We skipped over the majesty that is New Hampshire and Maine for a pedal-to-the-metal race to New Brunswick. 10 hours on the road. Ridiculous, really. I hope we can appreciate more of NH and ME on the way home.
We might have saved an hour or two, had we not gone astray in a couple places. Mildred, our GPS guide and third opinionated voice in the vehicle, got us all twisted around at the outset — which (putting the best face on it) forced us to appreciate the misty morning in the mountains of Vermont.
After too many long hours of driving, I freaked out when (in Canada now) we got off for an “information center” pit stop and wound up miles out of out way. Momentarily (x 60), I lost my ability to go with the flow, to appreciate the wonderful sense of place that comes with traveling to new parts. “I hate these damn Canadians,” I found myself mumbling, much to Jim’s horror — shortly before he rescued the steering wheel from my death grip.
It’s hard to say who is the worse navigator: Mildred the GPS lady or me. She goes into head-spinning, eyeball-rolling spasms of recalculating!! recalculating!! while I yell turn!! stop!! left!! now!! stop!! what??!!
But then, ahhhhhhhhh. Finally we located the front entrance of the Hilton Hotel in Saint John, New Brunswick. To tell the truth, high class city hotels leave a lot to be desired compared to your basic roadside motel — parking… elevators… expensive amenities (including $4.95 for 4 hrs of internet time!).
So far, New Brunswick is foggy. A while ago we could see the city out our window through the mist (see photo above). Now — at 8:30 PM Atlantic Time — it’s a total white-out. Fog is romantic. Fog reminds me of Ireland, where I always felt that the mists carried loving and helpful spirits. But I’m hoping it’s just a temporary kind of thing… a little fog at day’s end… not a predictor of days ahead.