Summertime……and the livin’ is easy

June 18 – 21, 2006
Nova Scotia has a Sunday closing law (for the time being anyway) so
Walmart was deserted as we moved on. Another beautiful day, but a sea mist was starting to encroach so we outran it.

Caesar’s leg seems to be improving. He puts a little weight on it now, to move along. We’re not going to allow him to chase waves on rocky beaches ever again.

My nephew, Matthew lives in New Glasgow about an hour and a half, northeast of Halifax. We were passing through on our way to Cape Breton, so we pulled in for lunch to a Walmart parking lot. Big signs warned that overnight parking was not allowed but we weren’t staying so it didn’t matter. I phoned Matt and he said that he’d really like to meet up. I assumed he had transportation and asked him to come and see us in the motorhome. It turned out his only mode of transportation is walking but he asked a friend to drive him over. He looks so much like his father, but different in disposition. We spent an hour or so getting to know each other – he’s a charming, friendly young man and I’m so happy to have made the connection. While we were talking, Matt said “Isn’t that a gopher?”. Sure enough an adorable round gopher was ambling across the vast empty parking lot towards Walmart. About a half an hour later, another huge motorhome pulled in and as he was driving across the lot, the sweet little gopher was making his way back down to the grassy ditch. Unbearable to think of it, but that awful big machine ran right over him and I don’t suppose they even noticed.

We drove Matt somewhere near his home in Maggie – we’re always careful because when we’re towing we don’t want to get stuck somewhere we can’t turn around. I felt a bit sad leaving him after I just got to know him but also elated at getting to know all three of them.

There were no boondocking possibilities in Cape Breton, so we went to a Passport America campground just outside Baddeck, Nova Scotia, which is at the foot of the Cabot Trail. It was extremely hot and humid but a lovely treed, cool and private campsite was ours to enjoy so we stayed there two nights.

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It’s unbelievable that we’ve lucked into absolutely perfect weather in a location that is known for clouds and rain. The circular Cabot Trail route is about 300km in total and the next morning we headed off early in the Honda so we could take our time stopping at almost every viewpoint and poking into blustery little coves.

Sliding around the twisty, turny, roller coaster of the Cape Breton Cabot Trail, Gordon Lightfoot was moaning “If You Could Read My Mind” on the CD player. The music and the locale eked enough young memories but when I glanced in the rear view mirror and spied a laughing young couple on a motorbike the nostalgia galloped. I was back in 1970 travelling with my then ‘amour’ completing our cross-Canada motorcycle expedition. I clung on tight as we swirled around the snakelike curves and thrilled at the majestic breathtaking views materializing around every corner. We pitched our pup tent along shady lanes overlooking the pounding surf and watched the sun go down. The sun was glorious then as it is today, thirty-six years later.

Now here we are, a happy couple in our sixties doing the same journey but with all the comforts of home. I was a little envious though seeing that young couple – where did the time go?

We made a stop for our requisite ‘chowder’ at a little café where we could see the car from our table and leave all the windows down for Caesar. Pleasant Bay is at the north west side of the trail just before it heads inland, a tiny town that seems to be there just for the tourists with ‘arts & crafts’, cafes, cabins and campsites.

The Alexander Graham Bell Museum and National Historic site is in Baddeck and as we have an annual pass, we stopped for an hour. Even though Bell was a proud ‘Citizen of the United States of America’ (this was on his tombstone), he took up residence in Baddeck and worked on flying machines, human-carrying kites and made the first hydrofoil. It’s a beautiful setting on the Bras d’Or Lakes, which seem to me to be inlets rather than lakes.

I was hoping for a lobster dinner but Fernie’s tummy was a little out of sorts. Perhaps it was my wild driving along the winding roads but I was a bit disappointed. I made myself a tuna sandwich instead – not a good replacement for lobster

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Thick fog and damp air caused a chill in the early morning, creeping in through our bedroom windows. It made it hard to get up early when it was so warm in bed. In spite of the chill, I pulled myself out knowing we’d need an early start in order to get a full day in at the fortress of Louisbourg. We drove Maggie over to another PA campground, five minutes from Louisbourg on the east coast of Cape Breton Island. None of the Walmarts permit overnight parking.



A National Historic Site, Louisbourg is a reconstruction of the town and fort as it was in 1744-45, while still held by the French. The town was levelled by the British but archaeologists have been excavating since the 1930’s and the accurate restoration followed and it opened in 1979. Only one quarter of the fortress has been rebuilt – the remaining ruins are still being ‘dug’ by archaeology students dressed in parkas, boots and gloves against the cold Atlantic wind.

The area is so vast that buses are used to transport visitors from the info centre to the town site. Every detail is authentic. Townsfolk in period costume roam the streets – soldiers, officers and servants. They tell tales of what their lives are like and re-enact behaviours. The buildings are mostly open for inspection from storehouses, a blacksmith shop, the elegant homes of the upper echelon, soldiers’ barracks, inns, cafes and bars.

A long walk along a narrow isthmus marked the sites of a convent, hospital, barracks, fishing buildings and more. The waves crashed violently on the rocky headland and the wind so high, we had to bend into it to walk. Tucked into the crevices of the rocks thrived miniature iris, wild sweet peas and an exotic little white flower I can’t identify.

After hours of traipsing around the marvellous village, we went for lunch in an authentic inn, which prepared meals as they did in 1745, dishes and utensils recreated in perfect detail. The meals were served in intimate little rooms. There were two choices – salmon or roast beef. I chose the salmon, Fernie the beef. First came a battered tin tureen of root vegetable soup and verbal instructions for Fernie to serve it.
Fresh hot rolls and butter accompanied the soup. A glass of red wine was served in what we would call a ‘martini glass’ – apparently authentic. Fernie had a hot buttered rum in a pewter tumbler. The delicieux entrées were served with rice and mixed root vegetables. I questioned the use of rice but was told that the upper class French of that era wouldn’t eat potatoes (peasant food, I guess) and imported rice instead. Completing the lunch, a small apple tart with cream and tea. A wonderful repast in an evoking environment, well priced at $15.95/each and the drinks $4/each.

It’s a good thing we waited until the end of the day to partake in the meal. We were stripped of energy and dragged ourselves through the streets, along the walls to the main gate and the last one hundred metres to the waiting bus.

Caesar had been alone all day so we went back to pick him up, returned to town with our laptop to clear up email then drove over to the lighthouse at the opposite side of the Louisbourg harbour. Canada’s first lighthouse was built there and replaced three times. This day the peninsula was shrouded in fog and the sad lonely sound of the foghorn echoed through the harbour. Much too windy to venture of our car, we pulled in for a while and watched the angry sea pounding at the rocks beneath the mist-veiled lighthouse.

Caesar isn’t doing as well today. His leg seems more tender and he won’t walk far. I popped him a quarter of an aspirin to control the inflammation. He’s very stoic though and patient through it all.

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The following morning, we had to get up at 6:30am because we had an appointment at 8am with a Honda dealer in Sydney to get our differential flushed (whatever that is). We woke to a drumming of rain on the roof and we didn’t want to get up but we had to. I couldn’t help but think how lucky we’d been weather wise the last couple of days. The Cabot Trail in the rain would not be good. And Louisbourg – fog’s ok, it created atmosphere but rain would have spoiled the day.

The car was finished by 10 o’clock. They had to do a ‘double flush’ because it was so dirty. I’ve found out a differential is a gizmo that sits between the rear wheels and does something to assist the four wheel drive. The brake fluid had to be replaced too. I’m sure the 7,000 kilometres it’s been towed through the muck and mire contributed to it. The rain had stopped by the time we left and the mist started to dissolve over the next few hours.

We left Maggie at Walmart for the day – it’s only overnight parking that’s banned. A drive south to St. Peters took us through the town of Big Pond on the shore of Bras D’Or Lake. A trivia question for all you readers:


What famous Canadian larger-than-life songstress hailed from Big Pond? (and swam in the big pond every morning) She opened a tearoom in an old school house in Big Pond and I’m a sucker for afternoon tea with fresh scones. The schoolhouse has been radically transformed into a lovely garden-like retreat with large comfy chintz armchairs, but it was dead quiet when we got there and a sign said ‘Not serving until July 1, but please help yourself to a nice cup of tea and a homemade cookie”. There’s a gift shop and a room of memorabilia – Gemini Awards, Genie Awards, gold records, platinum records, photos and a history of - have you guessed?…….Rita McNeil, the barefoot but red-hatted, muu-muu clad singer. I know our friends B&B got it because they brought us back some of Rita’s tea a couple of years ago.

One photo of Rita at 18 showed a svelte and serious young woman. The parish priest told Rita that her harelip would be a burden but that he knew she could overcome it – I’d say she did a good job. We poured ourselves a cup of tea, a delicious blend and munched on a cookie while we toured her museum and no-one bothered us.

St. Peters canal and its locks between Bras D’Or Lake and the Atlantic is a historic waterway built in the 19th century and it’s a lovely stroll along the tree-lined banks. Even Caesar, with his lumbering gait enjoyed it.
We stopped in town at “Chubby’s School Bus” for a takeout lunch and shared a $10 seafood platter that was enough for three, so Caesar shared it too – the clams anyway; no scallops or shrimp for him. St Peters is one of the oldest settlements in Canada first populated in the 1600’s but not much remains of historical significance – just a tiny one-room museum.

Glace Bay, fifteen miles northeast of Sydney was our next stop. I mentioned while driving there that my memory (from 1970) of it was a depressing and unkempt town. Wouldn’t you think it would have changed by now? But it was as dismal as ever; obvious extreme poverty, no pride in their sad little homes, no flowers or trees, boarded up businesses and all this in a beautiful location overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. But first a stop at Table Head where Marconi sent the first radio signal across the ocean to Cornwall, England in 1902 or thereabouts. Not much left but a presentation centre showed a video and explained his work.

The weather was glorious by late afternoon and at 6pm we moved over to the ferry terminal. However, the 6 o’clock boat was delayed and they told us to come back after it sailed which was about 8:45pm. We found a park just a quarter of a mile away that jutted out into the bay and we were able to watch the ferry’s progress while we had dinner. Arriving back there, we paid our $267 ($213 for Maggie and $27/each for us – one way) and settled in for the night – front of the line.

We had a strong free wifi signal and I (saint that I am) gave Fernie the computer for the rest of the evening to play online poker. He made $15 and really enjoyed it – it’s what he misses the most while travelling. Caesar and I snuck off to bed – I fell asleep on my book. It had been a long day.