August 13, Wednesday – A Stranger in a Strange Land

The routine had now been established: move out at first light and drive for an hour then stop and have a cereal breakfast. The food time and the crossing into Quebec merged. After dinning on granola, we went into the border information station.
Now Canada has the tourist trade down pat. About every 10 or twenty miles there is a highway sign with a large question mark on it and an arrow. I lost count on how many of these information places that we used but everyone of them was staffed by extremely nice and well informed folks. Pulling into one of these services was never a debated point. To increase the travelers’ sense of comfort all the road signs and advertising was bilingual – French/English as is found throughout the nation. In Quebec it was different. They are French, period. The comfort level of the Snee Oosh crew plunged especially the captain's. The navigator had the experience of high school French so she was not as nervous as the helmsman.
The man at the border information was good but quick, dashing off notes on regional maps that we had to read later by turning the map north down making everything else upside down. Not much help during moments of navigational panic. Bilingual signs vanished at the crossing into the new province which really pissed me off. Portable highway signs flashed motorist messages about construction and lane closures. Left lane closed? Right lane closed? Detour? Exit shut down? Damned if I know and had to wait and see.
Lost in all of this was a major event happening: the last corner of the circle was turned as we swung from north to west when we hit the St. Lawrence River. La Conner was finally in a straight-line sight. The Ron’s Circle (actually a rectangle) was on its last leg.
Back to the stress level which peaked out at the gas station. The pump said “French or English” “Insert Cart” “Remove card quickly.” Everything went fine until the tank was full. The full tank prompted the pump to speak in French. I pushed the English button again but of no avail. It took my card. It gave me gas. I’m done so I pull out of island section and stopped. Absolutely frustrating. A woman came walking quickly out to see if I was going to come inside to pay the $120. So much for thinking I was done. Something was lost in the translation. Glad she caught me or otherwise I would have been pulled over by a French speaking policeman…..
Our original plan was to travel the north side of the St. Lawrence River until we were about equal to mid-state New York and then cross into the US, however in Montreal that plan was modified when the navigator proclaimed that we were in a free fall of uncertainty. “Where are we now?” “I don’t know but I think we are heading for New York.” “Good! Cause that’s where we’re going!!”
The US of A never looked so good. I could tell what the masses were trying to tell me. What did we see of two of the most important cities in all of Canada? Nothing because we were just focused on surviving which was sad for us and for the Canadians.
We had had it with traveling the four lanes and the navigator guided the tandem to upstate New York’s Highway #11. It was rural driving at its best (except for the woman bent on trying to kill us all by trying to pass us twice on blind hills. It gave me an opportunity to show Melanie my manly style of using descriptive language. I hung my head in shame in the aftermath.)
We were both surprised to see wind farms along the route. It was the closest I’ve ever been to a wind generator. And there they were plopped down in fields and pastures everywhere. Later I checked the internet to find that we were going by the Maple Ridge wind farm made up of 197 units and it was dividing this peaceful scene into a harsh conflict. Father against son; brother against brother. This was a depressed agricultural region with multigenerational family dairy farms when the corporations showed up waving money. The locals didn’t know what hit them. $5,000 to $10,000 per year per unit. Clean energy. Free source. Better than a nuclear power plant. Your neighbors just signed………….. It hurt. There was confusion. There were unanswered questions. But it was good energy, the kind everyone wanted.
We were hurting too. Fourteen hours on the road; last of the daylight and no where to stop. Then I saw it and for the second time in as many days it was off the highway into the local highway maintenance yard. We circled around and parked behind a line of trucks pumped up on steroids. Our line caravan was home for the night.