7/9/17 Bonjour!

July 10, 2017

One good road leads to another.

Trying to get the most out of the US, we rode the border, ogling villages and cathedrals just yards away on the other side of the St. John. No wall here to keep out those pesky Canadians (or perhaps those rude Americans).

In Madawaska, we reached another watershed, riding to the northernmost corner of the states. Just three years ago to the day, we stood at Cape Flattery after riding the Strait of Juan de Fuca to the most western point. Now the compass has clocked us at all four corners. How I wish the US was hexagonal! Chatty toothless curators filled us in on all the history of the park commemorating this spot, including the number of varieties of flowers planted. Eager to please, they gladly memorialized our stop with pictures.

On to the river crossing! French settlers plied these waters in canoes. We traversed on Rascal, our trusty dragon. A friendly border guard asked the obligatory questions, then was eager to hear about where we had been and how many miles we had covered. Cars idled behind us as he checked for weather and routes. He warned us about moose and said he had climbed a tree to escape one that charged. I'm not a good climber so that wasn't very helpful!

A long train delayed our full entrance, but once in, we flew up route 17 through New Brunswick. Rolling forests surrounded us and sparsely populated small towns budded infrequently. Determined to lunch on the Gulf of St. Lawrence, we zagged in and out of crazy time zones until reaching Campbellton where we bridged the gulf at Pointe-a-la-Croix.

Dejeuner in a quiet waterside park welcomed us to a new province. Never having ridden in Quebec before, we started our sojourn with an extended picnic, punctuated by the sound of gulls and the mellifluous drift of French from other visitors. Too soon we packed our wine and cheese, steering toward route 132, the Gaspé' coast hugger.

Along the ever widening gulf, we began our trek around the peninsula. Towns redolent with summer sun seekers clotted our way. Searching for soaring cliffs and wind swept rocks, I felt that my predetermined view of the Gaspé was incorrect. We were flummoxed in our hope to reach the most eastern point by the ever changing time zone. Thinking we had lost an hour, we settled in Bonaventure only to realize we had an hour to spare. Boots off, we spent the idle time letting the day fall off to the sound of water slapping the shore.

At dinner in the hotel restaurant we sat by gulf side windows, fascinated by rolling storms that paraded along the New Brunswick coast. Strong winds blew umbrellas from outside tables, but rain never crossed the water.

Today I realized that when one road ends, there is always a new beginning. Even a dead end gives you the chance for a fresh view on the return. We finished Route 1, then we finished Maine and the US, but we have barely just begun. A never ending story, our journey together evolves with each turn.