The software I used on the trip, called obdgpslogger, writes raw OBD and GPS data to a SQLite3 database (obdlogger.db). The final database was 83 megabytes, or 28 megabytes when zipped, which is too large to post at Google Sites, where I host files. Obdgpslogger has a utility, however, which will convert the database into a CSV file, and I have done that, and zipped the result, which produced a file of only 8.5 megs, which is under the 10-meg limit.
Download the raw trip data in CSV format (zipped).
Download the complete trip map in KML format (zipped) for use in Google Earth or Google Maps.
Also, the man who wrote the obdgpslogger software has used my trip and my data as an example of how the software can be used. Take a look at the page on his site.
Email me if you are interested in getting the raw trip data in the original SQLite3 database.
Posting the whole trip map was the end goal for this particular blog, so I consider it now complete. It is possible that Rinarledge.com will someday become a blog generally for the Rinard-Arledge coalition, but for now, good nite and good luck.
Generated The KML
I got in contact with the author of the software that I use to generate the route maps. He agreed that the program seemed needlessly slow. He looked into it and suggested I run a couple indexes on the database holding the data:
create index idx_gpstime on gps(time);
create index idx_obdtime on obd(time);
After this, the program runs in approximately one minute, versus something like one week before the optimization. That works out to a speed improvement of about ten thousand time. Wow.
So I generated the file and it is about 25 megabytes, which is too large to upload to the same place I keep the other KML files, and also too large for Google Maps to accept. I don't know what to do about that, but for now I'm just going to do nothing.
create index idx_gpstime on gps(time);
create index idx_obdtime on obd(time);
After this, the program runs in approximately one minute, versus something like one week before the optimization. That works out to a speed improvement of about ten thousand time. Wow.
So I generated the file and it is about 25 megabytes, which is too large to upload to the same place I keep the other KML files, and also too large for Google Maps to accept. I don't know what to do about that, but for now I'm just going to do nothing.
Problem Calculating The Trip KML
Altogether I took 505 trips in my car during the journey, where a trip is defined as turning on and then off the engine, for no matter what length of time. I would usually calculate the most recent couple dozen trips into the multi-colored map shown at the top of the page, because that was about the amount I could calculate overnite, which was usually about how long I had to do the task. So to calculate all 505 trips, I knew, would take days. Three days ago I started the calculation, and it got as far as #405 by this evening, then a few minutes ago, the computer crashed. I was foolishly trying to install Mythbuntu at the same time, and also surfing the web. One of those things caused the problem.
So it'll be a several more days before I can post that data, if I can even find a way to post such a large file -- it might be over a hundred megabytes. There were sixty megabytes of raw text records in the SQLite3 database.
But first I'm installing Mythbuntu.
So it'll be a several more days before I can post that data, if I can even find a way to post such a large file -- it might be over a hundred megabytes. There were sixty megabytes of raw text records in the SQLite3 database.
But first I'm installing Mythbuntu.
Fin
We made it to Madison yesterday afternoon. We have lots to deal with, many chores, plenty of stress, but we are happy to have made it here alive. The biggest problem on the trip was the water pump, which makes the whole thing pretty lucky, I think. I will finish up over the next week or so with some more posts and pictures about the end of our trip, and looking at all the data I collected.
Thanks to all the people we saw who made our trip fun and comfortable.
Thanks to all the people we saw who made our trip fun and comfortable.
The Home Stretch
Ashleigh and I arrived in Chicago yesterday in the morning. We had brunch with our friends Dan and Abby, who are engaged to marry in April. In the evening we had a delicious home-cooked meal at Abby's family home. Today, soon, we will drive out to Madison, the long-awaited final destination on this ambitious trip. If we don't crash on these final few hundred miles of roads, we will have executed the original travel plan with remarkable success. Wish us luck on our home stretch.
Michigan Roads Are Crumbling Travesties
The roads in Michigan are in deporable shape, and I think that might be because Michigan is one of those states that "prides itself" on having low taxes, and pretends that having the resulting crappy crumbling infrastructure doesn't make them a sad laughingstock. Whatever, Michigan; I guess having all those low taxes has really helped you maintain a healthy manufacturing industry, huh? They have signs stating the hiway minimum speed is 55, but in our rig we can hardly maintain that speed without bouncing off the road.
Hiway 69 out of Port Huron was in really bad shape. After that, 94 alternated between really bad and not so bad. There were a few areas of construction, paid for no doubt by the recent stimulus funds. I'm not surprised that Michigan had road projects that were "shovel ready" but didn't have the money to pay for them. Ashleigh started to get motion sickness from the constant bumping. It was terrible.
The quality of the roads often seemed to vary by the lane. The slow lane was usually the worst, forcing us to drive in the middle or left lane. We hate to do that, because we really despise slow drivers who don't stay in the slow lane. We are a slow vehicle, one of the very slowest on the road, so we definitely belong in the slow lane, but what choice do we have? To drive in some of these lanes would shake the whole darn Jeep apart! As the locals would angrily pass us on the right I would look at their Michigan license plates and think, hey, complain to your representatives, tell them to raise your taxes to pay for better roads so that vehicles can safely travel in the slow lane.
The locals don't seem to notice the bad roads. As we bumped along at 65 miles per hour, they passed us in the gloom of nite at speeds definitely above 90, maybe 100 miles per hour. I wonder if the bumps are not apparent at that speed?
PS When we crossed the border from Michigan to Illinois, the roads got even worse! I paid eight dollars in tolls in Chicago to drive across roads that wouldn't even be acceptable in rural Alaska! What the hell!? Why do people in the eastern US agree to pay outrageous and annoying tolls, then drive on crappy roads!? Have they ever visited the western half of the country, where we enjoy nice flat high-quality roads with no tolls whatsoever? How does this situation arise in a democracy?
Hiway 69 out of Port Huron was in really bad shape. After that, 94 alternated between really bad and not so bad. There were a few areas of construction, paid for no doubt by the recent stimulus funds. I'm not surprised that Michigan had road projects that were "shovel ready" but didn't have the money to pay for them. Ashleigh started to get motion sickness from the constant bumping. It was terrible.
The quality of the roads often seemed to vary by the lane. The slow lane was usually the worst, forcing us to drive in the middle or left lane. We hate to do that, because we really despise slow drivers who don't stay in the slow lane. We are a slow vehicle, one of the very slowest on the road, so we definitely belong in the slow lane, but what choice do we have? To drive in some of these lanes would shake the whole darn Jeep apart! As the locals would angrily pass us on the right I would look at their Michigan license plates and think, hey, complain to your representatives, tell them to raise your taxes to pay for better roads so that vehicles can safely travel in the slow lane.
The locals don't seem to notice the bad roads. As we bumped along at 65 miles per hour, they passed us in the gloom of nite at speeds definitely above 90, maybe 100 miles per hour. I wonder if the bumps are not apparent at that speed?
PS When we crossed the border from Michigan to Illinois, the roads got even worse! I paid eight dollars in tolls in Chicago to drive across roads that wouldn't even be acceptable in rural Alaska! What the hell!? Why do people in the eastern US agree to pay outrageous and annoying tolls, then drive on crappy roads!? Have they ever visited the western half of the country, where we enjoy nice flat high-quality roads with no tolls whatsoever? How does this situation arise in a democracy?
Niagra Falls
We arrived at Niagra in the evening of Friday, August 14. That nite we drove in to the town and saw the falls; then the next morning we returned to do the Maid of the Mist boat ride, and the Sky Wheel (Ferris wheel) ride.
This was Ashleigh's first time seeing the falls, and my first time on the Canadian side. It was still sunlight out when we arrived and we drove through the Canadian town of Niagra Falls, which is a mixture of nice manicured falls-related infrastructure, and hideously kitchy storefronts hawking cheap needless goods. The town is large, quite built up for the tourists; it is a swarm of humans from every corner of the world all trying to see the falls, or trying to sell them things. Luckily we brought money to spend. Ashleigh said it was like a cheaper version of Las Vegas or Universal Studios.
The first nite we drove along the cliffs overlooking the falls. Ashleigh commented that she had considered the size of the falls over the previous couple days, and had decided that they would probably end up being smaller than her imagination; but that was wrong. They are huge! She was duly impressed. We got lost looking for parking, but finally found some, and walked through the town and along the viewing area. There was a mix of all races and sorts of people there, and we heard many languages, like we had heard in the national parks in the first couple weeks of our trip. After the sun sets, the authorities shine colored lights onto the falling water, which is quite a spectacle. For dinner we had a delicious fresh chicken shawarma sandwich from a little corner shop.
On the way into town we had passed a conveniently located Wal Mart, which was a mere five minutes from the downtown district. It could hardly have been in a better location for a comfortable evening. We were one of eight RVs in the lot that nite, and surprisingly the other seven all had Ontario plates. In the morning we left the detached trailer at Wal Mart and drove the Jeep into the city again, paying five dollars to park in a lot.
The most popular attraction at the falls is the Maid of the Mist bout tours, which take you on a medium-sized ferry boat right up to the edge of the falling water, into the intense drenching mist. Thin ponchos are provided to protect everything but your shoes. The mist rises up from the splashing water all the way up to approximately twice the height of the falls themselves, but at the bottom it is like a strong windy rainfall. Several boats work as a team to cycle tourists to the falls from both the American and Canadian sides.
The tour was really neat, we were glad we did it. I snapped a ton of pictures even though I was worried that the ceaseless mist would damage the camera (it was fine). The boat went up to the falls, towering 175 feet high above us, at medium speed then stopped for a few minutes to give the full effect. The recorded narration boomed "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Niagra Falls!"
The other attraction we did that morning was the "Sky Wheel", a big Ferris wheel with a good view of the falls. Although pricey, it was also a lot of fun. The two of us got an enclosed gondola to ourselves and there was no line at all that early in the morning. In fact, the standard ride is three times around the wheel, and we got a bonus turn. Good times.
That was it for the day in terms of doing fun things. From there we headed west on Canadian 403, then 401, then 402 to the border at Port Huron, Michigan. I contemplated the town's small connection to my favorite movie, The Big Lebowski, where the eponymous character claims to be an author of the Port Huron Statement (a real historical thing, I looked it up once): "the original Port Huron Statement, not the compromised second draft". We went through customs without a hitch and spent the rest of the day driving across Michigan, to Indiana, just short of Chicago.
This was Ashleigh's first time seeing the falls, and my first time on the Canadian side. It was still sunlight out when we arrived and we drove through the Canadian town of Niagra Falls, which is a mixture of nice manicured falls-related infrastructure, and hideously kitchy storefronts hawking cheap needless goods. The town is large, quite built up for the tourists; it is a swarm of humans from every corner of the world all trying to see the falls, or trying to sell them things. Luckily we brought money to spend. Ashleigh said it was like a cheaper version of Las Vegas or Universal Studios.
The first nite we drove along the cliffs overlooking the falls. Ashleigh commented that she had considered the size of the falls over the previous couple days, and had decided that they would probably end up being smaller than her imagination; but that was wrong. They are huge! She was duly impressed. We got lost looking for parking, but finally found some, and walked through the town and along the viewing area. There was a mix of all races and sorts of people there, and we heard many languages, like we had heard in the national parks in the first couple weeks of our trip. After the sun sets, the authorities shine colored lights onto the falling water, which is quite a spectacle. For dinner we had a delicious fresh chicken shawarma sandwich from a little corner shop.
On the way into town we had passed a conveniently located Wal Mart, which was a mere five minutes from the downtown district. It could hardly have been in a better location for a comfortable evening. We were one of eight RVs in the lot that nite, and surprisingly the other seven all had Ontario plates. In the morning we left the detached trailer at Wal Mart and drove the Jeep into the city again, paying five dollars to park in a lot.
The most popular attraction at the falls is the Maid of the Mist bout tours, which take you on a medium-sized ferry boat right up to the edge of the falling water, into the intense drenching mist. Thin ponchos are provided to protect everything but your shoes. The mist rises up from the splashing water all the way up to approximately twice the height of the falls themselves, but at the bottom it is like a strong windy rainfall. Several boats work as a team to cycle tourists to the falls from both the American and Canadian sides.
The tour was really neat, we were glad we did it. I snapped a ton of pictures even though I was worried that the ceaseless mist would damage the camera (it was fine). The boat went up to the falls, towering 175 feet high above us, at medium speed then stopped for a few minutes to give the full effect. The recorded narration boomed "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Niagra Falls!"
The other attraction we did that morning was the "Sky Wheel", a big Ferris wheel with a good view of the falls. Although pricey, it was also a lot of fun. The two of us got an enclosed gondola to ourselves and there was no line at all that early in the morning. In fact, the standard ride is three times around the wheel, and we got a bonus turn. Good times.
That was it for the day in terms of doing fun things. From there we headed west on Canadian 403, then 401, then 402 to the border at Port Huron, Michigan. I contemplated the town's small connection to my favorite movie, The Big Lebowski, where the eponymous character claims to be an author of the Port Huron Statement (a real historical thing, I looked it up once): "the original Port Huron Statement, not the compromised second draft". We went through customs without a hitch and spent the rest of the day driving across Michigan, to Indiana, just short of Chicago.
1000 Islands
Friday was another long day of driving. At the end of the day we made it to Niagra Falls, but before that we only stopped at one significant place, in part of an area known as 1000 Islands. This stop was a consequence of our conversation with the Quebecer back in the parking lot in Moncton. He told us that 1000 Islands was a beautiful area, and recommended a boat tour of the area. We didn't have time for a boat tour, but we stopped at one of the first places advertised on roadside signs as 1000 Islands, which happened to be Brockville, Ontario.
It was a gorgeous warm sunny day. The road led us straight to the waterfront, a manicured pedestrian esplanade with children splashing in the clear fresh water and sailboats slipping silently past. The United States was a mere few hundred yards across the water, and we picked up American cell phone signals, allowing us to place a couple important phone calls. We strolled along the riverside path for a while, somewhat over an hour, and just soaked up the sun and pleasant atmosphere.
Ashleigh has a soft spot for cute baby mammals, and couldn't resist an adorable puppydog bounding playfully around the feet of a placid sitting middle-aged gentleman. We spoke to him about travel, Canada, and other nice things. We left with a good impression of Brockville. It seemed like a little slice of Canadian heaven.
It was a gorgeous warm sunny day. The road led us straight to the waterfront, a manicured pedestrian esplanade with children splashing in the clear fresh water and sailboats slipping silently past. The United States was a mere few hundred yards across the water, and we picked up American cell phone signals, allowing us to place a couple important phone calls. We strolled along the riverside path for a while, somewhat over an hour, and just soaked up the sun and pleasant atmosphere.
Ashleigh has a soft spot for cute baby mammals, and couldn't resist an adorable puppydog bounding playfully around the feet of a placid sitting middle-aged gentleman. We spoke to him about travel, Canada, and other nice things. We left with a good impression of Brockville. It seemed like a little slice of Canadian heaven.
Quebec, Canada
Ashleigh had been to Quebec before, but this was my first time. We left the Jeep and trailer on the south side of the Saint Lawrence River and took a commuter ferry across to Old Town Quebec. Well, we took the ferry to the newish town a couple hundred feet below Old Town, then walked our hot, tired butts up the hill to Old Town, then sat in the shade and tried in vain to cool off in the humid unmoving air.
I was impressed. There was a lot of history in the area. Quebec was built because of its strategic location on the Saint Lawrence, where it widens from the width of a large river to the size of an ocean inlet. The steep hill up to the town was also important for military defense, with mixed success, as we learned. The English and the French were at war in Europe during Canada's early days, and the fighting eventually spilled over to the New World. Quebec was threatened, and bombed, and invaded both unsuccessfully then successfully. There were also a few fires, several rounds of building bigger and thicker defensive walls around the city, and a littany of different mansions built for the various governors over time. That was all pretty interesting. The city also has a fancypants hotel, which we walked through like the unkempt lowlifes that we are. We paid forty dollars for two salads and two nonalcoholic beverages at a nearby cafe while listening to American soft rock songs performed by a scraggly lanky blonde dude (Ashleigh was in heaven!).
Let me pause here to mention one other thing I learned on this trip through Canada, something which might have been obvious if I had thought about it before. When the American revolution happened, there were of course many colonists which supported the English monarchy. I had learned in history class about how the revolutionaries hassled the British loyalists, by making fun of them, boycotting their businesses, giving them half haircuts, and other shenanigans (probably many too lurid for high school history textbooks). So when the revolution turned out to be successful, many of the loyalists got out of Dodge, so to speak, and went to -- you guessed it -- Canada. Up there they have things like the Loyalist Highway, and some Canadian children go to Loyalist High School. (I know, I know: what the hell?) I've harped on this before, but Canada has only been its own country since the 1980s. To this day, the symbol for Ontario (on their road signs) is a crown. The road south from Toronto is the QEW, or Queen Elizabeth's Way. (Again, I know, I know: what the hell?) It is really hard for me as an American to put myself into the mindset of a nation which agreed to be ruled (on paper at least) by the kings and queens of England for the last two hundred years. In fact, it is really hard for me as an American to believe that England still has kings and queens after two hundred years of every other Western nation giving them up. (Yeah, okay, not Sweden, but still.)
Okay back to Quebec. We had a great time. We took some pictures up on the defense wall and wandered through some of the back streets. It looked like a movie set. It looked like the kind of place New York was trying to be before it became a dirty, smelly, bedbug-infested, run-down, three-story heap of crampt little buildings. The streets were mostly cobbled (which is a cute anachronism) and the occasional horse drawn buggy carried excited tourists.
It was a nice place to visit. Eventually we had seen enough; we took the ferry back across the Saint Lawrence River and drove until after dark, getting as far as possible.
I was impressed. There was a lot of history in the area. Quebec was built because of its strategic location on the Saint Lawrence, where it widens from the width of a large river to the size of an ocean inlet. The steep hill up to the town was also important for military defense, with mixed success, as we learned. The English and the French were at war in Europe during Canada's early days, and the fighting eventually spilled over to the New World. Quebec was threatened, and bombed, and invaded both unsuccessfully then successfully. There were also a few fires, several rounds of building bigger and thicker defensive walls around the city, and a littany of different mansions built for the various governors over time. That was all pretty interesting. The city also has a fancypants hotel, which we walked through like the unkempt lowlifes that we are. We paid forty dollars for two salads and two nonalcoholic beverages at a nearby cafe while listening to American soft rock songs performed by a scraggly lanky blonde dude (Ashleigh was in heaven!).
Let me pause here to mention one other thing I learned on this trip through Canada, something which might have been obvious if I had thought about it before. When the American revolution happened, there were of course many colonists which supported the English monarchy. I had learned in history class about how the revolutionaries hassled the British loyalists, by making fun of them, boycotting their businesses, giving them half haircuts, and other shenanigans (probably many too lurid for high school history textbooks). So when the revolution turned out to be successful, many of the loyalists got out of Dodge, so to speak, and went to -- you guessed it -- Canada. Up there they have things like the Loyalist Highway, and some Canadian children go to Loyalist High School. (I know, I know: what the hell?) I've harped on this before, but Canada has only been its own country since the 1980s. To this day, the symbol for Ontario (on their road signs) is a crown. The road south from Toronto is the QEW, or Queen Elizabeth's Way. (Again, I know, I know: what the hell?) It is really hard for me as an American to put myself into the mindset of a nation which agreed to be ruled (on paper at least) by the kings and queens of England for the last two hundred years. In fact, it is really hard for me as an American to believe that England still has kings and queens after two hundred years of every other Western nation giving them up. (Yeah, okay, not Sweden, but still.)
Okay back to Quebec. We had a great time. We took some pictures up on the defense wall and wandered through some of the back streets. It looked like a movie set. It looked like the kind of place New York was trying to be before it became a dirty, smelly, bedbug-infested, run-down, three-story heap of crampt little buildings. The streets were mostly cobbled (which is a cute anachronism) and the occasional horse drawn buggy carried excited tourists.
It was a nice place to visit. Eventually we had seen enough; we took the ferry back across the Saint Lawrence River and drove until after dark, getting as far as possible.
New Brunswick, Canada
After our couple days in Nova Scotia, we needed to cover some distance, so Wednesday was a long day of driving. Before hitting the road, we sauntered into the mall that we had stayed at. Wal Mart was one store in the mall, which is why we felt comfortable parking there, but there were fifty or more other stores. Most of them were women's clothing stores or shoe stores. Ashleigh did a little window shopping, but I did not need either women's clothing or shoes. We left emptyhanded.
We also spoke to a local French Canadian man who was parked next to us in his big RV. Ashleigh spoke in French which was good enough for him to understand and respond to, but his French was mostly too advanced for her to make out. His English was mediocre, so the whole interaction was strained, but we got some good travel tips for the upcoming couple days. As we finally got on the road Ashleigh said, exasperated, that she had heard four year old children speaking in French with a vocabulary and fluency far exceeding her own. Ashleigh studied French for ten years.
Our long day of driving had one notable fun stop, in Edmunston. I don't even remember why we got off the highway and drove into town, but when we arrived we found a cute little city. We parked on the street and as soon as we got out we heard live rock and roll music coming from a community concert around the corner. Most of the songs were classic American rock songs, so the lyrics were some of the only English we heard. We could look south across Saint Johns River to Maine, a mere hundred or so meters over a bridge. We didn't cross over, but we did stop in a bar for a drink, where I sampled the local Pump House label blueberry beer, which was pretty good. I had two. Ashleigh also had two drinks: Shirly Temples. The bartenders were very friendly.
From there we covered some more miles then stopped in a Wal Mart about an hour outside of Quebec, where we wanted to go in the morning. This particular Wal Mart parking lot is distinguished because there were more RVs there than at any other Wal Mart we have stayed at, by quite a bit. I counted about thirty, but didn't go around to do an exact count. Usually there are between three and maybe ten campers. Ten is a lot, so to see a village of thirty vehicles was surprising. As usual, Ashleigh whipped up a delicious dinner on the stove as I readied the camper for the nite. We slept, and by the time we woke up, most of the motor homes had already left that crowded Wal Mart lot. We bought some supplies in the store and got on the road to Quebec.
We also spoke to a local French Canadian man who was parked next to us in his big RV. Ashleigh spoke in French which was good enough for him to understand and respond to, but his French was mostly too advanced for her to make out. His English was mediocre, so the whole interaction was strained, but we got some good travel tips for the upcoming couple days. As we finally got on the road Ashleigh said, exasperated, that she had heard four year old children speaking in French with a vocabulary and fluency far exceeding her own. Ashleigh studied French for ten years.
Our long day of driving had one notable fun stop, in Edmunston. I don't even remember why we got off the highway and drove into town, but when we arrived we found a cute little city. We parked on the street and as soon as we got out we heard live rock and roll music coming from a community concert around the corner. Most of the songs were classic American rock songs, so the lyrics were some of the only English we heard. We could look south across Saint Johns River to Maine, a mere hundred or so meters over a bridge. We didn't cross over, but we did stop in a bar for a drink, where I sampled the local Pump House label blueberry beer, which was pretty good. I had two. Ashleigh also had two drinks: Shirly Temples. The bartenders were very friendly.
From there we covered some more miles then stopped in a Wal Mart about an hour outside of Quebec, where we wanted to go in the morning. This particular Wal Mart parking lot is distinguished because there were more RVs there than at any other Wal Mart we have stayed at, by quite a bit. I counted about thirty, but didn't go around to do an exact count. Usually there are between three and maybe ten campers. Ten is a lot, so to see a village of thirty vehicles was surprising. As usual, Ashleigh whipped up a delicious dinner on the stove as I readied the camper for the nite. We slept, and by the time we woke up, most of the motor homes had already left that crowded Wal Mart lot. We bought some supplies in the store and got on the road to Quebec.
Weird Canadian Signposts
Canada has two officials languages, English and French. Or, maybe they don't have any official language. Anyway, many or most signs are printed in both English and French. This is often disconcerting or odd. Product packaging is cluttered with twice as much wording as in single-language locales.
Many signs combine the two languages cleverly, taking advantage of the noun-adjective inversion between English and French, especially in store or company names. For instance we went to a movie at a place called the Crystal Palace, and their sign read "Palais Crystal Palace".
For road signs, the transit authority often avoids the issue by removing words altogether. For instance, one-way signs, do-not-enter signs, and yield signs do not have words on them, as they do in America; but stop signs for some reason do retain the word STOP, usually paired with ARRET. On hiways, exit signs sometimes have both the words EXIT and SORTIE, but more often have no word, just a number on a lopsided quadriateral. Although I am certainly not the kind of person to defend or commend anything Canadian, French, or French-Canadian, I have to say that I like the idea of taking words off of some road signs, when they are not needed. Is it really necessary for our do-not-enter signs to have the internationally recognizable red-and-white symbol as well as the redundant wording?
The idea of using a symbol instead of words, however, can be taken too far. The obvious important point is that the symbol must be easily, quickly, unambiguously recognizable. Canada has signs which sometimes fail this standard. Along the road in America we have symbols for visitor services, such as gasoline (a gas pump), camping (a tent), or restaurants (plate and silverware). Canada also has those same (or similar) symbols, but they have a slew of other symbols, some easy to recognize, some difficult. The following are all found on little square signs underneath or near signs for hiway exits, and there is a very very large variety of them.
Easy to recognize:
A little harder:
Downright confusing:
And after all those symbols, one stands out from all the rest: the word "Police" written out. If you can come up with a symbol for a patch of magic genie grass, why can't you come up with a symbol for the police? I suppose, however, that they chose that word because it applies in both English and French.
Many signs combine the two languages cleverly, taking advantage of the noun-adjective inversion between English and French, especially in store or company names. For instance we went to a movie at a place called the Crystal Palace, and their sign read "Palais Crystal Palace".
For road signs, the transit authority often avoids the issue by removing words altogether. For instance, one-way signs, do-not-enter signs, and yield signs do not have words on them, as they do in America; but stop signs for some reason do retain the word STOP, usually paired with ARRET. On hiways, exit signs sometimes have both the words EXIT and SORTIE, but more often have no word, just a number on a lopsided quadriateral. Although I am certainly not the kind of person to defend or commend anything Canadian, French, or French-Canadian, I have to say that I like the idea of taking words off of some road signs, when they are not needed. Is it really necessary for our do-not-enter signs to have the internationally recognizable red-and-white symbol as well as the redundant wording?
The idea of using a symbol instead of words, however, can be taken too far. The obvious important point is that the symbol must be easily, quickly, unambiguously recognizable. Canada has signs which sometimes fail this standard. Along the road in America we have symbols for visitor services, such as gasoline (a gas pump), camping (a tent), or restaurants (plate and silverware). Canada also has those same (or similar) symbols, but they have a slew of other symbols, some easy to recognize, some difficult. The following are all found on little square signs underneath or near signs for hiway exits, and there is a very very large variety of them.
Easy to recognize:
- Fork, knife, cup (restaurant)
- Gas pump (gasoline)
- Person in bed with roof (hotel)
- Person in wheenchair (handicap access, perhaps for a bathroom)
- A golfer (golf course)
- A skiier (ski hill)
- A question mark (visitor information)
- A capital H (hospitol)
- Picnic table and tree (picnic area)
- Observatory (a sky observatory, presumably)
A little harder:
- Apple and corn (grocery store? farmers market?)
- Person in bed alongside a soft-boiled egg (bed and breakfast, we think, but who eats soft boiled eggs?)
- Hand holding a pot (pottery store?)
- A flower in a little house (greenhouse? flower shop?)
- A skeleton key (museum?)
- A museum with an M inside it (also a museum, but then what is the skeleton key?)
- A museum without the M (a museum? not a museum? maybe a university?)
- An atom (nuclean plant? research university?)
Downright confusing:
- Patch of grass with a swirl coming out of it (magic genie grass?)
- A wavy 4-lined seashell (post-modern maritime art store?)
- A beaver enclosed in a uterus-shaped outline (beaver nursery?)
- The flowery three-pointed boy scout symbol (scout camp? actually I think it is a police symbol)
- Two gears (factory?)
- Microscope (scientist's home?)
- Hand putting items into a basket (shopping center?)
And after all those symbols, one stands out from all the rest: the word "Police" written out. If you can come up with a symbol for a patch of magic genie grass, why can't you come up with a symbol for the police? I suppose, however, that they chose that word because it applies in both English and French.
Nova Scotia, Canada
I have to say, Ashleigh and I had high hopes for Nova Scotia and the rest of eastern Canada. Neither of us had ever been there, and everyone we talked to kept telling us how beautiful it was. We did not have the time in our overall schedule to go out to Cape Breton, which is the crown jewel of Nova Scotia, so perhaps that is why we never found the cutesy touristy service-rich area we expected. Also, our two days in the province were rainy, so perhaps that dampened our mood. Nevertheless, we did not have the great time we had hoped for.
The ferry ("the Cat") ride was fun. The car deck was a lot more advanced than the ferries in Alaska. The Cat's car deck had car platforms on hydraulic lifts which would move a dozen or more cars up high enough for more cars to park underneath. We were the very last vehicle to board, and the very last one to exit. The ride was smooth and fast. The boat is a catamaran, so we were skimming across the top of the water, though that fact was not apparent from inside. The weather across the channel was thick foggy; so was the weather once we arrived.
The Cat travels from Bar Harbor, Maine to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. We received a tip to go see a famous lighthouse in Yarmouth, but we received that tip after about a hundred other people received the same tip, so we skipped it and left town immediately. Like in Alaska, towns in NS are separated by wilderness. I like that. This particular wilderness reminded me very much of the trees and plants in south central Alaska, like around Anchorage and in the Kenai Peninsula, with a similar mix of disciduous and evergreen trees.
There are two routes from Yarmouth to Halifax, our next destination: the scenic coastal route and the faster route slightly inland, which cuts off the many jutting peninsulas. The scenic route takes nine hours; the fast route takes three hours. We did a small portion of the scenic route but the thick fog prevented any vistas whatsoever of the coastline, which I assume is beautiful, but I can't personally attest to it. So we stuck mostly to the fast route, but still arrived in Halifax in the late evening, at a Wal Mart (they have Wal Mart in Canada! awesome!).
We had been told that there was an ongoing Busker Festival in Halifax. (Don't look it up: a busker is a street performer.) We found our way downtown and to the festival, which was still going on that late at nite, but the performers were not enough to keep our attention. We decided to come back the next day when the better buskers would be performing. As it turned out, though, a couple bad experiences turned us off of Halifax and we never went back to the festival.
In the morning we got up and headed downtown to get breakfast. The gray weather was weighing down our mood, but we parked and looked for breakfast. After struggling to find two loonies to feed the hungry parking meters, we found "Voted the best breakfast in downtown Halifax" at the Bluenose II restaurant, which advertised free wifi. Well, not only could we not get the internet to work, but the service was lackluster, and the food was downright inedible. I left half of my Greek omelette on the plate and left hungry. Ashleigh finished her eggs Benedict but didn't particularly like them. We tried a second time for commerce at Uncommon Grounds coffe shop, which advertised free internet. I bought a slice of carrot cake, my favorite, in order to make me feel better, but it was so bad I ate two bites and left the rest on the plate. I can confidently say that it was the worst carrot cake I've ever had the displeasure of tasting. Ashleigh got a blueberry smoothie which was also bad, and she didn't finish that either. On top of all that, we struggled with the wifi for 45 minutes before they said, oh golly, the power was out, we better reset the router.
What the heck is up with commerce in Halifax? Were our experiences atypical, or does everyone there eat bad food all the time? In any case, we got the heck out of there, and our day improved with distance from Halifax. We stopped and did one more activity that day, which was to go to the Fossil Cliffs of Joggins, an important scientific site which holds many important fossils, such as he oldest known lizard. As I wrote briefly earlier today, we made it to Moncton, stayed at a Wal Mart, and saw a movie at the local multiplex. That was the end of the day, capped off by an above-average-beautiful sunset.
The ferry ("the Cat") ride was fun. The car deck was a lot more advanced than the ferries in Alaska. The Cat's car deck had car platforms on hydraulic lifts which would move a dozen or more cars up high enough for more cars to park underneath. We were the very last vehicle to board, and the very last one to exit. The ride was smooth and fast. The boat is a catamaran, so we were skimming across the top of the water, though that fact was not apparent from inside. The weather across the channel was thick foggy; so was the weather once we arrived.
The Cat travels from Bar Harbor, Maine to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. We received a tip to go see a famous lighthouse in Yarmouth, but we received that tip after about a hundred other people received the same tip, so we skipped it and left town immediately. Like in Alaska, towns in NS are separated by wilderness. I like that. This particular wilderness reminded me very much of the trees and plants in south central Alaska, like around Anchorage and in the Kenai Peninsula, with a similar mix of disciduous and evergreen trees.
There are two routes from Yarmouth to Halifax, our next destination: the scenic coastal route and the faster route slightly inland, which cuts off the many jutting peninsulas. The scenic route takes nine hours; the fast route takes three hours. We did a small portion of the scenic route but the thick fog prevented any vistas whatsoever of the coastline, which I assume is beautiful, but I can't personally attest to it. So we stuck mostly to the fast route, but still arrived in Halifax in the late evening, at a Wal Mart (they have Wal Mart in Canada! awesome!).
We had been told that there was an ongoing Busker Festival in Halifax. (Don't look it up: a busker is a street performer.) We found our way downtown and to the festival, which was still going on that late at nite, but the performers were not enough to keep our attention. We decided to come back the next day when the better buskers would be performing. As it turned out, though, a couple bad experiences turned us off of Halifax and we never went back to the festival.
In the morning we got up and headed downtown to get breakfast. The gray weather was weighing down our mood, but we parked and looked for breakfast. After struggling to find two loonies to feed the hungry parking meters, we found "Voted the best breakfast in downtown Halifax" at the Bluenose II restaurant, which advertised free wifi. Well, not only could we not get the internet to work, but the service was lackluster, and the food was downright inedible. I left half of my Greek omelette on the plate and left hungry. Ashleigh finished her eggs Benedict but didn't particularly like them. We tried a second time for commerce at Uncommon Grounds coffe shop, which advertised free internet. I bought a slice of carrot cake, my favorite, in order to make me feel better, but it was so bad I ate two bites and left the rest on the plate. I can confidently say that it was the worst carrot cake I've ever had the displeasure of tasting. Ashleigh got a blueberry smoothie which was also bad, and she didn't finish that either. On top of all that, we struggled with the wifi for 45 minutes before they said, oh golly, the power was out, we better reset the router.
What the heck is up with commerce in Halifax? Were our experiences atypical, or does everyone there eat bad food all the time? In any case, we got the heck out of there, and our day improved with distance from Halifax. We stopped and did one more activity that day, which was to go to the Fossil Cliffs of Joggins, an important scientific site which holds many important fossils, such as he oldest known lizard. As I wrote briefly earlier today, we made it to Moncton, stayed at a Wal Mart, and saw a movie at the local multiplex. That was the end of the day, capped off by an above-average-beautiful sunset.
Acadia National Park
Long before our trip began, Ashleigh worried about having campgrounds each nite along the way. Although I proffered Wal Marts, she was skeptical. To this end, she wanted a reserved spot for the nite before our ferry ride from Bar Harbor to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. Using the internet, she found campgrounds near Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park and reserved one. Soon thereafter she realized the unnecessity of the ludicrously high expense ($50 for one nite!), and tried to cancel, but they wouldn't refund the money. So, the morning of that last nite in Maine we drove from Wal Mart to our expensive campground, called Narrows Too, checked in, unhooked the trailer, and took our bikes into Acadia National Park.
Our plan was to have a pleasant bikeride around the park for the day, and that is exactly what we did. Armed with trail maps from the visitor center, we set out across the peninsula which, along with some private land, comprises the park. Acadia has a number of winding, intersecting "carriage roads" for pedestrians and bikes, but not for horses, so presumably not for carriages. I don't know for sure, but perhaps historically the roads were used by carriages. We set out from the visitor center and peddled south down the peninsula toward Seal Harbor. About halfway there, we were confronted by signs that said no bikes were allowed on private land, and bikers would be prosecuted as trespassers! Huh? We were confused, but apparently part of the peninsula along the ocean is privately owned, yet the carriage roads continue onto that land. The signs didn't explain, but my inference is that bikes are an additional liability risk that the private land owners did not want to assume.
We were stymied: we did not want to turn around, and there was no other way to Seal Harbor (or just about anywhere). We came to the only possible course of action, which was to get off and walk our bikes to the seashore, which was a little more than a mile away. The signs technically prohibited bikes, not biking, so we were still in violation, but we couldn't imagine being beefed for walking bikes on a walking trail.
The beach at Seal Harbor was nice; we dipped our feet in the cool ocean water. Children laughed and played in the water. We relaxed on the grass and caught a bus into the town of Bar Harbor. There, we got salad and sandwich for lunch, and then some remarkably delicious ice cream. Then we took the bus back to the visitor center where we had begun our day and drove back to Narrows Too. We took a little swim in the pool there, showered for good measure, and slept that nite with dreams of ferries.
Our plan was to have a pleasant bikeride around the park for the day, and that is exactly what we did. Armed with trail maps from the visitor center, we set out across the peninsula which, along with some private land, comprises the park. Acadia has a number of winding, intersecting "carriage roads" for pedestrians and bikes, but not for horses, so presumably not for carriages. I don't know for sure, but perhaps historically the roads were used by carriages. We set out from the visitor center and peddled south down the peninsula toward Seal Harbor. About halfway there, we were confronted by signs that said no bikes were allowed on private land, and bikers would be prosecuted as trespassers! Huh? We were confused, but apparently part of the peninsula along the ocean is privately owned, yet the carriage roads continue onto that land. The signs didn't explain, but my inference is that bikes are an additional liability risk that the private land owners did not want to assume.
We were stymied: we did not want to turn around, and there was no other way to Seal Harbor (or just about anywhere). We came to the only possible course of action, which was to get off and walk our bikes to the seashore, which was a little more than a mile away. The signs technically prohibited bikes, not biking, so we were still in violation, but we couldn't imagine being beefed for walking bikes on a walking trail.
The beach at Seal Harbor was nice; we dipped our feet in the cool ocean water. Children laughed and played in the water. We relaxed on the grass and caught a bus into the town of Bar Harbor. There, we got salad and sandwich for lunch, and then some remarkably delicious ice cream. Then we took the bus back to the visitor center where we had begun our day and drove back to Narrows Too. We took a little swim in the pool there, showered for good measure, and slept that nite with dreams of ferries.
Delayed Updates In Canada
Ashleigh and I floated on the Cat ferry from Maine to Nova Scotia a couple days ago. Nova Scotia was underwhelming to us -- it looked a heck of a lot like the Kenai Peninsula, so the nature wasn't so spectacular as to someone from, say, New England. We didn't have time to go to Cape Breton, which is the place everyone said was super great.
We drove and drove, stopping in Halifax, which we thought was not very good at all. We had particularly bad food in two different restaurants, which made us wonder about the English heritage of Canada. (Did you know Canada has only been its own country since the 80s! -- the 1980s!) Anyway, we hightailed it out of Halifax and made it as far as Moncton, New Brunswick last nite. Just for something a little different, we saw a movie: "Funny People". It was okay, not great, with lots of poop and dick jokes.
This morning is a beautiful sunny day and we feel refreshed. The refrigerator isn't working, and that might be because of low propane levels.
Blog updates will be delayed while we are in Canada because internet is spotty and rare, and we will be doing lots of driving. We also can't use cell phones because of the outrageous cost.
Our plan is to head toward Quebec, but we won't make it there today. We'll see the city tomorrow, then head on toward Niagara Falls, which should be two days after Quebec. From there we'll cross into America at Detroit, go across southern Michigan, cross through Chicago and see our friends there, then finish up into Madison. The end is near!
We drove and drove, stopping in Halifax, which we thought was not very good at all. We had particularly bad food in two different restaurants, which made us wonder about the English heritage of Canada. (Did you know Canada has only been its own country since the 80s! -- the 1980s!) Anyway, we hightailed it out of Halifax and made it as far as Moncton, New Brunswick last nite. Just for something a little different, we saw a movie: "Funny People". It was okay, not great, with lots of poop and dick jokes.
This morning is a beautiful sunny day and we feel refreshed. The refrigerator isn't working, and that might be because of low propane levels.
Blog updates will be delayed while we are in Canada because internet is spotty and rare, and we will be doing lots of driving. We also can't use cell phones because of the outrageous cost.
Our plan is to head toward Quebec, but we won't make it there today. We'll see the city tomorrow, then head on toward Niagara Falls, which should be two days after Quebec. From there we'll cross into America at Detroit, go across southern Michigan, cross through Chicago and see our friends there, then finish up into Madison. The end is near!
Boothbay, Maine
Maine is full of tourist attractions. One of the most popular is Boothbay. We drove up there and met Ashleigh's parents. We all took separate vehicles because we were all coming or returning to our own places. Because the Arledge family has a strict heirarchy of priorities, the first thing we did was eat at a local lobster stand. Each of us got a lobster sandwich. Yum! It was my second and last time having lobster in Maine on the trip.
After that we had reservations for a couple hours of sailing on the Appledor schooner. We had an hour to wait and the weather moved in during that time, dumping a sudden and somewhat shocking amount of rain. Right on cue, however, it cleared up a few minutes before our sailing time, and we didn't have any rain the whole time we sailed. Susan wasn't feeling well enough to go on the boat, but the rest of us had a good time; Bob and I helped raise the sails. ("We're sailors!") We did not see any special wildlife, but we saw more buoys marking lobster pots than I could shake a stick at. Seriously, there were hundreds in every direction. It would be impossible to navigate around them, and the captain did not try.
Bob said goodbye after the boat ride. The rest of us stayed at a hotel for the nite. Ashleigh and Susan stayed inside the hotel; I stayed in the parking lot, like an unwelcome dog, but at least they let me shower the next morning. Then the two of them took me into Belfast for a cafe breakfast. We wanted to eat at one certain place, but of course it is the super popular place, and was totally full. Instead we ate around the corner, where our meals were nothing to write home about. It was time for Susan to say goodbye, and I took their picture, but they weren't paying attention, so I took it again, and they still weren't paying attention, so I took it a third time, and they still weren't paying attention, so that was it. All three pictures are cute.
By then it was about noon. Ashleigh and I climbed into our chariot and rolled to Bangor, where my uncle George and aunt Shirly live. We met at their house and sat around talking for a while, had very good pizzas for lunch at their favorite hole in the wall, then sat around talking for a while longer. I met my cousins Kathy and Colleen. George gave me some advice for my trailer, and they all wanted to have a look at it. Like so many other people on our trip, they marveled at how tiny it was, almost like a real trailer, except half the size. Ashleigh told them that it hurts my feelings when people call it "cute", so they all agreed that it was manly, impressive, dominating. We were invited to stay for the nite but we wanted to wake up near Acadia National Park so we headed out, southeast toward Bar Harbor. We slept at a Wal Mart.
After that we had reservations for a couple hours of sailing on the Appledor schooner. We had an hour to wait and the weather moved in during that time, dumping a sudden and somewhat shocking amount of rain. Right on cue, however, it cleared up a few minutes before our sailing time, and we didn't have any rain the whole time we sailed. Susan wasn't feeling well enough to go on the boat, but the rest of us had a good time; Bob and I helped raise the sails. ("We're sailors!") We did not see any special wildlife, but we saw more buoys marking lobster pots than I could shake a stick at. Seriously, there were hundreds in every direction. It would be impossible to navigate around them, and the captain did not try.
Bob said goodbye after the boat ride. The rest of us stayed at a hotel for the nite. Ashleigh and Susan stayed inside the hotel; I stayed in the parking lot, like an unwelcome dog, but at least they let me shower the next morning. Then the two of them took me into Belfast for a cafe breakfast. We wanted to eat at one certain place, but of course it is the super popular place, and was totally full. Instead we ate around the corner, where our meals were nothing to write home about. It was time for Susan to say goodbye, and I took their picture, but they weren't paying attention, so I took it again, and they still weren't paying attention, so I took it a third time, and they still weren't paying attention, so that was it. All three pictures are cute.
By then it was about noon. Ashleigh and I climbed into our chariot and rolled to Bangor, where my uncle George and aunt Shirly live. We met at their house and sat around talking for a while, had very good pizzas for lunch at their favorite hole in the wall, then sat around talking for a while longer. I met my cousins Kathy and Colleen. George gave me some advice for my trailer, and they all wanted to have a look at it. Like so many other people on our trip, they marveled at how tiny it was, almost like a real trailer, except half the size. Ashleigh told them that it hurts my feelings when people call it "cute", so they all agreed that it was manly, impressive, dominating. We were invited to stay for the nite but we wanted to wake up near Acadia National Park so we headed out, southeast toward Bar Harbor. We slept at a Wal Mart.
Portland, Maine
We had several days in Portland, where Ashleigh grew up. After spending the day in Providence, we drove to Portland and arrived in time for delicous lobster & crab cake dinner with Ashleigh's mom (Susan) and dad (Bob). Although I had had lobster before, I had not had it often enough to properly execute the tricky process of opening the shell and extracting the meat without a little bit of instruction. Good thing we were eating outside, on Susan's deck.
Later that nite we went to the local hip bar, Gritty's, which has its own line of mediocre brews, in my humble opinion. I had Gritty's Brown Ale, which was significantly below average quality. We met up with Erica (from Providence) and Doran, Ashleigh's childhood friends. While there, an aluminum-foil artist sold Ashleigh a statuette of a butterfly. Ashleigh might have declined completely if Doran had not interjected with an endorsement of the man's skill, but Ashleigh did negotiate the price down to half. The butterfly was an impressive rendering.
The next morning, which was Tuesday, after tastey bagels and lox for breakfast, Susan, Ashleigh and I went to the Old Port (downtown Portland) and met up with Bob for lunch at a place called Duckfat. They actually cook their fries in duckfat. Afterwards we went a historical lookout station, the Portland Observatory, right on Munjoy Hill where we were staying with Susan. It was used to look for merchant ships and communicate which ships were coming into port, until 1923 when telecommunications became common. It was refurbished recently and is now a unique little museum. We took some great pictures.
That evening, we relaxed at Ashleigh's mom, along with her dad and her aunt, Joan, eating and chatting. Later, Ashleigh and I crashed a AAA league baseball game between the Portland Seadogs (a feeder team for the Boston Red Sox) and their visiting opponents. Neither of us are particular Seadog fans, so we headed over after dinner, just to check out the scene. It wasn't until we arrived near the stadium, though, that we realized it would be impossible to find a place to park. Lots charging tens of dollars were all sold out. We drove slowly down the street, getting closer and closer to the field; when we arrived at the front gates we turned left onto the side street and found that the second-closest spot was open. Ashleigh parallel parked. The parking spot was good luck, but it turned out the game was sold out, so we thought our luck was out. A man happened to be walking out of the gate, though, and Ashleigh asked him if he was leaving altogether (she's so friendly), and he was, and agreeably gave us his tickets. Our luck was back and better than ever as we sat down in our "box" seats, in row C, right behind the batter, offset a few degrees for a good view, right on the aisle. They were pretty much the very best seats in the whole place, aside from the real "box" seats, above the back of the stands, where presumably they hand out champaigne and footrubs. We had a great time and were able to catch up with some of Ashleigh's friends at the stadium. The Seadogs, however, were soundly defeated.
On our third day in Portland, Ashleigh and Susan took me to Pine Point Beach. It was hot, crowded, and awesome. I didn't swim, but Ashleigh and her mom did. All I did was relax and get a sunburn, as if I have never been in the sun before and didn't know what would happen. It's not a bad sunburn, but it turned out pretty itchy. Ashleigh and I closed out the day with a delicious, and large, sushi dinner at the Arledge's favorite spot - Yusaku.
On our fourth and final day in Portland, we left the city and visited her dad, Bob. He lives in a little house in the woods, with plans to build a new house in the woods, only except the new house would be a house under the woods -- an underground house. Bob also built the octagon house we visited in Idaho at the beginning of this trip. We went out to the land where he wants to build the new house, but he is stuck with some struggles with his neighbors and the local permit board. We went to the exact spot where the house could be built and stood where the kitchen would be.
That nite we had a tasty take-out Indian dinner chez Aura and Pete, two of Ashleigh's friends. They are expecting a baby girl in a few months...but alas, the four of us could not agree on a name for her. The best we could come up with was "Splenda", but we thought that one was already taken. The food tasted good though, and the conversation was fun. Unfortunately, in the background, we watched the Yankees beat the Red Sox, which was a downer.
Later that nite we went to the local hip bar, Gritty's, which has its own line of mediocre brews, in my humble opinion. I had Gritty's Brown Ale, which was significantly below average quality. We met up with Erica (from Providence) and Doran, Ashleigh's childhood friends. While there, an aluminum-foil artist sold Ashleigh a statuette of a butterfly. Ashleigh might have declined completely if Doran had not interjected with an endorsement of the man's skill, but Ashleigh did negotiate the price down to half. The butterfly was an impressive rendering.
The next morning, which was Tuesday, after tastey bagels and lox for breakfast, Susan, Ashleigh and I went to the Old Port (downtown Portland) and met up with Bob for lunch at a place called Duckfat. They actually cook their fries in duckfat. Afterwards we went a historical lookout station, the Portland Observatory, right on Munjoy Hill where we were staying with Susan. It was used to look for merchant ships and communicate which ships were coming into port, until 1923 when telecommunications became common. It was refurbished recently and is now a unique little museum. We took some great pictures.
That evening, we relaxed at Ashleigh's mom, along with her dad and her aunt, Joan, eating and chatting. Later, Ashleigh and I crashed a AAA league baseball game between the Portland Seadogs (a feeder team for the Boston Red Sox) and their visiting opponents. Neither of us are particular Seadog fans, so we headed over after dinner, just to check out the scene. It wasn't until we arrived near the stadium, though, that we realized it would be impossible to find a place to park. Lots charging tens of dollars were all sold out. We drove slowly down the street, getting closer and closer to the field; when we arrived at the front gates we turned left onto the side street and found that the second-closest spot was open. Ashleigh parallel parked. The parking spot was good luck, but it turned out the game was sold out, so we thought our luck was out. A man happened to be walking out of the gate, though, and Ashleigh asked him if he was leaving altogether (she's so friendly), and he was, and agreeably gave us his tickets. Our luck was back and better than ever as we sat down in our "box" seats, in row C, right behind the batter, offset a few degrees for a good view, right on the aisle. They were pretty much the very best seats in the whole place, aside from the real "box" seats, above the back of the stands, where presumably they hand out champaigne and footrubs. We had a great time and were able to catch up with some of Ashleigh's friends at the stadium. The Seadogs, however, were soundly defeated.
On our third day in Portland, Ashleigh and Susan took me to Pine Point Beach. It was hot, crowded, and awesome. I didn't swim, but Ashleigh and her mom did. All I did was relax and get a sunburn, as if I have never been in the sun before and didn't know what would happen. It's not a bad sunburn, but it turned out pretty itchy. Ashleigh and I closed out the day with a delicious, and large, sushi dinner at the Arledge's favorite spot - Yusaku.
On our fourth and final day in Portland, we left the city and visited her dad, Bob. He lives in a little house in the woods, with plans to build a new house in the woods, only except the new house would be a house under the woods -- an underground house. Bob also built the octagon house we visited in Idaho at the beginning of this trip. We went out to the land where he wants to build the new house, but he is stuck with some struggles with his neighbors and the local permit board. We went to the exact spot where the house could be built and stood where the kitchen would be.
That nite we had a tasty take-out Indian dinner chez Aura and Pete, two of Ashleigh's friends. They are expecting a baby girl in a few months...but alas, the four of us could not agree on a name for her. The best we could come up with was "Splenda", but we thought that one was already taken. The food tasted good though, and the conversation was fun. Unfortunately, in the background, we watched the Yankees beat the Red Sox, which was a downer.
Visits With Family & Friends
After New York, we drove out of Brooklyn on the way to Windsor, Connecticut, where Ashleigh's grandmother lives, and where my college friends live. We hit moderate traffic on the way, but eventually got through it, and headed for grandma's house first. We went by the way of over the river and through the woods.
This grandma is Ashleigh's mom's mom, who lives independently in a little house. Ashleigh's uncle and aunt brought their two daughters for one of their birthday. We opened presents, had dinner, had ice cream cake, and had a nice time. We showed the trailer to the girls, who loved it. Children seem to like the trailer because it's sort of like a kiddie play area, like a couch cushion fort or a tree house.
After dinner we drove a few miles up the road to stay with my college friends, Mike and Sierra. Mike is a medical student in dermatology residency, which was very convenient considering my multiple current skin problems. Not only do I have a persistent case of scalp dermatitis, but on the trip I also developed a crazy leperous spot on my chin, and to top it all off some kind of nitetime bugs feasted on my ankles and legs as I slept at Vijay's apartment. (Thanks for that, New York!) So I arrived scratching my legs and with my face looking like Gorbachev's head. (Mike feigned like he was just a student and didn't know how to help, then he promptly recommended that I put lotion for athlete's foot on my face. I have been doing that with considerable success for the last couple days.)
The next morning we had breakfast at a local hole in the wall, then Ashleigh went back to hang out with her grandma again for a few hours. I helped Mike and Sierra walk their two german shepherds, then Ash came back and we drove east to Providence, RI, to meet up with Ashleigh's childhood friend Erica. We had a delicious BBQ dinner at Ultimate BBQ, slept comfortably, and had breakfast at a local eatery. Ashleigh and I then drove toward Portland, ME in our Jeep, and a while later Erica drove toward Portland, ME in her car. Of course the Jeep hardly maintains the speed limit, so Erica easily overtook us and arrived first.
In Portland on the first nite, which was last nite, we had dinner with Ashleigh's mom and dad. We had wonderful home-made crab cakes and lobster with butter! Delicious! After dinner Ashleigh and I went to Gritty's bar and had a drink with a few of her friends. An itinerant artist pushed Ashleigh to buy a custom craft made from aluminum foil -- a butterfly. Good times.
This grandma is Ashleigh's mom's mom, who lives independently in a little house. Ashleigh's uncle and aunt brought their two daughters for one of their birthday. We opened presents, had dinner, had ice cream cake, and had a nice time. We showed the trailer to the girls, who loved it. Children seem to like the trailer because it's sort of like a kiddie play area, like a couch cushion fort or a tree house.
After dinner we drove a few miles up the road to stay with my college friends, Mike and Sierra. Mike is a medical student in dermatology residency, which was very convenient considering my multiple current skin problems. Not only do I have a persistent case of scalp dermatitis, but on the trip I also developed a crazy leperous spot on my chin, and to top it all off some kind of nitetime bugs feasted on my ankles and legs as I slept at Vijay's apartment. (Thanks for that, New York!) So I arrived scratching my legs and with my face looking like Gorbachev's head. (Mike feigned like he was just a student and didn't know how to help, then he promptly recommended that I put lotion for athlete's foot on my face. I have been doing that with considerable success for the last couple days.)
The next morning we had breakfast at a local hole in the wall, then Ashleigh went back to hang out with her grandma again for a few hours. I helped Mike and Sierra walk their two german shepherds, then Ash came back and we drove east to Providence, RI, to meet up with Ashleigh's childhood friend Erica. We had a delicious BBQ dinner at Ultimate BBQ, slept comfortably, and had breakfast at a local eatery. Ashleigh and I then drove toward Portland, ME in our Jeep, and a while later Erica drove toward Portland, ME in her car. Of course the Jeep hardly maintains the speed limit, so Erica easily overtook us and arrived first.
In Portland on the first nite, which was last nite, we had dinner with Ashleigh's mom and dad. We had wonderful home-made crab cakes and lobster with butter! Delicious! After dinner Ashleigh and I went to Gritty's bar and had a drink with a few of her friends. An itinerant artist pushed Ashleigh to buy a custom craft made from aluminum foil -- a butterfly. Good times.
New York City
Ashleigh and I had two plans for Friday in the Big Apple: go to the Tenement Museum on the Lower East Side; and see the play We Declare You A Terrorist, directed by my friend Niegel Smith, the next up-and-coming Broadway director.
The Tenement Museum was interesting. It was inside one floor of an old tenement, where multiple poor working immigrant families huddled without electricity, lights, air conditioning, plumbing, or fire escapes. The guide told us that tenement residents were actually working class people, much luckier than the lower classes which lived in shanties or on the street. The guide told the story of two families which lived in two apartments in two different centuries. The apartments were partially reconstructed to show the living conditions, but the thing that struck me was the similarity between the dilapidated tenement and contemporary New York apartments -- few windows, no air conditioning, crazy railroad-car room layout. Sure modern ones have electricity, plumbing, and refrigeration, but the general style of living for the working class hasn't changed that much in New York City for the last couple hundred years.
After the museum I had a chore, which was to go to the local Apple Store and complain about my laptop battery. In the extraordinary heat of the American Southwest desert a couple weeks ago, the battery for my Mac laptop had physically swollen in size, threatening to burst, leak chemicals, and maybe start a fire. Such battery failures are common enough to worry me, and I was especially worried because I consider my lap to be a very undesirable place for localized chemical explosions. The laptop and battery, however, were out of warranty, so I knew I would face an uphill battle in my quest for getting a new battery for free. Indeed, the girl who helped me told me no because of the expired warranty; I pressed her and she spoke to a person at the genius bar, who told me no because of the expired warranty. I looked at her and said, hey, I know Apple has gone through lawsuits and recalls for their batters, and even though this specific battery's manufacturing code did not fall within the bounds of any of the recalls, the malformed object is sufficient evidence of manufacturing defect. She went back this time and talked to a manager. To my pleased surprise, she said that yes they would replace it, but I would need to have an appointment first, and the first appointments were the following Monday. I told them about my long trip, and that Monday simply wasn't an offer to me. Finally, again to my surprise, they said okay, we'll give you a new battery down at the register. They did. I was shocked. They didn't give me a receipt or take my name or anything, just gave me an unpackaged brand new battery and I left. Thank you, Apple.
From there Ashleigh and I made plans to have dinner with my friend, Niegel Smith, his friend Robert, and Ashleigh's friend Elly. We had some mediocre bar food, then Vijay met Ashleigh and I to watch We Declare You A Terrorist, a new play at The Public Theatre, directed by Niegel. It is a fictionalized account of a terrorist event in Moscow a few years ago, with perspectives given by the perpetrators and the hostages. It was great.
Afterwards we all had some drinks, met up with some other friends, had more drinks, met up with other friends, then some friends in Brooklyn, and at long last crashed into bed in the wee hours. It was a good visit to New York. We drove out the next morning.
The Tenement Museum was interesting. It was inside one floor of an old tenement, where multiple poor working immigrant families huddled without electricity, lights, air conditioning, plumbing, or fire escapes. The guide told us that tenement residents were actually working class people, much luckier than the lower classes which lived in shanties or on the street. The guide told the story of two families which lived in two apartments in two different centuries. The apartments were partially reconstructed to show the living conditions, but the thing that struck me was the similarity between the dilapidated tenement and contemporary New York apartments -- few windows, no air conditioning, crazy railroad-car room layout. Sure modern ones have electricity, plumbing, and refrigeration, but the general style of living for the working class hasn't changed that much in New York City for the last couple hundred years.
After the museum I had a chore, which was to go to the local Apple Store and complain about my laptop battery. In the extraordinary heat of the American Southwest desert a couple weeks ago, the battery for my Mac laptop had physically swollen in size, threatening to burst, leak chemicals, and maybe start a fire. Such battery failures are common enough to worry me, and I was especially worried because I consider my lap to be a very undesirable place for localized chemical explosions. The laptop and battery, however, were out of warranty, so I knew I would face an uphill battle in my quest for getting a new battery for free. Indeed, the girl who helped me told me no because of the expired warranty; I pressed her and she spoke to a person at the genius bar, who told me no because of the expired warranty. I looked at her and said, hey, I know Apple has gone through lawsuits and recalls for their batters, and even though this specific battery's manufacturing code did not fall within the bounds of any of the recalls, the malformed object is sufficient evidence of manufacturing defect. She went back this time and talked to a manager. To my pleased surprise, she said that yes they would replace it, but I would need to have an appointment first, and the first appointments were the following Monday. I told them about my long trip, and that Monday simply wasn't an offer to me. Finally, again to my surprise, they said okay, we'll give you a new battery down at the register. They did. I was shocked. They didn't give me a receipt or take my name or anything, just gave me an unpackaged brand new battery and I left. Thank you, Apple.
From there Ashleigh and I made plans to have dinner with my friend, Niegel Smith, his friend Robert, and Ashleigh's friend Elly. We had some mediocre bar food, then Vijay met Ashleigh and I to watch We Declare You A Terrorist, a new play at The Public Theatre, directed by Niegel. It is a fictionalized account of a terrorist event in Moscow a few years ago, with perspectives given by the perpetrators and the hostages. It was great.
Afterwards we all had some drinks, met up with some other friends, had more drinks, met up with other friends, then some friends in Brooklyn, and at long last crashed into bed in the wee hours. It was a good visit to New York. We drove out the next morning.
Washington, DC
Like in Asheville, we had a nice nite in DC (Falls Church), but took no pictures. We visited Ashleigh's uncle John and aunt Rhea, and their bouncing adopted toddler daughter, Nicole. We refreshed ourselves with showers and ate some tasty Indian food. We updated ourselves on the most recent news of the world on the internet. The little girl entertained us with her cute antics. Ashleigh and I had brought her a book for children with cellophane pages; the child shines a light through the cellophane to see pictures on the wall which illustrate the story. The problem was that the book didn't work, and the shadows were blurry and double, like my uncorrected vision. Oh well oh well oh well.
The next day we visited Ashleigh's dad's mom, Marian, and aunt Janet. We had a nice visit and showed grandma this website, some pictures, and looked at some other pictures. We had a delicious fresh lunch. We were there until about one, and had plans to meet Vijay at a local train station at one fifteen.
Vijay, however, got stuck "on the phone with the internet company", which is probably a similar euphemism to "hiking the Appalachian Trail". Anyway, he was 90 minutes late, then we had to wander around looking for gas, then we were stuck in traffic, then we took the wrong highway, then we hit more traffic, then we stopped for bathrooms and burgers, then there were more tolls than I could shake my angry fist at. All these delays turned the 4.5 hour drive into an 8-hour drive, which meant we were too late to park the vehicle where we had planned north of the city, and too late to hang out with my friends that nite.
We were tired, so we went to sleep in Vijay's Brooklyn apartment.
The next day we visited Ashleigh's dad's mom, Marian, and aunt Janet. We had a nice visit and showed grandma this website, some pictures, and looked at some other pictures. We had a delicious fresh lunch. We were there until about one, and had plans to meet Vijay at a local train station at one fifteen.
Vijay, however, got stuck "on the phone with the internet company", which is probably a similar euphemism to "hiking the Appalachian Trail". Anyway, he was 90 minutes late, then we had to wander around looking for gas, then we were stuck in traffic, then we took the wrong highway, then we hit more traffic, then we stopped for bathrooms and burgers, then there were more tolls than I could shake my angry fist at. All these delays turned the 4.5 hour drive into an 8-hour drive, which meant we were too late to park the vehicle where we had planned north of the city, and too late to hang out with my friends that nite.
We were tired, so we went to sleep in Vijay's Brooklyn apartment.
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