Venture off the highway at your peril
Call us keeners. Tell us to relax and take life easy. The last day on the road saw us sitting in the hotel lobby, waiting for the breakfast room to open for a new day; too early for a motel restaurant, now that’s anticipation.
The road from Truro is an easy one, heading up through the Cobequid and wondering about that PPP aberration of a toll booth on the Trans-Canada. So far, I count four provinces with user pay on some part of the national dream (BC, NS, PE and NL). If there was some improvement in quality one might be in favour, but this just smells of me paying double.
Once into New Brunswick, we needed gas, and our off-route sortie demonstrated either an oversight on the drafting table or some bizarre plan to attract new settlers in the Memramcook area. The highway offers an off-ramp. Lost in translation was the on-ramp to continue heading west. It simply doesn’t exist. We took the old highway for a few kilometres and then climbed back onboard at the next interchange.
The old road coming into Fredericton still has that giant potato man in front of the vegetable market. When I was little, I thought this was a symbol for peanuts, but my wisdom has grown with age. We took a much needed break up at one of the malls, where we spent a leisurely hour in the local bookstore, barely feeding the habit. What would I do with an extra million dollars? No secret here.
And then the afternoon turned into evening, and we arrived home, safe and sound. The dog recognized us immediately. The sons, not so much.
