Transported back to reality
What a difference a day makes. This morning, when I started the team with a whispered exhortation to “Get at it!”, the ocean was only meters away. Now, I’m far inland, surrounded by suburbia.
My summer gig as a beachcomber has ended. No turning back; we’re ready for the next season, long before the temperature drops. The car has been unloaded, and the dog is in love with the idea of food and water at the usual location. Outside, the pool is clear, the lawn is a “work in progress” and the only downside of my new roof job is that the Ringo Ranger needs to be remounted. Tomorrow, after a long rest on a real mattress. The surf sound will be missed.
There was nothing about the trip that stands out (other than some crazy moments caring for the dog by the side of a busy highway. Trembling (not me, him; I’m braver than that). The meals were left as a question mark, after our initial halt for a bagel and java. Yes, the last of the cinnamon buns served as lunch, sometime along the way after a gas halt.
Two tanks of gas. In PEI, $1.21/l. In NB, $1.27/l. The posted price in Quebec City: $1.39/l. Do the math. Based on my receipts, a run (east or west) costs about $150. Beats air service and doesn’t take much longer.
Our stop at the house factory in Bouctouche was less than we wanted, and more than we needed. You can’t tour an industrial plant in shorts and sandals. You can talk to one of the real customer service people. She answered all of our questions without ever stepping into the territory of their accredited dealers. Next summer, we’re going to have to firm up our want list.
