Excuse Me If I Seem A Little … Cranky!

 It started with Boggle.

Since November, a gift card Jordan received for her birthday for a local games store has never left its spot on the side of our fridge. Just prior to our trip, I decided to opt for an IOU and purchase some items for our little adventure. I purchased a road trip themed Spot It and a new Boggle, the kind that the pieces are internal and can’t be lost. I figured the girls could practice their words. Excited, at a stop light, I opened the packaging, gave it a twist, shook, and twisted it back. Unfortunately, because I was at a stop light, I didn’t read the instructions. I assumed, wrongly, that the twisting feature put all the squares back automatically. Bottom line, one piece got wedged on top of another, thus immediately breaking the Boggle. Well, it wasn’t broken, per se, but it doesn’t close properly now. Stupid, but not a big deal.

Then it was a toe.

I was packing the trailer in the driveway on Thursday night, excited about the trip. We were running behind, having had an extremely hectic week. With company from out of town Friday night, a conference presentation on Saturday morning, and a hopeful departure time of mid-morning Saturday, I didn’t have a lot of time to pack the trailer after picking it up from having the bearings greased and new tires put on (which was done slower than I was initially told). As the trailer is quite long, it takes up most of the driveway when open. It just so happens that the door opens partially into the garden. I was careful most of the time, except that one time. I kicked a rock, and immediately collapsed on the grass. After being attended to by Marley and Evelyn and putting on a bandage for what I thought was a scrape, I continued my frantic pace. The next morning, my pinky toe was quite swollen and purple. I don’t know if I broke it, but it still hurts. I didn’t wear shoes for almost a week, as it hurt to put my toe inside. Add this to the long list of injuries I’ve inflicted on myself this year, and there goes a few more weeks of training. Dang.

Then there were a few little annoying things.

Then there was the net – but I’ll have to fill you in on that later, as it would spoil another intended blog.

All of that, combined, and multiplied by five, does not compare to what’s really made me cranky.

Today we finished driving up the Northern Peninsula, to our intended camp ground at Pistolet Bay Provincial Park. From there, the plan was to visit L’Anse Aux Meadows, view some icebergs, hopefully see whales, and camp for two nights. After picking a new, and improved, site, I started to set up the trailer while Leia went to the gate to let the guard know our new site number. That’s when things went awry.

For those of you that have no tent trailer experience, there is labour involved. It is part of what I love about the trailer. It isn’t simply a parking job. I have to transform the box into functional sleeping quarters. One of the first tasks, cranking up the roof. My trailer has a handier crank at the back. It started normal. I cranked up the trailer to the top. But then it unwound, just a touch. I didn’t think it was a big deal. I wound it up all the way again, but found that it would stay up all the way. Strange. Maybe I was winding it up too far. I had some trouble with the cranking system last summer, when a few times it seemed tough. I assumed I simply had gone to far, and set about putting up the rest of the trailer. I put the door in and noticed that it didn’t quite fit. This was a bad sign. I knew that meant the trailer didn’t go all the way up. So, I went back out, cranked it up. And, to my dismay, it didn't stay up. In fact, this time, I felt something slip when I was cranking. That couldn’t be good.

It wasn’t.

Thankfully, Leia had just got back. I got her to come and give me hand. Maybe if I got the door in properly, it would hold the roof up and I could find some way to fix my problem. She started cranking for me, but the roof didn’t get any higher. To make matters worse, it had come down far enough that now I could get in the trailer. Now we had ourselves a situation.

I managed to climb into the trailer. At this point, I could see that the weight of the roof was beginning to bend the top of the door frame. Cranking didn’t seem to help, so now I was pushing. Things were getting more intense. Leia was worried. I found out after, she was really worried. She thought the roof might collapse on me, crushing me. Of course, she forgot that the roof would eventually stop, leaving me unharmed, but perhaps trapped inside behind a bent door.

I realized at this point that if the roof came down, I likely wouldn’t get it back up. I quickly put things in order, while Leia and the door held the roof up. I then pushed up with all I had and asked Leia to take the door down. The door, when things are working, goes into a little groove that prevents it from swinging into the trailer. I don’t know how deep that groove is, but it seemed implausible. I was pushing up while Leia, growing more frantic, with crying children behind her, tried to get the door out. With no luck initially, we eventually were able to get the door loose – the first item it found was my face. No matter, We put it parallel to the ceiling where it is stored in transit, and we let the roof come down on me.

At this point, all three girls were in hysterics. For one, the trailer was clearly not working, and they knew we had nowhere to stay. But, more critically, as I discovered later, they thought I was going to be crushed. Marley told me later she thought I’d die or get trapped in the trailer. I chuckle as I write this, but that explanation explains their wailing.

With the roof down, and most of the parts in place (expect for the beds, which were extended out still), I crawled out of the trailer and tried to assess the situation. I had already had my moment inside the trailer, while I tried to figure out how to fix it, so I mostly got right to work.

The aftermath of a failed crank.

I crawled underneath to assess matters while Leia went to the front gate to see if they had any suggestions or could help. Warren showed up while I was underneath. He and I spent about an hour taking things apart. Eventually, we surmised that the cranking mechanism, which turns a chain, which then turns a rod, which raises the roof, was broken. To the best of our ability, without removing the entire back panel, it was the mechanism that is supposed to make the crank lock.

Evelyn the Manager, making sure Warren and I do our
jobs to her satisfaction!

We debated what to do next. Do we use 2x4s to keep the roof up? Do we take it down and head to St. Anthony? Eventually, we decided to take it down. We got the most important items out that we could, in case we can’t get back in anytime soon, and set about closing the trailer for transport. With a refund for camping in hand, and with the only Ontario beers I had available to me as a gesture of thanks to Warren, we set out to find a motel.

We spent some time tonight looking for new accommodations for the remainder of our time on the Rock. We’ve also discussed what’s next for this trip. Thankfully, we have places to stay on the mainland. It messes with our plans, but those plans are easy to modify. What really sucks is that I’ve now pulled a trailer to St. Anthony, having paid the extra cost for the ferry, the extra fuel, having booked campsites, to use it for one night. I love spending time in the trailer. I know it can be fixed – it is simply a matter of whether or not it will be fixed for this trip.

There are plenty of lessons, no doubt, in all of this. I’ll let those come to me in days to come. I was surely frustrated. I don’t seem to catch breaks with this sort of stuff. It wears on me. It is a bit of a crushing feeling, like a … oh, I don’t know, a tent trailer roof slowly closing in. I don’t catch small breaks, but thankfully, the small breaks don’t define us – unless, of course, we allow them. Trailers can be fixed. Money spent on motels can be recovered. Disappointment at not camping will be displaced when canoeing 190 kms in a few weeks. When it comes to big breaks, I’ve faired much better. I think of the great family, good friends, wonderful neighbourhood, and luscious curls I have. And, of course, the three wailing girls concerned for my safety and my lovely bride, doing her best to prevent the roof from, in her mind, crushing me to death.

In other news, this is what we saw at dinner tonight:

There was at least 15 icebergs in view from our restaurant.

A Belly Full of Lobster

I have a belly full of lobster.

I’ve considered more eloquent ways of starting this post, but none of them are quite as satisfying as the ….

And then I woke up. That is as far as I got thinking about how to tell the story of our first few days in Newfoundland before the belly full of lobster coma overcame me, promptly ending the blog writing for the night. So here I go again:

Driving off the ferry on Tuesday morning, all of us were excited to be back in Newfoundland. Leia was so excited, that she started to provide commentary on every “unique” thing she saw. “Look at that house, girls!” she exclaimed, passing a robin egg blue house that was perfectly ordinary. “Look! There’s a man walking on the road!” Her enthusiasm begged to be mocked. I proceed to point out all of the obvious things we drove by for the next ten minutes. Marley even joined in. Fun was had by all … I think. Leia’s back was turned to me so as to avoid letting me see her laugh (or cry?) at my teasing. Newfoundland was going to be a riot.

 

Moose #2, east of Gander.
The first we saw in New Brunswick, but couldn't pull around for a picture.

The drive to St. John’s is magnificent. I have driven across almost all of this country, multiple times, and I think the scenery here is the most striking and diverse. It is almost magical. The topography varies considerably, and can be reminiscent of northern Ontario or Quebec, the highlands of Cape Breton, the rolling hills of New Brunswick, the wide skies of the Prairies, and even the lowlands of British Columbia. Although I’ve never been, I’m told it also resembles Scotland. The only thing missing here are tall peaks, but I’d trade those for continuous ocean views any day. If I had to recommend one stretch of highway for people to drive in this country, I’d be torn between the Icefields Parkway and the drive from Port Aux Basques to St. John’s. (honourable mention: the drive from Victoria to Tofino).

The girls at Cape Spear. They can't help but pose.

We arrived to Cathy and Guy’s house in time to head straight out. All day, the weather had been beautiful – sunny and blue skies. Last time Leia and I were in St. John’s the same thing happened. The city welcomed us with nice weather. But, tired from our travels and with Leia pregnant at the time with Marley, we decided to have an easy night and left sight seeing for another day. The remainder of our time was spent in a blanket of fog so thick that Signal Hill and Cape Spear were pointless. With beautiful weather, we knew better this time and headed straight into downtown. As we were walking to our dinner destination, we were treated to a spectacular view of St. John’s harbour.

The iceberg in St. John's harbour on our first night.

We had dinner with some locals on night two (more to come on that later) who are bay folk turned city folk (three categories of people live here: bay folk, city folk, and “from away”) who are not so impressed by icebergs. I guess it makes sense when you’re left not with their majestic beauty, but their tendency to cool the coastal temperatures. They suggested a difference of up to 10 degrees when an iceberg is in the bay, cooling the waters and the air. For us, however, the icebergs were something to behold. After dinner, they were glowing on the ocean. We headed up to Signal Hill, which was incredibly windy, and were treated to an ocean that seemed to be full of icebergs. We counted five.

Another iceberg in St. John's harbour on day two.

The next morning, with clear(ish) weather, we decided to head straight to Cape Spear. It is the furthest east one can go in Canada. In the last year, our girls have driven to the Western and Eastern shores. Quite an accomplishment, I think. They’ve stood with friends on the beaches of Stanley Park in Vancouver less than a year ago, and walked the eastern shores of Cape Spear yesterday. I don’t know that they fully appreciate it yet, but Leia and I do. We might just have to go to PEI for a few hours so Marley and Evelyn can say that they’ve been. I’ll have to figure out how to get us to the territories next!

Cathy and the girls at Signal Hill.

Overlooking St. John's at Signal Hill.

Jordan was cold at the Cape

After Cape Spear, and lunch at a great little coffee shop on Water Street, we headed to Middle Cove. It just so happens that the capelin are rolling. I’ll post more about this later, but to participate in this event, which only happens for a few days, made us feel very privileged.

Marley had fun here, but was weird out when the guy immediately
behind her decided to have some fun and poke his head through after her turn.

Jordan showing off dinner.

And, as you know, we ended the day with lobster. There are few ways to eat lobster – and last night was the best way possible. I have a colleague here that I’ve worked with over the years, and discovered that Cathy also knew him. So, out of the blue, I sent Daryl an email indicating that we’d be in town. He promptly invited us over for a lobster feast. To me, this is the best way to enjoy trips like this. Daryl and his wife Gail were extremely gracious hosts – even buying crafts for the girls to do, from which Gail kindly let Marley pick whatever she wanted to take home (and, if you know Marley, she had a little bag of goodies by night’s end).  Daryl had invited their friends Rick and Donna and their kids over as well, as Rick is a bayman and knows lobster. It made for a wonderful night of laughter, conversation, and food. Turns out Rick and I had probably met at the conference that brought me to Newfoundland initially in 2008, and he knew a bunch of the folks I went to Eastern with, including my Pentecostal history professor, Dr. Milley.

Cracking tails.

This post cannot do justice to the hospitality or the delicious food that left all of us driving home full of gratitude. This place may have a reputation for being windy, cold, and grey (and, at the moment, all are true), but there is so much warmth in the people, that it hardly matters. I do really love Newfoundland!

(Lots of lobster doesn’t hurt either.)

Our family impromptu band photo shoot at Cape Spear

I'm On A Boat!

It is just after 5 am, and the sun is beginning to work its way across the Atlantic. The incessant rumble and squeak of the ferry is the only noise, aside from occasional snore from a nearby passenger. Jordan is sleeping awkwardly two chairs over, and the rest of the girls are on the floor. Apparently, this is strictly prohibited. But with the prohibitively priced sleeping cabins (literally a captive market here) all booked up, we’re left with reclining chairs that hardly recline or the floor. The fondly remembered bunks from our last ferry crossing to Newfoundland no longer exist. Perhaps I should have made that inquiry before booking overnight crossings!

On our first trip to Newfoundland, Leia and I stopped in at this Fromagerie.
We've stopped every trip since. They have fantastic cheese.

The girls appreciated their ice cream more!

Today will be day four of our trip already. The busy schedule we’ve kept so far is mostly responsible for the lack of entries – that, and the fact that I am not travelling alone. Just like dishes seem to be done faster when I’m home alone – after all, there is no use leaving them in the sink per chance someone else might decide to wash them first! – so too was I more deliberate when I travelled last year by myself. On last year’s road trip, I would clean the truck every night, even if that meant wearing my bug net. So far, I clean the truck right before the morning’s departure. Last year I was over prepared with colouring sheets, activities, and snacks. This year, I’ll likely run out of animal pictures, and I didn’t even both to check if our FM broadcaster was in operational condition (it wasn’t) after I thought it got broken earlier in the year (it did). Last year I tried to end the night with writing a blog post, although this was mostly to keep my absent co-pilot informed. Some things are just not as critical when your co-pilot is with you. Today, I suspect my co-pilot will mostly sleep. Some people just aren’t good at sleeping on the prohibited floors of boats!

Despite hours upon hours in the car together, the kids still get along.

Today we complete our marathon of driving to St. John’s. Initially, when we planned this trip, we wanted to go to Newfoundland for the last part of the trip, and St. John’s wasn’t necessarily on the agenda. However, that quickly changed when we learned that one of Leia’s friends had accepted a position at Memorial. To make schedules work, the plan was to head to St. John’s first, to spend time with Cathy for a few days, before heading to Gros Morne. It is not only am ambitious start to our trip for us, but also for Cathy. She and her husband just arrived themselves, and have had possession of their house for less than a week.

The Nova Scotia information centre had a bag piper … sadly, he wasn't that good.
When Leia and I were discussing his inability to hit all the notes later, the girls came t o his rescue.

We offered to stay in our trailer, making it simpler for Cathy, but she’s insisted we stay with her. This will ultimately mean that we won’t use the trailer for almost a week of our trip. The first night, in Quebec, we stopped at two campsites – one had blaring music and numerous kids raucously swinging in the playground at 10:45 pm so seemed less than ideal (and nobody manning the gate or clear instructions), the other had no vacancy – before deciding to just stop at a motel. The plan was to drive as far as possible, and getting past Quebec City was good enough for me. Day two we slept at Priscilla and Mark’s. Rather than spend time opening the trailer on arrival, we went and saw the house they were hoping to purchase. Day three we slept on a boat. I started to consider whether I should have left the trailer in Sydney, with Josh and Danielle, only to then remember that getting a tent and all the necessary camping items to fit in the Thule and truck would have been annoying. It’s just gas money! To conserve some fuel, and to be able to pick up the pace, the plan is to find somewhere to leave the trailer in Deer Lake for the duration of our time in St. John’s.

One of the highlights of this trip will be time with family.

Even if their BBQing skills are in question.

Speaking of fuel, with impeccable timing, we left just as the fictitious fear of oil supplies being affected by the Iraqi conflict was at its height. Literally within the first hour of driving east I heard a news story about the record prices of gasoline. Yay! I haven’t paid much attention to the prices so far – it really doesn’t make much difference. I did decide to fuel up in North Sydney at $1.42/l anticipating that Newfoundland would be more expensive. When Leia and I visited last (our only time, until now), I remember filling up the Yaris at $1.55/l. That trip deserved a few blog posts. Perhaps someday I’ll retroactively blog about it. We also drove to St. John’s and back, only that time we lived in Edmonton still. Leia, pregnant with Marley, and Jordan only drove for part of the trip, having flown into Toronto and then flying back out of Moncton. I put over 15,000 kms on the car in one month.

Evelyn started the trip cranky, but has improved day by day to her normal, goofy self.

It’s quite foggy, and the ship’s horn is constantly sounding. The captain recently announced we were an hour from port. I think I need to head out to a deck to fully appreciate this morning before getting back into the truck for another long day of driving.