"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.
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