Newfoundland, chapter 2

Road Trip to Newfoundland

Day 2 - The Cabot Trail

I had a lousy sleep. The bed was soft and sloping. Not enough of a complaint? I shared the bed with my ten year old, highly active, restless son. We started out at opposite ends of the bed, but he worked his meandering way toward me until I felt a sharp kick in the rear and awoke to an entanglement of arms. A razor blade could not have wedged itself between us. An inch more and he would have technically been on top of me. I nudged him back toward his own side, though only managed to get him into the middle of the bed. He is a tactile boy, but for the love of God, a man needs a little room to breathe. This was re-enacted a few times until blessed light was visible at the curtain edges and birds came to life, seemingly laughing at my inability to sleep.

I arose and paddled off to the washroom. It was funny to see the tiny, generic bar of soap I had remembered seeing when traveling as a kid with the family to motels. Soap is soap, to me. My wife will think otherwise. I showered and changed only to find the whole crew still sawing lumber. My son had completely replaced me at my side of the bed, apparently his goal all along. I cleared my voice, as if to make a speech, and then said, in a tempered voice, "Get up". Crickets could have been heard. Actually, a cricket was heard, probably lodged under the door ready to bounce his way in as soon as the occupants exited. A few more calls to wake up and then the obligatory warning shot, "Get up, or I taser you". No, this is not the electrically loaded police unit, but a couple fingers on each hand jabbed into the culprit's sides resulting in deep ticklish sensations. I do what I have to do. Usually the threat is sufficient, but today we have no time to waste, so taser one went to my son, who shrieked and jumped up, then... well, that scare was enough to roust my daughter.

I packed the bags and loaded the car. This required some retrofitting in order to cram everything back in. I was under the ridiculous assumption everyone else would soon be ready to travel. I did have a schedule. My daughter sat on the edge of her bed with some kind of giant tongs machine from science fiction. Apparently she was straightening her straight hair. It was incomprehensible, so I merely sighed and stated I was leaving in ten minutes, with or without the rest. I paced the floor in front of everyone, occasionally asking, "are you done, yet?" I can be pretty annoying when I want to be.

Believe it or not, we did get out of there. This was intended to be a more relaxed day of sight seeing. My goal was to enjoy the Cabot trail of Cape Breton and finish at the KOA campsite near North Sydney. That meant we would be close to the ferry in the morning and would have time to line up at about 10:00 AM. The first sight worth mentioning was the Canso Causeway which crosses the Strait of Canso into Cape Breton Island. The causeway, a road built upon rock dumped into the water, was shorter than I remembered. The other end held a great view of Cape Porcupine Mountain and the deep scar left from mining the rock that built the causeway. We made the obligatory stop here at the tourist information centre and gift shop where wallets were eagerly retrieved to buy memories of the trip that had barely begun.

As we toured through the mountains, every scenic lookout brought new gasps of wonder. The ocean, the hills, the forests and the sky all seemed endless. I recalled travelling through here as a youngster with my family and grandparents when I was nine years old. My grandmother, "granny", would see the ocean at the bottom of a long steep decline ahead of us and report that she was going to faint. That brought delight to all of us in the car. Now I was driving the family through the same hills and delighting my kids with the sometimes scary prospect of driving straight down a hill and into the ocean.

We made it all the way around the Cabot trail to Ingonish Beach where I had planned dinner at the Main Street Restaurant and Bakery. It was a nice, airy place and we found a table outside on the porch. It couldn't have been a better evening. The air was warm and breezy with no humidity to speak of. I ordered a Strange meal of Caesar salad mixed with seafood. I didn't care much for it; all was mixed in one platter, and I didn't think the overly dressed salad went well with the seafood. But I ate it, and no one else complained about their dinner.

It wasn't that far to the KOA campsite near North Sydney, maybe taking an hour or so. We arrived to a high, red cliff and our small undressed cabin. These cabins are fine. They have bunk beds, electricity, and a porch. You have to supply the bedding. Frankly they are fun for a night, but at this cost, you're better off finding an inexpensive motel where everything is supplied. But this is an adventure, and quasi camping in a cabin is far better than sleeping in a tent. My son and I played at the kids playground in front of the cabin. We climbed big tires, swung and then tried the teeter totters where I learned that my weight was such an advantage that I could launch my son clean off the seat. I call that a win, Upon returning to the cabin, my wife informed me that I was far too loud. I could not agree more. We cracked open a couple beers and sat out on the porch for a long time that evening, soaking in the sight of Great Bras D'or Lake and feeling the cool, Nova Scotia night air.

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