Why we travel

People travel for different reasons.  Our friends Salli and Jess (see the sidebar here), authors of the blog, "One Hundred Stories", have met the most interesting people of many cultures unfamiliar to me, people who have something to say and something to give.  Salli and Jess are absorbing experiences and life stories all over the globe.  We met Salli and Jess in Arequippa, Peru, while admiring the sunset on the three volcanos.  Stuart and I spent two days more than we had planned in Arequippa, after meeting them.
 
Our friends Bonnie and Mark are living in the USA wherever they stop for the night, with their travel trailer. They are seeing our country from the ground level, spending time getting to know an area and other travelers, before moving on, enjoying geography and people and culture. When Bonnie sat on our porch in Wilmington a few years ago, drinks in our hands, and told us they were hitting the road, we cheered.

Our friends Sharon and Bob love the cruise life.  They have the convenience of staying in the same "hotel" every night, and seeing new and exciting things every day.  And, someone to cook delicious meals everynight.  Doug just took a solo trip down the ICW from northern VA to southern NC, in a small sailboat (one that took us on a very unexpected summer thunder storm trip in the Neuse River a few summers back!), aquainting himself with the small creeks, and joys of an old, small motor.  Jo Ann and Tom just returned to the Pacific NW from a month in an apartment in Paris, learning about art, people and food. 

Mike, a new friend from St. Andrews, NB, travels as a commercial diver.  Stuart and I met Mike on the street, while we were biking in St. Andrews.  I was looking to buy a fish, in this fishing village, to cook for dinner, when I stopped him on the street to ask for advice.  He smiled, and told us we probably wouldn't be able to buy local fish, as it was all smoked and shipped out.  But, he asked, "where are you staying?".  I told him about our great campsite, and he knew the campground.  Later, he came by to give us a bag of scallops he'd collected while working.  He smiled, and drove off, without staying for a visit.  Later, when I asked around town about him, people just smiled and said he was typical of the locals.  Those were the sweetest scallops I've ever eaten!

I remember traveling down the Green River, in Desolation Canyon, Utah, in the summer of 1997.  Bruce Watkins, from Wilmington, NC, planned that trip, and invited 12 paddlers to join him.  He had entered a lottery to paddle the Green River, and won a coveted slot.  Stuart and I, and our friend Brent, met the group in Utah.  That afternoon, we drove several vehicles, several hours to the put-in spot, and unloaded the inflatables kayaks the gear and food and the kat-a-raft that would haul our gear and food.  Stuart and Brent hunkered down with scotch and snack foods, in tents, with the rest of our group, escaping the unbelievable mosquitoes.  I got behind the wheel of one car, and with 3 others, we drove vehicles back to Green River, to the take-out spot. We drove along a dirt road for a long time, under an almost full moon.  An unforgettable drive along the edge of the canyon. Bruce had arranged a small plane to ferry us back to the put-in point on the river the next morning, and after getting my last shower for a few days, the next morning early, we found ourselves at the small airstrip.  The pilot looked us over, and assigned us seats in the very small plane.  I sat in the tail, with a window squeezing each shoulder.  Lucky seat!  He handed each of us a headset, and during the hour-long flight, told us of interesting sights below.  We landed on a butte, and hiked an hour down to the river.  We hadn't even left yet, and it was already note worthy!

The overnight crew was battered from mosquitos and scotch, but had the kayaks ready to go when we arrived.  We spent the next seven days paddling down the Green River, negotiating rapids and rain, camping at high spots. We ate well, saw wildlife, and learned about wilderness and silence.  Sometimes, we'd camp just down river from a rapid, and for fun, we'd put on our lifejackets and ride the rapids without the kayak. Feet first.  Wheeee!  I'll never forget the canyon, the sun, the rapids, the meals, the nights under the stars, the conversations, the friends.  Bruce organized the trip with great skill and experience, and was a great leader.  He and Juddy Buddy, his then 12-year-old-son,  taught us great camping and paddling skills, and loved every minute.  So did I.  Bruce died last week, unexpectedly.  Thanks, Bruce, for teaching me about travel.  Thanks.

St. Andrews-by-the-sea, NB

We crossed the border at Calais, ME (prounounced Ka'-less), in to St. Stephen.  At the visitor center, Pat gave us a stack of literature and maps, along with highlighted notes to get us started in New Brunswick.  And we thought we'd just blow through this province!  We wandered down the peninsula just north of Campobello Island  to St. Andrews, a turn-of-the-century resort town.  Today, a small fishing village, with the huge campground occupying the prime location:  right on the point.

We hopped on our bikes, after setting up on site 50, and pedaled into the small village to see the sights.  First stop, of course, was to photograph the Pendelbury Light.















St. Andrews is slightly tucked into another small bay, off the Bay of Fundy, but the tides here are terrifically high.    This was taken at the edge of our cg, at high tide.









...and at low tide.












We drove to the small penninsula just to the east of St. Andrews, down to Letete and Back Bay, so see a couple of lighthouses.  Sparsely populated, mountains of firewood stacked, sometimes neatly and sometimes in free-form piles, this is a fishing community.  Farm fishing salmon is big industry here, and the smoking warehouses are  surrounded by parking lots filled with dust covered trucks.  Back Bay is home of the worlds largest sardine business, too.  In spite of all this, we couldn't buy a fresh fish here.  We did find a small lobster pound on the docks in St. Andrews, where we bought a couple of chickens.  $5.25/pound.  How do the fishermen survive on this?  How do the lobster numbers maintain themselves?





This ferry was headed to Deer Island, and the ramp onto the ferry was pretty steep at low tide.











 On the other side of the ferry slip, we watched two boats coming in, loaded with seaweed.  They are just visible in the lower left of this photo.  Of course, we asked about the process!  They harvest while standing in a wide, flat boat, using a rake that cuts off the seaweed leaving about 8 inches, which quickly grows back.  When I asked if they sold it by the pound, the younger of the two men laughed and corrected me, "by the TON!".  They were coming back to the dock from the low-tide harvest session, and would come back at high tide to off-load the harvest into a bin on the dock.  The seaweed is used in many foods as a thickening agent, in cosmetics and who knows what else, and one of the largest processors in the world is here.





These little shellfish are called periwinkles, and are casually harvested on the rocks at low tide.   I think you have to find a lot to make a meal.

Continuing on to the tip of the penninsula, we found a lighthouse shrouded in fog, the fog horn continuously sounding.  To get to the lighthouse rock, we hiked across the ocean floor during the low tide.  Look closely, you'll see Stuart crossing.




















 When the tide goes out, leaving boats of all sizes high and dry, it's called, "on the hard".  This commerical fishing boat was on the hard.















Another lighthouse at Back Bay.  The fog had moved out, and the temps rose slightly.  The walk to this lighthouse, about half mile, and the remoteness make these lighthouses rarely visited places.












A few days later, we found the locally-famous delicacy, "dulce".  Dried seaweed.  We bought a bag, and decided it is definately a taste we'd have to work at to like!  Tastes, like salty, low tide.

Maine coast lobster time

 Our first lobster roll, at Harraseeket's, on the water in South Freeport, ME.  No further comments needed, right?



Campground in Freeport:  The Desert of Maine, beside the real desert of Maine. Our hosts, Gary and Ginger, bought the desert and cg 10 years ago, and have played host to countless groups of school kids and curious adults.  National Geo is scheduled to film here in a few days, for a special on this geo-curiosity.  Wooded, quiet cg, we give it Two Camp Chairs (the highest rating!).










Our first live lobsters.  We bought them at the dock for $5.65/pound.  This size is called a chicken.  One to one and half pounders.











Dinner!  Cooked in the Big Pot.  The first of many days of cheap lobsters.

Bennington, and on to the coast!

The drive up the NY Thruway was easy, and we turned left just south of Albany, and drove through Hoosick, NY.  The map promises the road beyond Bennington, Vt to be curvy and steep, and the rain is beginning again, so we find a cg 5 miles out of the small town.  The five miles at 6% uphill grade made the truck smell hot, again, even though the temperature gauge showed normal.  We'll find a mechanic tomorrow.   Bennington, the home of Ethan Allen and Robert Frost, is mostly famous for the site of the Revoluntionary War battle that turned the outcome towards the Patriots.  Today, a 300-foot tall monument stands on the site of the battle, from which we had views of three states.  It's a picture-postcard small town, the downtown sidewalks decorated with fiberglass "catamounts", made by local artists.  It's a fund-raiser, I believe, for the Chamber, or some such group.  This is Ethan Allen Catamount.

After spending some quality time at the local mechanic, discovering the brakes are fine, we toured the downtown, between showers.  "It's raining cats and dogs" Catamount seemed appropriate for the past few days...  Lunch at Madison Brewery, where the IPA was very good, and the salad I had was great.  

The rain continued, but the storm system was moving beyond us, finally.  Tomorrow, we will climb over Hogback Mountain.  Thankfully, the traffic consisted mostly of bikers, who were loving life on this curvy, scenic road. The ubiquitous gift shop, at the high point of the drive, had a display with this quote from 1777, "the worst road I've ever traveled".  Not quite so today, thanks to a good road surface.

We spent one night in Chichester, NH, where we kicked some tires on travel trailers at the Camping World lot.  Boy, these new rigs have lots of heavy slide-outs and lots of floor space, but NO storage.  I think most rigs are now towed to a summer-vacation site and left there, used as a weekend get-away.  Nothing for us here. 

Finally, we find the coast of Maine, and stop for a couple of nights in Freeport.  Of course!  We find a perfect site in the Desert of Maine cg, right beside the geographical curiosity, the Desert of Maine.  Gary and Ginger, our hosts, are disappointed because the National Geo film crew had postponed their visit to film here until a day with sunshine.  And, a couple of school groups have canceled their tour today, too.  There is only one other site occupied in the cg, and it's a pretty place.  We walk through the desert, marveling at how the glacial sands, due to erosion after plowing the topsoil, have migrated to cover the old farm, burying the spring house under 90 feet of sand!  Handmade pizza for dinner, with fresh peas, shrooms, tomatoes and chorizo.  Yummm!

Lobstah time.  The next day, we head to South Freeport, to the lobster pound Gary recommended.  To our surprise, it is the same picturesque (gotta find another word!) place we'd stumbled on 12 years ago, on another trip to this part of the world. Our first lobsta rolls, eaten outside by the docks.  In the sun.  

While we were there, we bought 2 live lobsters to take home for dinner.  Hey, you can't eat too many in one day!  It's almost the season, here, for New Shells, which is like a softshell crab.  They're a little cheaper:  $4.99/pound.  Yeah, crazy, isn't it?

This trip, I brought the Big Pot with me, to cook with ease in my own kitchen.  It lives under the sofa on travel days.  Life is good!

NY, VT, NH

We drove north on 123 out of Lancaster.  It's a beautiful day, sunshine!  We drove through PA, headed for the Delaware Water Gap.  Yeah, I didn't know about it, either.  It's a National Recreation Area, runs along the Delaware River.  Beautiful geography:  hills, river, rough paved road, walking/biking trail the entire length (about 60 miles).  The river has cut a deep gouge at the north end.  When we started the day, we imagined we'd spend the night just north of the park, but discovered a cg about halfway through the park, Dingman's CG, just south of Dingman's Fall, and the Dingman's Bridge, which replaced Dingman's Ferry.  He must have been important.

We pedaled our bikes up the off-road trail, along the ridge above the river, to the Falls.  The trail was flanked with wild roses, which smelled so sweet!  Later, we figured out that our truck is not so dirty as we thought.  It's covered with the spring pollen.















Because of all the rain in the past week, the volume was very high, making for a dramatic presentation!  The trail to the falls passed through a hemlock forest with a rhododendron understory.  They'll be blooming in about 3 weeks, sorry we'll miss it.

We talked with a park ranger, who told us that because of severe budget cuts, this park is down from twenty rangers for the season to five.  A gift to the National Parks is in order.









The campground is on the river, we pedaled down to the shore, to test the water, before heading back to our site.  There are about 100 sites here, and only one other site is occupied.  The road is dirt, the trees close, and getting in was like threading a needle.  It was so deserted, I was able to shower outside!  A pic of the shower curtain/rack Stuart built later...











Dinner, Green Dragon Market sausages, roasted red peppers and fresh peas.  And cheap red wine, or course!

Visiting Friends

Note to self:  be careful with the delete key while typing a new blog post!  I unintentionally deleted the post about our visit with Amy and Glenn.

We arrived at our favorite cg in that area:  Roamer's Retreat, in Kinzers.  It overlooks a small valley, with a high ridge beyond the fields.  Picturesque.  Amy and Glenn, who now own a sewing machine business in New Holland, Brubaker's, are old friends from the days when all three of us worked for Pfaff Sewing Machine Company.  She pedaled her bike, wearing hot pink, over hill and dale the first afternoon for a quick visit. Wow!  She's in great shape!  It has been far too many years since we last saw each other, and it was as if we'd had a visit last week. 

The next day, Stuart and I headed, in the rain again, to Lititz, to the Wilbur Chocolate Co., to stock up on Wilbur Buds.  It's a picturesque (I use that word a lot in this area) small town, and the rain stopped long enough to take a short walk uptown.  We had a terrific lunch at the Tomato Pie Cafe, and I had their signature tomato pie.  That pie!  Oh, I'll be making that when I find fresh, local tomatoes.





Later, we stopped at Brubaker's, to see the shop.  Lots of embroidery, all incredible.  Amy and Glenn went to Thailand recently, and brought back a suitcase full of Thai silks.  Two of those pieces are now mine, and I have visions already of how I will use them. While we were there, one of her customers dropped off some hand-dyed fabrics Amy will use for an upcoming class.  We visited, and I learned she raises alpacas.  They shear, and she spins and knits from their wool. 

Here are a couple of the samples in the shop:



















We met Amy and Glenn Friday after they closed the shop, drove over to Lancaster, and had a most lovely dinner at Haydn Zug's.  We laughed long, but not loud enough to be annoying to other diners.  Salmon and crabcake, salad of pear and local soft cheese.  Yummyumm!





The next day, after a stop at the gym, we found the Lancaster Brewery.  The sun was shining, for the first time in many days, and we sat outside for lunch and a beer.  The beers were ordinary, the lunch was OK, but sitting outside in the sun was priceless!


On to VT tomorrow.

Tangier Island

    The long anticipated trip to the Canadian Maritimes begins!  Stuart gave me a pretty Canadian Maritimes picture book 20 years ago, signed,"Are you ready to go?"  Finally.  We visited Stuart's brother and family in VA for a few days, then headed north.  Getting around the DC area congestion is easy:  go up the Eastern Shore.  The rain began before we pulled out of Newsoms, and stayed with us all day.  I took this pic during a break in the rain.  The Bridge Tunnel was built in the 1960's with no tax money.  Imagine that happening today.  Such an engineering feat, eclipsed only by the funding miracle.  I love to travel across this bay, on this bridge.

We spent the night in a private cg in Pocomoke, MD.  The ferry to Tangier Island is not far from here, in Crisfield.  The next day, with the bikes in the back of the truck, we drove to Crisfield.  We had a little time to kill, so we pedaled around the small fishing village, which was built on oyster shells.  We met a crabber, waiting to offload his boat, who told us that the population of Tangier Island is 470, during crabbing season.  His accent was lovely!  Much
like the people from Harkers Island, NC.  The ferry ride was about an hour.  As we pulled into the harbor at Tangier, I snapped these photos of the crab houses, accessible only by boat.  It's a little early in the season, so most of the crab pots are still on the piers.

We had a nice lunch of (what else?) crab soup and a crab cake, then set off on our bikes to explore the island before the ferry returned.  There are tiny roads, some asphalted, just wide enough for a truck.  The rescue and fire truck are both regular size, and they couldn't get down some of the lanes. We saw almost no other trucks on the island.  It was a beautiful day for exploring.

We walked out on West Beach, 1.5 miles of beautiful white sand. Not the ocean, we had to remind ourselves, but the Chesapeake Bay.  Back on the road, we passed tiny houses, all fenced from the street.  We dodged locals in golf carts and on bikes, and children playing.  You can't go far:  the island is 2.5 miles long, most of which is marsh.







This is one of the oldest houses on the island, now one of two B&B's.  I think being here after the ferry goes back at 4pm would be the nicest time.  There are about 4 restaurants, one of which stays open year round.










The local museum (which we didn't go into) had the best chairs on the front porch.  Crabs!!

On the drive back to Pocomoke, we stopped at a fish market to buy soft shell crabs for dinner.  The best I've ever eaten!  Tomorrow, on to New Holland, PA, to visit friends.