline for Gander when I saw a sign pointing to Cape Freels and I found myself unable to resist one more visit to one more town before my time in Eastern Canada came to an end. I followed a road that quickly turned to hard packed dirt. At the end of the road a sign pointed down a pitted two rut road towards 'Random Passage Trail'.

 I couldn't certainly couldn't pass that up, my whole life is based on random passages.

So with my belly imploring me to get back onto the highway and not stop until I found food, I locked the van doors and went in search of random. A half kilometer down the path the dirt trail took me past the cement foundation of a long abandoned building and onto the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. Cold looking waves beat steadily against the shore of the snow covered sandy beach. It had turned grey and cloudy and the cold wind at the beach sent chills up the back of my coat. The trail seemed to continue along the beach and further up the Kittimake Coast but I was tired and hungry and ready to go home. I stooped to pick up a few small stones and turned back to the van.

That was my last day of exploring, I thought as I drove back to Gander and ate a greasy meal at the small airport diner. The project that had employed me for the last year was now complete and my days of travelling had come to an end. I was heading home for the last time A sense of melancholy had come over me at the beach in Cape Freels that now felt heavy and hard to shake as I walked across the cold tarmac and boarded the plane. I kept my eyes closed, resting my head against the window as we taxied onto the runway and climbed into the clouds, hoping to sleep but unable to get the scenes of the day out of my head.

I opened my eyes and was astonished by the sight outside the small airplane window. As I flew towards Toronto and home the sun was setting behind us, sending streaks of brilliant reds and oranges as it chased the plane west across the country. Without the haze of smog, without the clouds, without light pollution, without highrises or mountains or trees to block the view, a sunset from the 40 000 feet is an amazing sight and it felt like a perfect way to end the trip and the year.

I smiled, pulled out my camera and started taking pictures and I didn't stop until the light had gone out, wanting to record each second so as not to forget a single moment.

Around the Maritimes in 13 Days

I spent the next two weeks bouncing around the Maritime provinces with a string of upgrades wherever I went. The accumulation of frequent flyer and hotel and rental points, along with my improved packing skills, airport security know-how (yes.. that George Cloney character knows what he's talking about!), and familiarity with just about every major and many regional airports across the country, has made the travel aspect of my job seem second nature and dare I say, enjoyable, and I made the most of it as I hopscotched between Toronto and Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and finally back to Newfoundland, all first class and all the company dime.

My first stop was Stephenville which is a small town about 100 kilometres south of the Deer Lake on  the shores of the Gulf of St Lawrence.  The last time I was in this part of NFLD I drove through the Marble Mountains in one of the heaviest snowfalls in years, this time I drove through the dark night, adding to the number of kilometers I have driven around NFLD without ever seeing it at all. (A quick calculation tells me now that the number is over a thousand!)

I again managed to avoid running into, or even being rudely stared down by, a moose enroute to Stephenville and sleepily checked in at the hotel which, I was pleased to note,  was right next to the worksite I was headed to in the morning. When I woke up the next morning to a dark day of hard rain and cold wind I was even more pleased to find a indoor walkway to the mall where the jobsite was located. The rain didn't let up for the two whole days but because there was also a restaurant/lounge connected to the hotel I didn't even need to step outside for the first 50 hours. Everything I needed was connected  by a convenient series of rain stopping and wind blocking series of walls and roofs and weather proof doors.

On the third day in town (or in the fortress as I was starting to think of it) the wind and rain abruptly stopped just as I checking out of the hotel.  I had an hour to kill before I had to drive back to Deer Lake so I took a brief blind tour of the town and the water front. The town was not much more that a few strips malls and government and service centers so I headed to the water where I found long  beaches stretching off the distance with panoramic views of the cold  Gulf  of St Lawrence. Wind blew the spray from the waves across the beach as I walked along collecting a few stones and taking a few pictures but before long I found myself running back to the car and racing to catch a plane after losing track off time at the cold Atlantic beach.

A smooth round trip back to Toronto for a shave and a shower and not much more and I found myself bumping down in Halifax, NS and driving, in the dark of course, 100 kms north to my hotel in the town of Truro, on the northern edge of the Bay of Fundy. When I arrived at work the next morning it became obvious very quickly that through no fault of my own (for once!) I was in the wrong spot. A hectic series of emails and phone calls later, I found myself on a mad dash back across the province to Dartmouth, which is right next to Halifax and a mere ten minute drive from the airport I had landed in the night before. 

I finished the workday and drove back to Truro in the rain for my second night in Nova Scotia but checked out the next morning having already made plans to on spend the last night in Dartmouth and avoid another long commute. That afternoon I got a message from a colleague who was staying in Halifax. I have spent a lot of time on the road with F. who has been with me during some of the lowlights and most of the highlights during the last year and so, itching for company and a night out, I knew F. would be up for the same. I changed my hotel reservation for the third time and we make plans for a classic Nova Scotian dinner. Lobster.

We sat down at Murphy's, a seafood restaurant on Cable Wharf, right next to Theodore Tugboats home dock and ordered 'The Lobster Experience' which included the opportunity to fish your own lobster out of the tank and pay a days salary for the pleasure. We scooped up our lobsters and then got back to our drinks. The cooked crustaceans arrived soon after and we 'bibbed up' and got to work eating.  About 3/4's of the way through the 1 1/2 lb lobster I stopped eating and sat back, signalling the waitress for water. My heart was racing and I felt my face and ears flushing. I thought I was having an allergic reaction but I know I'm not allergic to shellfish.  I was actually a bit scared for a second but soon relaxed and broke out laughing when I saw my pal F. had an expression that probably mirrored my own. We slowed down a bit a made it through the lobsters but the waitress cleared away the plates without us having touched the side dishes. It was a great meal in a great spot and we paid the hefty bill, carefully folding the receipt away so I would be sure to expense the meal, and then headed up the steep streets into downtown Halifax.

We wandered the streets a bit, working off some of the meal we had had just ingested and generally checking out the dark city. Looking for a pub I stopped a couple of locals and asked where might be 'happening.'  The general consensus was there wasn't much happening in Halifax on a Tuesday night but a pub not far away turned out to be warm and welcoming and F. and I sat at the bar chatting with the locals, chatting up the waitresses and having a generally good time.

I dropped F. off in a town called Upper Tantallon at 9am the next morning and with two and a half hours before my boarding call I figured I had almost enough time to visit one of the most iconic and instantly recognisable sites in the maritimes. Peggy's Cove was just forty kilometers to the south and an opportunity to great to ignore, even if I only had almost enough time. I practically flew along the twisting country road, slowing down only to quickly 'ooh' and 'aah' at the heritage towns like French Village, Hacketts Cove and Indian Harbour, and sigh with regret as I passed signs leading to The Settlers' Graveyard and the Swissair 111 Memorial. I wished I had time to stop but I drove on and soon parked at the visitor center and grabbed my camera. I checked the time and grimaced after making a few calculations. I really had only a few minutes but forced myself to stop and somehow try to soak up the atmosphere of the place.  The quiet, calm Atlantic softly lapped up onto the rocky shore under a perfectly blue sky.

 What a serenely beautiful moment. Peggy's Cove will certainly rank among the most amazing spots I  have been.  I touched the water and ran my hands along the smooth rock, noticing the similarity to the rocky lake shores in northern Ontario. This was an incredible spot and I needed to stop and appreciate it. I spent no more than 20 minutes at the famous site and another 20 minutes driving slowly through the quiet village of fishing huts and stacks of lobster traps, artists studios and small shops selling local food and craft. I longed to get out of my car and explore each small wooden structure but simply had to leave. With only an hour to my boarding call and about a hundred kilometres to drive across the province to Halifax airport I sped away focused on one thing, not missing my flight. Despite being ffrustrated by school buses, a highly improbable duck crossing, construction and a detour just before the airport road  I somehow make it back to the city, returned the rental, checked my luggage, cleared security and made it to the gate just in time to miss the boarding call.

All was not lost however as the plane was evidently idling out on the tarmac waiting for me. The co-pilot met me on the tarmac standing beside the smallest commercial plane I've ever seen and helped me stow my carry on luggage in the small compartment behind the cockpit and then advised us of the safety features (HA!) of the plane and instructed us to tap him on the shoulder if it got too cold in the cabin. The 10 seater Beechcraft something or other twin prop airplane operated by EVA Airlines was taking me and two others to Frederikton, New Brunswick. . The flight was loud but otherwise fine and an hour after takeoff I was grabbing my bags and jumping into the rental for a ninety minute drive to Woodstock, New Brunswick another small maritime town this time on the border of the State of Maine.

 I was in town for two days and again it rained or was threatening to rain the whole time. I left town on the third day with virtually no impression of New Brunswick at all. The woman who took my nightly pizza delivery order was totally incompetent and the woman at the hotel check in counter was totally hot. That's about all I know first hand about the province and it's probably not fair to assume the rest of the province falls into one of those two categories.

Another round to trip to Toronto to wash my clothes and water the plants and I found myself back in Newfoundland, and the friendly calls of 'I's the b'ys' and 'yes me dears' and 'eres ya be lover'. I settled into the now familiar hotel in Gander and flipped through the restaurant listings in town before settling on Jungle Jims. I  was hoping to avoid another meal of deeply deep fried everything, a somewhat unreasonable expectation now that I was back in NFLD. The bar was full as was the seating area and I waited until the first table was free and sat down. I cringed at the menu, even the pictures looked greasy and settled on a cheese quesadilla and a Black Horse beer and drank it alone at a vinyl seated booth for meant for six. I've had a lot of amazing moments in the last year but eating that crummy artificial tasting cheese quesadilla alone in a crummy restaurant on another rainy night in Gander is not anywhere close to the top of that list.

I was up before dawn to drive to an even smaller town on the Atlantic coast called Wesleyville. The first hour of the drive was dark and I sped south though another 100kms of unseen highway before the sky started glowing to the east against a silhouette of unbroken pines. Eventually the GPS led me off the highway and I found myself in the town of  Gambo which happened to be the birthplace of Joey Smallwood, one of the Fathers of Confederation. Smallwood's name is attached to everything in town it seemed and I didn't have to get out of the car to feel his presence. The small town that was just beginning to stir as I drove through and I drove out the other side of town disappointed that I didn't see anywhere that I could find some breakfast or at least a coffee. I passed through a series of fishing towns and villages with my belly grumbling loudly as I drove.

I followed the two lane Road to the Coast as it curled through a smaller and sleepier towns of scattered homes and fishing huts. Wooden docks stretched into a calm ocean studded with rocky shore. This was a different kind of rural where the roads seemed to turn into driveways and then became docks without much notice.  The GPS tried to convince me to drive into the ocean at one point and repeatedly told me to turn when there was obviously no road to turn on. Already late, I switched off the GPS and stopped at the only 'public' building I could see for directions, the regional hospital. I entered into a surprisingly bustling emergency room and when I couldn't flag anyone down I walked down the corridor and found myself in an administration office of some sort. A woman looked up from her desk and I explained I just needed some directions. She seemed quite annoyed (rightly so!) but pointed me in the right direction. I continued along the coast and eventually, after a few more GPS directed u-turns found the address.

I finished the day driving back to Gander, with the sky already getting darker, without ever finding anything for breakfast and so boarded the plane with a backpack full of vending machine snacks. I would be returning to Wesleyville for four days the next week. I was bringing F. with me for company and maybe a suitcase full of freeze dried meals for sustenance. It would be the last trip of the project and I sure was glad I would have someone to share it with. I had eventually spotted a small grocery store in town but no restaurants at all so I was already working on plans for a sidetrip to Gander or maybe even St. John's to celebrate the end of the ride with a 'screeching in' ceremony, and more importantly perhaps.. a final meal.

Bishop's Falls, NL : The Middle of Nowhere

Bishops Falls is pretty much smack dab in the middle of Newfoundland, about as 'interior' as it gets, far from the bigger coastal cities, in fact far from the smaller cities as well including Gander which is 200 kms away and where I landed at almost midnight on a rainy Sunday. I picked up my luggage and rental and drove into the dark streets. The Trans-Can Highway would take me to my hotel for the night as it has so many times in different provinces across the country.

With bleary eyes I speed down the dark highway, trying to stay focused watching for moose. The road was dark and edged by an unbroken wall of trees on both sides. I didn't see a light of any sort for over a hundred kilometers expect the lights of the occasional transport barreling blindingly towards me and one dim PEPSI sign peeking out through trees just off the highway. After an hour and a half I turned off the highway and entered the small town of Bishops Falls. I drove up and down the main street looking for the motel I had been booked at called The Exploits River Motel. I was not expecting much from the place but had expected to be able to find it. There was nothing on the road even resembling a motel, in fact I didn't see anything. No gas station, no restaurant, no convenience or grocery stores or banks or schools. Just sparsely situated  dark houses. Wow, this place was remote, and it was small. After driving the length of Main St one more time before giving up, I pulled over and called the motel phone.  A sleepy voice answered and I asked for directions to be told the place wasn't in Bishops Falls but back right on the highway. The directions made it seem impossible to miss and pulled back out onto the highway, anticipating being in a bed in just a few more minutes.

Half an hour later, after four or five u-turns I turned onto a barely visible driveway that led me to the PEPSI sign i had noticed earlier. As it was the only visible object within a hundred kms I would have thought they may have given that as a landmark to look for when giving directions. They didn't.

A woman answered the door marked 'Office' in her housecoat and slippers and handed me a key with saying much at all. She obviously had been in bed and as I was barely awake I didn't press her for conversation. She said I could check in properly tomorrow and closed the door.

I settled into the room that was decorated, most likely in the early 70's, with concrete walls painted pink, battered veneer covered furniture and outrageous flower patterned linens. The bed was comfortable though and I was asleep not long after my head hit the pillow.

I went to work the day next day with an empty belly as the small coffee shop/restaurant attached to the motel wasn't open yet and even in the light there was nowhere I could find to eat. Back at the motel later that evening I was more than disappointed to find the coffee shop closed already. I still hadn\t checked in and so walked over to the office and walked in. After giving the owner, who was dressed somewhat more professionally than at our first meeting, my credit information I asked about the possibility of eating while I was in town. I got excited when she mentioned there was a Chinese food restaurant in town but then she said it closed a t 5:30. 

As I was walking away, wondering if I might have a pack of airplane pretzels in my briefcase, the motel owner called after me asking if the Internet was working in my room. It was and that surprised both of us. Neither she nor any of the other guests could connect and she was waiting for 'd'boys' to come and look at in the morning. She mentioned in a not so subtle way that she needed to send an important email and before you could say remote-interior-Newfoundland-is-even-worse-than-remote-northern-Ontario a deal was struck. I agreed to let her use my laptop in my room in exchange for dinner, specifically two grilled cheese sandwiches and french fries. It was the first time I had been forced to barter for food on the road and aside from not knowing how to fill in the expense form for a bartered meal everyone was happy.

I spent the rest of the evening eat my sandwiches and listening to transports pull off the highway, gears and brakes screaming and into the motel parking lot and then got on my laptop and used the only Internet connection in town to find a way out of town. Preferably to somewhere that had food for purchase with money instead of bartering with favours. I would be finished work by early afternoon and was flying out of Gander so emailed my travel department and, paraphrasing the ol' Gunsmoke line, begged them to 'get me the hell outta Dodge'.

I woke up the next morning to about two or three inches of unexpected snow on the ground with more falling steadily. I tramped out into the snow, without breakfast, in my soft leather Sketchers (of course I didn't have boots. I still don't even own boots, and even if I did.. would I have packed them? ) and poked around the rental for a snowbrush which, of course wasn't there.  Cold hands, a credit card and a stick pulled from the bushes cleared the snow from the car and I pulled out onto the highway just in time to be hit by a wall of heavy slushy snow courtesy a transport truck that was careening by. Credit card out again I scraped off the windows and drove the half a kilometer back into Bishops Falls.

Normally I would've taken the afternoon to explore the town, meet some people, take some pictures and generally just hang out but the snow had continued, the town was small, and I was hungry so when I finished work early in the afternoon I debated stopping at the Chinese food place but opted to head right to Gander where I knew there was a Subway that would be less sketchy than the only restaurant in town. For some reason I turned the wrong way when I pulled out onto the TCH  and as I drove around the first corner looking for a safe spot for a u-turn I came across the most wonderful site I had seen in two days. In the middle of nowhere, on a deserted highway, inexplicably, and to my utter astonishment and joy the familiar Tim Hortons sign shone out angelically through the falling snow.

What!!  Why had no-one told me there was a Tims? I had asked a dozen people where I could get some food in town and no-one had mentioned it. Why? Because it was technically five minutes outside of town?

Fortified for the drive back to Gander with coffee and other treats I pulled back out onto the highway, in the right direction this time and was on my way.

The snow had turned to cold, wind driven rain by the time I took the exit into Gander. I had driven out of Gander two days ago in the dark so hadn't known what to expect from the town. In the dim rainy daylight there still wasn't much to see. I stopped at a fish and chips and seafood chain for lunch and wasn't anymore impressed with my lunch in Gander as I had been in the same highly recommended chain in St. John's and then holed up in my hotel room for the rest of the night finishing of the case of Black Horse I had picked up on my way to the middle of nowhere two days ago.

I arrived at  Gander International Airport the next morning with lots of time before my (delayed) flight was due to leave and was impressed by the displays that adorn the airport. Over the next hour I completed a crash course in the aviation history of the town, learning that it had once been the largest airport in the world and still has one of the longest runways. The airport was instrumental in early test flights with many aviation 'firsts' originating in the town and was later an important airbase during the second world war as well as an active NORAD center. Impressive history for such an unimpressive town.

I took off heading straight for Toronto, realizing that I had only taken three pictures while on this trip, a record low I'm sure.. but then what does one take pictures off when one is in the middle of nowhere?