Taking the long way around
So you’ve got a tank of gas and a beautiful sunny day. What to do? Play tourist for a change, I say. We had our campstove coffee and then off to explore the Island (or a portion thereof).
Nothing like a healthy breakfast to start things of. Since the Sheltered Harbour Cafe (the service station in Fortune, for those who are less oriented to corporate identities) was on our route, a ration of bacon and fried eggs was in order. The daily paper provided pages of coverage on the Aerosmith concert we hadn’t been to. We also met a lovely family from the Ottawa region travelling with a baby and a fraction. Found our family ties (six degrees of separation is my motto) and bid them farewell.
After a halt in Montague to buy cinnamon rolls and not much else, we went through the hills near the buffalo ranch to Murray River. The Magic Dragon always provides entertaining shopping, and my horde of glass balls continues to grow. If only I had a desk that needed paperweights. The interesting bookstore was closed due to a birthday in the family (first time I’ve ever seen that as a reason for avoiding commerce).
Heading toward ‘town the long way, we stopped at the tourist bureau in Wood Islands to buy sour candy, admire a Plymouth Prowler (I think…) and the fake train station before getting back on the road. A brochure of historical attractions set our next (first real) goal of the day; a museum for antique radios near Tryon.
Thanks to the nice lady with the beautiful flower gardens (including red lilies) and an anecdote about traffic lines for the bridge after the Aerosmith concert, we had clear directions. “Go back to the old school and turn down until you find a clay road”. Surprisingly, it worked. Mr. Sorenson took the time to show us through his museum and fill us in on the history of the Tryon area. His collection of pre-transistor gear, old farm implements and antique bricks gives an idea of the range of subjects covered. The site could use better signs, in case the neighbour isn’t home, but that’s a technicality.
We then backtracked to Crapaud and headed north via the ski hill to Rustico and a huge meal. Or rather a meal in a huge place. Or something like that. Fisherman’s Wharf provided my first steak dinner of the vacation, while the others ate “poor food”. First restaurant I’ve been in with the place for 500 hungry tourists. The scariest aspect was the lineup that had grown by the time we vacated our places.
Our trip back to the campground (with the dog sleeping, on her back, in my lap) required a gas refill, since our day’s effort was good for 375 kilometres and 11 hours of amusement. My sunburn from yesterday was grateful to be out of the heat.
