Dash to Dartmouth

Day 39

In our exposed campsite, the sun awakens us at 6:30. This Mermaid has a Scorpio moon, and so paybacks are hell. All of the people setting off their car alarms, opening and closing their trunks, cracking beers, letting their kids freak out and talking all night are treated to the Pirate and the Mermaid morning show. We giggle, make coffee, fry up a shitload of onions and garlic, and do a lot of excessive banging around. It's spiteful, and euphoric. Soon, the rest of the “tent-ers” are up, suffering through their shitty coffee and boring breakfast while we feast.

We're packed up and out of there by 9 am. The ride out is sunny and cool, and we are happy to ride along the south eastern shores of Nova Scotia. Crossing the bridge from Breton Island back on to the mainland, we pass a huge, ugly mine pulling gravel or something from the cliffs, slowly eroding them to sea level. Nova Scotia seems to be a province of survival.

As we drive south from the bridge and near the coast, we are enveloped in a seaside fog that reminds us of California. Along the coast on Rt. 7, most of the towns are marked by a small white church with a tall steeple, a harbor with fishing boats, a Co-op with lottery tickets, and modest, brightly colored homes. The roads meander toward and away from the water, sometimes coming with in a foot of it. It's a ride as lovely as the mighty Cabot Trail, if not more so.

Before we arrive in the big city, we stop in a little town at a “Fish n' Fries” shop. Fish and chips are fantastic in Nova Scotia, we've learned, especially from little take-out places, or food trucks. The sun is out while we eat, so we sit on the deck where we can see the Girl. She catches the eye of a lot of bikers, and before long, the parking lot is full of motorcycles.

By the time we arrive in Dartmouth (which is just across the harbor from Halifax) it's foggy and cool out. We hole up in our hotel room, and revel in the privacy, the TV, the big bed with pillows (there has not been a pillow under this Mermaid's head in one month), the ice bucket, the shower, and the absence of insects. It's heaven, and we don't come out again for the rest of the day. We watch Usain Bolt win the 100 meter, we watch McKayla-the-gymnist fall on her ass and not win the gold. It's our first glimpses of the Olympics, and rather interesting through the lens of Canadian TV.