Clam powered
It rained, but not enough to change the plan. By coffee time, the campsite had been restored in, on and (not) under the car. The dog was nested among the pillows, allowing slight rear visibility, and the grass under the tent looked VERY yellow.
Coffee. With the barista of St. Peter’s providing guidance, one of us indulged in some genuine espresso; the other settled for a normal, tall black brew that improved in flavour as it cooled. He had met the house guy, additional proof of the Venn model of Island living. We agreed to be return clients in 2015 and headed for the bridge.
As is my usual, traffic flow did stop on the bridge, albeit briefly. Long before noon, NB underfoot, we decided to try a recommended restaurant. The Quai Aboiteau gave our two GPS phones a true challenge. Who knew that Cape Bald was so large? Anyhow, we were waved on by the girl in the gate booth and made a place for ourselves in the resto room. Copious quantities of scallops and fried clams made for a more than satisfactory feed.
And then we drove. All day. A pair of stops to purchase craft brews for the boy(s), and sufficient fuel fills to get us home and more. At one point, a minor snow squall of feathers from a poultry hauler gave to some questioning glances, seat to seat.
We’re crossing Quebec City as I type. Where are all these people going in such a hurry? Only six weeks and I’m already unfamiliar with the process. Look around, folks. Saving five minutes on a late evening transit of the city means nothing in the “greater scheme of things”.
