Too close to home to halt
We had some serious shopping ahead, this morning. Son #2 had tasked us with an open-ended list: find the finest of fresh local ales. Of course, the first address we had was out of business, but the net came through with an alternate possibility. There, intrigued with our quest, a clerk stayed close by to provide solid advice. And with our purchases paid and packed, we started the long slog across northern Maine.
No joke. They have a lot of trees. Miles and miles and miles of them, with no break for fuel or food or anything other than staying on task. Finally, about the time started to fear for our sanity, things came to a head. People, and an Irving gas station (in Maine). A break, before border time. Also, we saw no deer on the road, until downtown Calais.
The border crossing was perfunctory. I knew there were taxes to pay; their “rate of exchange” was friendlier than my bank, by a couple of points. With my fiscal responsibility fulfilled, we were able to find a local Tim’s snd get back into the Canadian beat. I’ll do the math, later, and decide if there will be any other purchases made while on the road. It’s fun to shop, but the near-dollar of Canada is not going away.
We weren’t ready to finish our travel, today. Another province was added to our tally, and after hours with only the dulcet tones of the GPS lady, we finally conquered the labyrinth of rural NS. In the dark, we parked in a friend’s lane and called it a day.
