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?
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.
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