And I Will Walk 5,000 Miles Part 4

Two days had passed since I had made it to the Rock, and I was just finally getting over the exhaustion I had put myself through to get there.  What excited me even more was that I was finally getting to stay at my original host's home.  As would happen with me and technology, Couchsurfing had recently updated their website, and as a consequence, the email system was faulty and would never send messages.  Of course this could've happened at any other point in the year, but it had to happen on the week of my trip; atleast I found out why my host and I couldn't get in touch.

The laughter and chatter came from the a dimly lit corner of the house; the small living room had about seven people there just chatting away.  Some were roommates of that home, others former/current couchsurfers who had come to visit and have decided to stay awhile and some neighbors.  I introduced myself to everyone as questions raced through my head:  What first impression do I give?  Do I look crazy? How do I break the ice?  Thankfully everyone there was of great spirits and before I knew it, we were talking about a range of topics from traveling, our origins, personal tidbits and so on.  There was something special about this house, a uniqueness that's hard to describe.  I remember chuckling at the moment that I was told I would never leave the house, yet something in the energy of those present resonated with me.

When all was said and done and conversations slowly turned to yawns, I grabbed the blankets and pillows I was given and snored the night away in my new bed for the week.  How can I describe a day in the life of this house.  Firstly, it is very communal living.  Meals are shared if there's extra, food, towels, you name it; communal seems to be the name of the game in this home.  For me, this whole being considerate of others, was a bit new to me; whenever I've had pseudo roommates live with me or better said on my couch, I can count on two fingers the times that everyone was considerate of each other.  It was great to see such a diverse group of people sharing a tight space so comfortably.  Secondly, they seem to be very self sustaining and granola.  They didn't grow everything they ate, but the amount of veggies and spices they did grow amazed me.  I remember telling some of my housemates the train wrecks that were my attempts at gardening in my patio, and these people have a year long garden and greenhouse that they built!  The granola (aka hippie) lifestyle to me also was such a great thing to see.  All were accepted in that house and all were treated well.  I joke around that I'm the hippie of my friends, but these guys blow me out of the water.  Thirdly, everyone seems happy.  I'm not talking about rainbows and flowers shooting out of their butts and smiling like crackheads all the time, but just happy with life.  Everyday there was something going on there or just people hanging out and going off to do something.  I sort of wanted to join in more activities, but at the same time, I came to understand that they were probably just giving me autonomy to do with my time what I pleased; as the week went on, a very happy and healthy balance came of that.

In between days of sunshine and rain, I decided to hike.  Alot.  And the miles I put in added up quickly.  I made it a goal of mine to try and hike every major trail I could find and make time for; unfortunately, St. John's is filled with such natural beauty that it would take me a month just to do that.  So I settled for the next best thing and more in my fashion... I just played it all by ear.  The one place I did intend on going to was Cape Spear.  For those who don't know, Cape Spear is the furthest eastern point on the whole American continent.  In other words, it is the very first spot that the sun greets in our whole land.  There is something humbling about finally making it to that one point; you don't realize how small you are until you're faced with the infinite presence of Mother Nature.  From the top of Cape Spear, I could look into the endless horizon of water and fury.  The ocean from a distance seemed so calm, but the impact of the water hitting the coast could be heard all around.  At that very moment, the point of my trip had been accomplished; the rest of what I would end up doing was just living.

After taking in the beauty of that moment, I decided to hike down a path behind the lighthouse to a spot called North Head.  This trail a gorgeous yet quiet hike to the other end of the coastal cliff, about a 5-6 mile hike roundtrip.  It was as peaceful as it was eery.  The wind started to pick up halfway and my right foot felt like a frozen anchor because I had stepped in a puddle earlier.  I finally made it though and the sight and sounds again, were worth the trek.  I don't know how anyone else has dealt with this, but since my foot was a paperweight, I decided to spend the rest of the night at home in a perpetual frozen state of exhaustion critiquing one of my house mate's gaming strategy; nothing like a good simulation game to promote male bonding.

The next day I was introduced to another Newfoundlander who got to give me a true taste of a calm day in town.  We started off at a local bakery, Rocket, which was uber delicious.  After our meal and chat, a stroll through town allowed me to see the more everyday life outside of the trekking and hiking I had been doing.  Unfortunately for us, it was raining and we sought eventual refuge at the art museum, The Rooms.  From what I could tell, the museum is gorgeous; we tried to finagle our way around not paying and what should've been a scolding by security turned out to be a rather pleasant hour and a half chat ranging from art to life in Newfoundland and beyond.  Unfortunately, the next security guard wasn't so pleasant and we decided to skedaddle instead of wasting more time waiting for the free admission to kick in.

After our brush with art gallery loitering, I was shown a peculiar spot close near the base of Signal Hill, called Cabot Hill.  What made it such an interesting spot is what I was told about it.  Back in the early days of the town's history, rapists were hung from some kind of man made pole or ledge tarred and skinned in view of the whole citizenry below.  Even though it's got some morbid origins, the views at night are incredible!!!  That cynical mindset of mind was probably the cause of my well deserved backlash.  While walking down the wooden steps from the hill, I ended up careening down a few flights.  When I mean slip, I mean feet going airborne, butt landing flat on the edge of a step and arms flailing like a bird.  What did I do in that situation?  The same thing anyone else would do after having their pride and butt hurt like that.  I laughed!!  With that laughter and bruised ass, we ended up grabbing a bite to eat somewhere I had been wanting to go since I first arrived: Tex Mex!!!!  If you can't tell, I have an unhealthy addiction to Tex Mex food, if I'm almost 2,000 miles away from anything remotely warm, only to have some chips and salsa.  Regardless, the laughs continued over our surprisingly good (I'm really picky about my salsa cuisines) dinner followed with a movie at the house. 

The next day I decided to take on Signal Hill part deux.  On one side of the Hill is the monstrous trek that you can see senior citizens zoom right by you on their morning jogs; the other side however is another path that continues across the coast line. So that day I hiked up the roadway to the Hill where the cars go, and started my adventure.  After an hour or so of hiking through the coastline, I made it to a gem called Cuckold's Cove.  It's just an inlet that that if you go down close enough, you can almost get to the ocean shore.  I'm sure there's a way of touching the water, but I wasn't that courageous.  I continued on to a HUGE mountain called White Hills.  What is it with these island folk calling their mountains hills??  I was determined to make it up the whole thing, but the path that I chose eventually pitted me face to face with an almost completely vertical wall of wet rock.  I started to work my way up until I came across a flimsy rope banister held together by what looked like straw thin branches and I doubled back.  When I looked down from where I was at that point, I realized how high I was!  I wanted to climb that mountain, but reality set in, and I could imagine falling off the face of that "hill" and no one hearing me scream.  I was in no Indiana Jones mood, so I decided to head back home; besides, I had a party to attend to.

I was invited to an annual Xmas/political fundraiser party which was a great experience.  I met so many kind people, ate delicious food, learned a bit about this political party, and drank a wee bit much.  I don't know if it was the elevation, my lightweightness  or that I wasn't eating as much, but alcohol would just run right through me.  By the end of this party, I walked in with one friend and left with seven.  Destination: Christian's, a must-go bar to get screeched in.  Getting screeched-in is pretty much a toursity way of becoming an honorary Newfoundlander.  After drinking copious amounts of alcohol, you have to manage to repeat some lines, eat some ham and kiss a frozen codfish.  What's your reward for dealing with a killer headache the next day?  A certificate proving your honorary title of Newfoundlander.  On a side note: your liver will love you in the morning.  After that interesting group event, we meandered to a more subdued bar that had some great live music and where I was christened the "L.A Guy/"  No one knew my name, but for whatever reason, many people thought I was from LA.  Maybe it's the hair?  

Before I know it, I wake up and it's morning.  No certificate.  No gloves.  No beanie.  And no recollection of how I got there.  After stumbling out of bed and making my way to the breakfast table, I was treated to a great organic morning meal that helped with the hammering going on in my head.  I should've gotten the recipe for that meal.  After a 45 minute walk home, I decided that I would take it easy that day and cook my house mates red beans and rice (how stereotypical I know).  After what seemed like a good few hours, I headed to downtown with one of my housemates and did some shopping. 

As the day passed my hangover went away, only to be replaced with board games and my first sampling ever of fish and chips!  Soon to be followed by with more drinking.  Hey now, it's true!  Nothing cures alcohol faster than more alcohol.  I was invited to see a Grammy winning band live with some housemates and another friend I had made.  The night went by surprisingly quick but consisted of great music, company, bar hopping and karaoke.  I saw it as a fitting way to bid farewell to a city that met me as a stranger and had given me so much in return. 

I woke up the next day, my bag was for the most part packed.  I strode across the street for my last shower here, returned to thank my couchsurfing host once again for the experience and generosity, and quietly left.  My pace when I left the house was a little slower than usual; it carried with it a contemplative stride, thoughts racing through my head.  I had just now started to open up to everyone and felt closer to all around me, and I found myself leaving.  It was a bittersweet moment to say the least.  I had one more stop to go, and that was breakfast with another couchsurfing host.  We bonded immediately and I truly enjoyed our meal together.  We chatted about anything and everything while I chugged mug after mug of coffee.  I knew what laid before me and had to stock up on caffeine provisions.  She took me to Fort Amhurst which stands on the opposite edge of the harbor of St. John's; it was pretty much the last place I had to go to before leaving.  I bid her farewell and thanked for the conversation and tour.

I turned on my car which by this time was accustomed to the climatic torture and headed out.  I made it over the bend and waved goodbye to St. John's from my rear view mirror.  I don't know if it was more of a see ya later than a goodbye, but as I slowly made it down the descending highway, the town disappeared into the distance.  I took one sigh, said a silent prayer and continued on.  I knew what awaited me on the way back... then WHAM!!!

And I Will Walk 5,000 Miles Part 3

Ah the hot chocolate tasted good!  I guess after almost a half day of driving anything would taste great, but this cocoa hit the spot.  The hail continued to fall outside like marbles in the sky; for now I was safe indoors this little fast food chain joint, but I couldn't stay there forever.

I always say that everything good or bad that happens to me on my trips are all part of the adventure... and it's true!  If I wanted an easy journey where all I did was hang out in a comfortable hotel while enjoying the pool or spa, I'm sure my voyages would be that much smoother.  However I know that's not what I want; I know my spirit craves more and with it, adventure.  So that's how I looked at my predicament in the restaurant, all part of the greater picture which is my traveling to a far off land.

 With that being said, I took my phone and started opening up every social app I had.  I knew I had no money for a hostel, hell my Visa didn't even work at the time; I had to come up with a plan!  That's when I realized the generosity of the people that would surround me for the next week; I have never been around a place where good fortune rains from the heavens like St. John's.  After about 30 mins or so of searching online, I found a man who was able to give me a place to stay for the night.  Not only was I fortunate enough to get a surface to sleep on, but dinner in the form of a delicious soup was given to me, along with great conversation.  We spoke of many things, but what connected us I believe was the simple spirit of the traveler.  Him like myself, enjoys traveling and we spoke at length about our excursions.  So after traveling what totaled out to be three and a half days over mountains, through valleys, enduring sleet, hail, snow and rain, here I was in a house that wasn't my primary destination, speaking with a fellow backpacker over a bowl of soup.  I knew from that very moment, this trip was going to be interesting.

I awoke the next day and greeted my host and his roommates (an awesome bunch indeed), showered and grabbed my pack and left.  My goal today?  Explore!!!  Toss in finding a new place to stay for the next night, but that's all part of the exploration.  I had parked my car the night before on a major in town called Duckworth Street.  Even though I was told my car would be okay on a Sunday, I was still half expecting it to be gone that morning.  Chalk it up to living in Atlanta for way too long.  Thankfully my chariot was there and I just threw my pack in the seat, grabbed my day pack and headed on my way to see what I could get into.

My hike for that day was Signal Hill and the Battery.  For those who don't know, Signal Hill was a fortification that still stands to this day that was last used by the British in 1762 during the Seven Years War that signaled the loss of St. John's from the French.  If you were to walk up the mountainside (no matter what any Newfoundlander tells you, there's no way that's a hill) you'd notice that the port of St. John's is tucked behind a small opening of land.  From an aerial point of view, it seems that the earth forms an almost embrace around the harbor and the small channel of water one has to pass through is aptly called the Narrows.

Before heading up this "hill" I decided to look at the information billboard that said it was only a .8 km walk, roughly half a mile.  I looked at that and thought, what the hell, and headed up the side.  I can say with complete confidence, that there is no greater shot to your pride than seeing a 70 something year old man jogging right past you up a mountainside.  Here I was slowly making it up the mountain.  Did I say mountain?  Try two!  The higher I went, the thinner the air got.  The views kept me going, snapping one picture after another until it seemed that I had taken hundreds.  By the time I made it up the first mountain, it became apparent to me why so many people trekked up those same steps as I.  You could hear a pin drop a mile away, while the wind would blow its song of peace and tranquility in your ears; the air was just so clean.

By the time I started the last segment of that hike, I was ready to throw myself off the mountain!  After huffing and puffing my way past what seemed to be many an unfazed Newfoundlander (word to the wise: never call them Newfies!) I made it to Sig
nal Hill.  It was gorgeous and well worth the hour and a half it took to hike it up.  Half mile be damned, I later found out that had I decided to drive up to the Hill, it would've been a half mile; God knows how many miles I hiked to walk up the side of it.

After my long but victorious trek, I slowly made my way back down the mountain through a mix of smaller trails and my own hiking improv skills.  By the time I reached the ground, my legs were ready for me to sit.  Let me tell you something about St. John's.  Since it's the oldest British founded city, and to some, the oldest city in the American continent, the roads were never made for cars; they, as most cities in that time, were made for horse carriages.  That detail mixed with the facts the roads change names in a split seconds notice makes for some difficult navigating.  I would never fail to get myself lost everyday, whether it was through driving or walking.  After finally stumbling upon a coffee shop that had wifi, I jumped for joy!  I could get my drink AND start up my search for a place to rest.  This moment at the coffee shop again echoed that kind and generous sentiment I never failed to see in St. John's.  I had ordered a cider knowing that they took credit cards; I tried my Visa just to see knowing that it would fail and promptly took out my Amex.  To my amazement, Amex wasn't accepted and I just apologized to the clerk and hung my head a bit; the whole living off my credit card in a town that barely accepted it had it's moments of defeat, and this was one of them.  The manager looked at me and said, "Don't worry about it; it's on me.  You seem to be having a rough day."  With that he handed me my cider and I went and sat down with a look of bewilderment.  Have I just not been living in a generous city or environment this whole time?  People being kind shouldn't come as a shock, but it did to me; whatever the case it was a breath of complete fresh air.

Twenty minutes past and I was able to find another host for that night.  The couchsurfing app again was turning up no results and so I found another house across town that was willing to take me in.  I noted the distance in the shop (GPS wouldn't work without wifi) and asked for directions.  Two miles wouldn't be a big deal... 30 mins tops was what everyone kept telling me.  Two hours later and a few extra miles, I appeared at this host's home tired and just grateful to have found the house.  Apparently on my mini trek, the roads had changed names a couple of times and there I was again circling the same blocks over again because of it.

Well when I arrived at this maison, the host made me a sandwich and showed me where I could lay my pack, promptly explaining to me the layout of the city and how I could've missed a road that was so easy to find.  With that came a nocturnal driving tour of the city, particularly Signal Hill and Cape Spear.  What amazed me was that unlike in the states where certain monuments or buildings are considered strictly for tourists, in St. John's even citizens go to these same sites.  That also struck me as odd, but when you see the sheer beauty that the landscape and city have to offer, you'd understand why everyone, native or not, would visit these places.

After that tour, I crashed for the night and awoke to an overcast and just ugly day.  It was Rememberance Day, the equivalent of our Veterans Day.  I wanted to see the parade so I dashed into town, found a place to park and sought refuge in a wonderful little eatery called the Hummus Hut.  Because of the rain, the parade itself was still in question; all other towns were canceling theirs. So while I awaited that news, I chatted it up with the hut's owner while writing in my journal.  The parade did happen and was shorter than I had expected, but I ran outside and took whatever pictures my camera could get and ran back inside to warm back up.

Since the rain continued to pour down and I had finally gotten in touch with my original host, I spent the evening with another Newfoundlander who continued the generous tradition of showing me around town.  After enjoying a few hours of their company and knowledge of the city's history, I was dropped off at my car and headed to my host's home (getting lost along the way of course).

I walk into a tall but narrow home filled with laughter and people congregated in what seemed to be the living room.  At that moment one girl turns to me with a smile and says, "You know you're not leaving here now."

I just smiled and let myself in.

And I Will Walk 5,000 Miles Part 2

The wind was blowing a nice chilly breeze and the fog was rising from Port Aux Basques.  I was finally here!!  NEWFOUNDLAND!!! I was pretty senile by this point, only sleeping about four hours on a six hour ferry ride cramped into some pseudo fetal position in the seats.  For whatever reason, those of us without the $142 to spare for a cabin, couldn't sleep on the floor; so relegated to very uncomfortable seats and neck cramps was I.

It was probably the
adrenaline that set in, but when the ferry docked, I ran and started my car; poor thing I don't think was remotely ready for the cold that had settled in her gears.  The true weight of my situation didn't settle in until WHAM!!, the ferry landing ramp was released and we were free to go.  I slowly drove out examining the landscape, as if I had just landed on some foreign planet.  It had mountains, rivers and a narrow highway as far as the eye could see.

Ten minutes into my drive and realizing I had yet another 10-11 hours to go before reaching St. John's, reality set in: I was alone.  When I mean alone, I mean, alone.  No cell service.  No copilot.  Barely any radio stations and miles and miles of terrain.  Excitement then became mixed with some anxiety and fear.  I was on the last leg of my journey to my destination and I was at the point of no return.

Newfoundland, for those who may not know, is an island.... A rather big island at that.  During certain seasons of the year, you can grab I believe two other ferries from different locations on the eastern coastal mainland of Canada that take you closer to St. John's than the route I took; unfortunately for me, the only route open was the six hour boat ride and a whole day of driving.

It took me some time to get over my isolation anxiety.  On everyone of my zany trips, I've always traveled alone and it has never bugged me; the idea of being on an island, that for the most part seems desolate in between towns and cities alone with no company but the thoughts in my head however, hit me like a dump truck at times.  Over the three and half days it took me to get to my destination, I had much time to talk to myself and think... a little too much time honestly.

The road to the Eastern coast of Newfoundland was a drive of ever changing terrain.  Since I was already on the island and had a general idea of when I'd arrive in town, I decided to soak in the environment.  It. Was. Breathtaking.  The land seemed so untouched, so immaculat
e and peaceful.  During most of the trip, I felt like the only living person on the road; as if I was the intruder in this land of natural beauty.  You could roll the windows down to receive a chilly but refreshing welcome from the land while hearing the rivers run through the terrain like a heart pumping blood through the body.

I would frequently get out of my car and I swear the sound of my shoes shifting the gravel beneath my toes sounded to me like a symphony in disarray; it was I who was disturbing the general peace of this island.  I was the explorer who without ill-intent disturbed the natural flow of energy through this environment.  It was amazing how the further east I went, the lighter the sky got.  When I first pulled away from the port. the skyline looked like an epic battle was about to begin between the rain and sun; it continued on this way until I got more into the center of the Rock.

As I got further from the port I discovered a few towns along the way that I had to stop for to get gas and other road trip snacks.  Pertaining to the towns, I didn't know what to expect because Newfoundland seemed so immense and ripe with natural beauty.  For some odd reason, I was expecting them to be smaller.  To be honest, they seemed to be well proportioned.

As I got closer and closer to my destination, the sleet and rain had let up to reveal an absolutely gorgeous sunny view of the land; with the sun shining on me I continued my pursuit.  The low river terrain had given way to what seemed to me as huge mountains.  Higher and higher I drove, my engine whining from the elevation but never showing any sign of stopping, until I reached it: the moon!  Well not really, but the rock formations and rocky off street terrain sure as hell made you feel like you were there.

It was getting close to the early evening, and there I was, sitting on these lunar rocks watching the sun set.  It felt so interesting to watch the sun slowly waves goodbye to me while I sat on rocks that could've belonged to her lunar cousin.  Someone had already beaten me to the punch of sitting closer to the horizon, so I sat back and kept my distance so we could both enjoy this same moment together spiritually.  I was only about an hour or so away from my end game and the temperature was dropping again.  Climate it seemed was as ever fluid as water, at times the cold was tolerable, then it would snow, rain or hail, followed by clear skies.  Adjusting to the ever changing weather was something compared to roulette; you just really didn't know which way the weather would turn when you rounded the bend.

Speaking of bends, I finally made it over the last mountain top and I swear it felt like angels were singing!!  There it was!  St. Johns.... well the suburbs.  I arrived when the sun had already set and I was honestly surprised as to how big the city was.  If you include the burbs and other surrounding neighborhoods, St. John's is pretty sprawled out.  What got me laughing was the fact that I had to stop and get gas off one road only to find a, gasp! Wal-Mart!!!  It's true!  Nowhere is safe from this behemoth, not even an island as far east as Newfoundland.  The fingers of this conglomerate seem to reach everywhere!  I finally loaded up on gas, which if you don't know, is expensive as hell  (Remember that gas is converted into liters in Canada) and headed to downtown.  As my luck had it, it began to hail quite hard.  Here I was, my car straining to stop with the hail interfering with the tires, myself lost in a city with random one ways and few signs to guide me somewhere, and no way to get in touch with my couch surfing host.  After almost sliding right into the back of a small Ford, I decided enough is enough and pulled into a Tim Horton's (think of it as a Dunkin Donuts/Starbucks hybrid) to get a hot chocolate and use their wifi.

For an hour I sat in the store, sipping on my cocoa and waiting out the storm; I opened my couchsurfing app to see if my host had responded and to my surprise.... not one reply.  For a moment I thought that all the driving and sleep deprivation had gotten to me and I was hallucinating this potential train wreck and that some kind of email would magically reappear.  I closed and re-opened the app a few times, and even turned my phone on and off a couple times, but no dice.  I started to panic again inside my head; looking around I felt as if all the customers could hear the screams of frustration going on in my mind.  I had no idea as to why I hadn't heard back from my host, or for that matter, anyone on the site.  I didn't have enough money for staying in a hostel and knew absolutely no one; so I did the one thing I knew what to do: I broke one of my cardinal rules of traveling....

And I Will Walk 5,000 Miles Part 1

Ok, well I know it's 500 miles, but the 5,000 is pretty significant in this situation, so what the hell right?

"You're going where?!?!  What for??? What's up there?  Is your car going to make it??"

These were some of the questions I had thrown at me when I told people about my driving, yes, I said driving, to St. John's Newfoundland.  Why would I want to drive there you may ask?  Easy.  For years now I've wanted to be at the furthest eastern point of the whole American (North, South and Central) continent.  The very first point where the sun greets our land with her warm smile; I'll tell you right now, it was a moment I'll never forget.  The adventure was so surprising and yet insightful, that I feel the need to write about it in parts; God knows I'm long winded, so some breaks I'm sure are welcomed to whoever reads this. 

Before we get to the many happenings of this caper though, many things had to be sorted out before leaving.  Firstly, my car (aka Old Faithful) had to be checked out and cleared for duty.  Anyone who knows me knows that my car hasn't had the best track record when it comes to being out of the shop; I think any one mechanic could make a living off of the money I drop on her.  Regardless, I'll drive her til her wheels fall off; besides, shes made it to the Keys with me and now to St. John's, so we have some history together.  After getting her looked over, an oil change and fuel injector cleaning, she was ready for battle.

Next was the clothing selection.  One word comes to mind when I think of Canada in the early winter period: COLD.  So jeans, thermals, a few t-shirts to break the monotony of my beige outer underwear addition and my trusty leather jacket were thrown into the mix with a hoodie, gloves and beanies.  I always have to have my beanies wherever I go.  Along with my sleeping bag and tent, I managed to fit everything into my hiking bag, including some other essentials.  Even though I was driving and I could've packed a suitcase if I wanted, whenever I travel and go backpacking, I stick to my one packing mantra: take only what I can carry on my back.

So with all my gear ready, my car warmed up, duct tape in the trunk just in case (everything can be fixed with duct tape), and 6 six hours of solid sleep under my belt, I set off on my journey that I thought I was prepared for.

First stop: Richmond, Virginia.  Almost a 600 mile drive, the road to Richmond was beautiful and well timed.  Before I left, I attempted to route my own course on Google Maps; there was some success with that, but more frustrations than I would've liked.  Thankfully my Virginia course worked and I got to see some gorgeous Appalachian mountainside blended in with a mix of highway.   I ended up visiting a great girl friend who I hadn't seen since college; so it had been a long overdue mini reunion.  Her and her roommate were gracious enough to let me sleep on their couch after what could be described as a night of drinking, catching up and a sprinkle of karaoke. 

Alarm goes buzzing off at 7:30a and I jump into the shower only to head back on the road at 8 before I had my car towed.  Next destination: Boston!!!  Now this route was a bit tricky; I wanted to make it there while avoiding all the major cities and their traffic and still get a great view of nature through the various state parks.  All went down without a hitch until I got to the Big Apple.  I rode up the Jersey coast to the Tappan Zee Bridge in an attempt to not get stuck in what I'm sure would've been hell on earth traffic in the city.  I made it there perfectly and then proceeded to get lost on the Palisades Parkway for about an hour.  I probably drove up and down that fairway for a solid hour until I had had enough and just got my GPS to take me straight to Boston.  I'm sorry harbor coastline, until we meet again.  After braving the new york highways, the absolutely gorgeous bridges and hours of random Connecticut traffic (Seriously.  There was no rhyme or reason for the lock ups, they just seemed to happen) I made it to Boston.  The estimated amount of time was supposed to be around 10-11 hours; my little leg of that trip took about 12-13.  I stayed with an old friend of mine and his husband for the night on their couch after a great dinner out and catching up about our lives; it's been about a year or so since we've all last seen each other.

The symphony coming from my phone as the alarm sounded and the noise of folks getting ready for work told me it was time to get back behind the wheel.  So around 7:30a ish, I began my next to last leg of my journey to Newfoundland.  This leg unfortunately had a time restriction; I had to be there at 8:45p to register for the ferry or have to end up waiting for the only other daily ferry departure at 11:45a the next day, which was not in my plan.  The first two nights I tried to arrive at reasonable times so I wouldn't be disturbing my friend's daily lives too much, but this time I was on the clock: a 12 hour drive awaited me.  Boy I had no idea what was in store.

After driving through some beautiful mountain views of Maine, I finally made it to the US/Canadian border: 3:45p I thought I was making great time!  Customs stopped and ask me the usual questions: how long was I staying, purpose of my trip, blah blah blah.  When I told the officer I was driving to St. John's, he I'm sure found it a bit odd, (tack him onto a rather long list of folks) and asked to search my car.  Since I had my car searched two years ago when I came to Canada, this didn't come as a surprise to me; what did however, was the fact that while I was awaiting the prostate check on my four wheeled companion, I found out that I was an hour behind.  Although I had arrived there at 3:45p, it actually was 4:45p on that border stop.  All was well until I met my old nemesis timezone.

Well of course, the officer took his sweet time and I started to pace around the room asking the other officers if I could still make it to the ferry on time; I had about another five hours to go.  Some looked at me skeptically while another told me I could, with a smirk that screamed I was going to get stopped for speeding if I tried.  After the officer came back with my keys, I ran to my car to only find my sleeping bag had been taken out of my pack (it took me forever to pack all that in there by the way) and pretty much gunned it through New Brunswick and then the mountains of Nova Scotia.  My end destination was the Port of North Sydney.  Let me tell you, there is nothing more nerve wrecking than driving through the mountains of a country, hell a landscape that you don't recognize in pitch dark conditions.  In between the sporadic towns I crossed, there were dozens of miles of nothing... no lights, houses or more importantly, gas stations.  So timing and gas consumption kept me on my toes while I was speeding threw the Nova Scotian nocturnal mountains.  By the time I made it (roughly around 10:30p) to the port, I had fought my way through high winds, fog, rain and heavy snowfall and with my sanity barely intact; I was told by the the ticket lady that there was still room for me.  PHEW!!!  After a little over 14 hours of driving and blood shot eyes, having the ticket in my hand was a huge relief!  Only when the ferry started moving did I think to myself, there's no turning back now.