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#24 Cape Spear, NL: East

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There once was a traveler from Winnipeg, Who drove east through a land quite gigantic. When he got to Cape Spear, he said "It seems clear, That I'm further from home than from Limerick." Cape Spear is as far east as you can get in North America.  We actually passed western France on the way.  Okay, just the French islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon, but I'm sticking to my claim.   We arrived on Canada Day Eve and when Patty and I sang O Canada at the tip of the continent, there was only one creature further east than us.  A seal pup lay listening about two feet from the Atlantic.  We serenaded it with the second verse as well: O Canada! Where pines and maples grow. Great prairies spread and lordly rivers flow. How dear to us thy broad domain, f rom East to Western Sea, Thou land of hope for all who seek! Thou True North, strong and free! We camped in our motorhome right there at the Cape and woke up on Canada Day to some classic Newfoundland fog and the mou...
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#23 Some Remote Road, NL: I Took the Road Less Traveled By ...

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This morning we got off the overnight ferry from Nova Scotia to Newfoundland - the longest of five on our journey so far.  We had set up a little encampment at the very front of the ferry where we'd have a great view of the sunrise.  I found out that our ferry-neighbors were from Wisconsin.  I told them about our journey, and how we were trying to stay tight to the edge of Canada to surround it with prayer.  I described myself as someone who avoids big highways if he can find a slow windy road through little villages.  Immediately the Wisconsin wife pointed at her husband.  It seems he was a kindred spirit.  I got the sense that she wasn't quite as thrilled as he was about the road less traveled by. I had characteristically chosen a route off the Trans-Canada that would get us from the Newfoundland ferry terminal to Cape Spear the 'scenic' way.  But I almost regretted it.  Not very far in it turned to gravel - washboardy gravel that seemed li...
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#22 Baddeck, Nova Scotia: Baddeck to Winnipeg Connection ... Ring a Bell?

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"Sago gatchi, ska na ka?"  I was trying to express my greetings to my sister Ivy back in Winnipeg, but she didn't seem to be getting it.  A little louder:  "Sago gatchi, ska na ka?" She still couldn't make it out.  Surely the issue couldn't have been my Bell cellular carrier.  After all, I was calling from Baddeck on Cape Breton Island - Canadian home of the inventor of the telephone.  Okay, duh!  I suddenly figured out the problem.  Ivy didn't know a word of Mohawk! Even as a kid in Scotland, Alexander Graham Bell was interested in how sound was produced.  As a sixteen-year-old he trained his Skye Terrier, Trouve, to be able to growl continuously. While Trouve was obediently growling, young Alexander would reach into its mouth and manipulate its lips and vocal cords to make the sounds "Ow ah oo gamama."  With his dog trained, Bell was able to convince his freens that he had a talking terrier who, on cue, would recite what sounded like ...
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#21 Prince Edward Island: Embraces

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I'm going to try to connect three different stories but I'm afraid the transitions might be as awkward as Matthew felt when he was given a hug by Anne.  Not familiar with that reference?  Then I better begin with that story. Story #1 My favorite scene from the Megan Follows version of Anne of Green Gables took place in the barn.  Anne had just found the puffed-sleeve dress that Matthew had bought for her and placed on her bed.  Matthew was the lifelong bachelor who, along with his spinster sister, had adopted Anne.  Anne put the dress on and rushed to the barn to thank Matthew, but all she could do was stare at him with misty eyes.  Finally he said, "Don't you like it?"  "Like it?  It's more exquisite than any dress I could ever imagine!  You are a man of impeccable taste Matthew."  I'm sure Matthew wanted to give her a hug but kissed Anne on the forehead instead, explaining that he didn't want to get her dress dirty.  That's when A...
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#20 Fundy National Park: Downhill But at What Angle?

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  I was pleasantly surprised to see this sign near Fort Francis, Ontario.  We were barely a day out of Winnipeg and we were already over the hump.  It was all downhill from here.  But did they measure the 1660 feet from high or low tide?  We'd be hitting the Atlantic at the Bay of Fundy with the world's highest tides.  A fifty foot drop between ebb and flow could make quite a difference on our angle of descent.  I didn't bother doing the math.  What I was thinking about was all the gas I would save as I slipped the transmission into neutral and prepared to coast.   Waiting. Waiting. Not rolling. I gave up and popped it back into drive.  As we approached Fundy National Park in New Brunswick a couple of weeks later, we hit the biggest hills of our journey.  Going downhill I would put the RV into second to save on the brakes.  I'm guessing a couple of times my engine revved a little too high and then suddenly I realized my ov...
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#19 St. John River, NB: Nice to Have You Back

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We've been trying to sample local cuisine as we move across Canada.  Our last meal in Quebec was poutine with an unrequested layer of peas on top.  Quebecois invented poutine so I guess they can decide how it should be served.  As we crossed into Nouveau Brunswick, French continued as the spoken language but there was a subtle change in culture.   Following the St. John River we soon found an establishment that served up local fare.  Popeye's Louisiana Kitchen.  I sense some raised eyebrows from my readership so I feel I have to defend myself.  French settlers started settling the Maritimes in the 1600's.    They called their home Acadia - paradise - and started happily turning marshland into farmland.  All was quite idyllic until the British took control.  The Brits felt like they couldn't trust the Acadians because that's the way England felt towards France in some far-off European conflict.  The solution?  Deport t...
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#18 Parc National Frontenac, QC: Easy to Forgive

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I was having an inner struggle to end an otherwise fantastic first day in Quebec.  As we traveled through the eastern townships I was loving the rustic old barns and stone houses. I was doing just fine figuring out the French signs.  I had followed the debate a few years ago when the province forbade English on signage but I was good with that.  I understood Quebec's desire to protect their language and culture.  But now, as we approached Parc National Frontenac, I was starting to get a little irritated. There are a lot of English-speaking people across Canada, including me, who pay taxes for the National Parks.  They are a Canadian thing - not a Quebec thing.  Surely they could give us directions on how to get there in both languages.  And was it my imagination or did the guy at the desk seem a little grumpy at being forced to answer my questions in his halting English?  Now I was starting to see scowls on everyone's faces.  And where was th...
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